I didn't need a distraction to stop me from working - the computer's disappearance had taken care of that - but LaFlamme's entrance clinched it. She was a distraction and a half, with ‘danger high voltage' written all over her.
She leaned against the bookcase, casually running a painted fingernail along a shelf and ignoring the subsequent dust storm. "I figured I could help you crack this case," she suggested coolly, "or at least tell you where you're going wrong."
"Maybe you could tell me where my life went wrong," I replied, making a feeble attempt to hide the large collection of self-help books. Unfortunately this had the effect of drawing her attention to them and I quickly abandoned the ruse.
LaFlamme sauntered across the office and perched on my desk, spotting the note that she had left, with the signature ‘FF.' She added an extra ‘F' and then several more. She could have been going for a record, but instead she led me down the stairs and into the rainy street below.
"You need inspiration," she said at the entrance to Flanagan's Bar. "A sense of purpose. A sense of connection with the past." She ordered Jack Daniels and told Bert the barman to leave the bottle.
LaFlamme drew my attention to the label. "Look at the quality workmanship. It's grace, it's elegance."
I had to agree. It's hard to make so many typefaces look so good in one design. In fact, it was beautiful. I felt my spirits soar - I was having an epiphany.
"Feeling better?" she asked, with uncharacteristic sensitivity. "Good. Now it's medicine time."