A black telephonereceiver was stuffed in the small space between his ear and hisshoulder; he motioned for them to sit in the stiff wooden armchairs infront of his desk. Moments later he hung up the phone, the baseringing lightly from the impact.“So you’re still in a mess, aren’t you?” he said.
M.L. Terese, Fear Not the Starry Sky: A Kathleen Lang Novel
detective, mystery, p-hone