Lizzie and Quinn short story

Lizzie frowned at her computer screen.  She had entered the telephone number displayed on her caller ID into the reverse directory.  The name and address for that telephone number was there in front of her:

Lizzie and Quinn short story

Lizzie frowned down at the sticky honey she had spotted on the sleeve of her blue terry cloth robe. When she made a mess, she made a mess. "Quinn, hold on one more second," she said into the phone and reached for another paper towel.

She wet the towel in the sink and dabbed at her sleeve and then at the belt of her robe. A bird fluttered past the kitchen window, drawing her glance to the bright April morning outside.

"Lizzie?" Quinn said on the telephone. "I've got a meeting in about --"

Lizzie and Quinn short story

His ergonomically-correct desk chair, inherited from his predecessor, creaked under his lean six-foot-one frame when he reached sideways for the ringing phone. Indexing his place in his report with his finger, John Quinn made a mental note to order a new chair. "University police. Chief Quinn speaking."

"Quinn, it's me."

Good thing his office door was closed. He could feel a sappy grin spreading across his face. "Hi, me," he said.

"Do you have a moment?" she said.

"Good news, Philadelphia! Unless there's a big, bad, lurking booby trap out there somewhere, we did it. We survived Y2K! What've you got planned for 2000? Call me with your New Year's. . ."

John Quinn reached for the ignition key and turned off the car engine, cutting the DJ off in mid-sentence. New Year's resolutions? All he wanted was to get through the next half hour.

He glanced again at the house across the street as he had been doing since he pulled up ten minutes ago. The drapes were drawn, but the lights were on. Both cars were in the driveway.