“Doc was pretty sure he’d never seen the man before. He was aware that most of the diners in the restaurant were watching him. He heard his name whispered. “Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Miller.” Joyce Stefanik, shoulder-length chestnut hair and alert brown eyes under bangs and a square jaw that was the only mannish thing about her, lent him a cool hand with no rings and withdrew it. She had on a pink jersey top that hinted at a black brassiere beneath and a rose-colored silk scarf secured with a go...ld signet ring bearing her initials. Whatever else she was wearing was hidden by the table. She looked twenty-five, but might have been older; the bangs were misleading. “You seem to be pretty well-known here.” “I’ve only been here twice.” He sat down. He thought the waiter was still standing next to the booth but when he saw that the Stefanik woman was looking that way he glanced up. It was a young man in a Dick Tracy T-shirt and cutoffs. “Doc, could I have your autograph?” Doc looked down at the ballpoint pen and paper napkin in the young man’s hands and back up to his face, thinking it was a joke.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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