Bodily Harm by Robert Dugoni

as if suspended from a blue sky. A plane flew in circles, its propeller humming.
    As he made his way to the counter, Sloane wondered what it would be like to see his own son’s or daughter’s eyes light up when they walked through the door. An attractive brunette rang up a sale on an old-fashioned cash register, though Sloane also noticed a laptop computer below the counter. Apparently even Santa was now online.
    After the customer departed, the woman turned to Sloane. “Can I help you?”
    “I’m looking for the owner; I’m assuming that would be Dee?”
    The woman smiled. “You’d be correct.” She offered a hand. “Dee Stroud.”
    The name Dee had caused Sloane to envision a matronly aunt with an apron, not the woman in blue jeans with a figure an aerobics instructor would envy.
    “David Sloane,” he said.
    Her eyes narrowed. “The attorney? I saw you on TV.”
    Sloane cringed, but Stroud explained that she had recently seen Sloane providing legal commentary on a local news station. “What can I do for you, Mr. Sloane?”
    “I’d like to talk to you about Kyle Horgan.”
    Her eyes widened. “You know Kyle?” She sounded as skeptical as the building manager.
    “Is there a place we could sit and talk?”
    “Is Kyle okay?”
    Sloane did not want to alarm her. “He came to talk to me the other day. I was just hoping to ask you a few questions about him.”
    Stroud smiled. “I was just craving a mocha latte. Let me get my assistant to cover the front. Do you drink coffee?”
    STROUD COVERED HER ears as an odd-looking vehicle that carried tourists and could apparently travel on land and water drove past, the driver’s amplified voice blasting from a speaker.
    “I hate that thing,” she said. “It goes right past the store all summer.”
    Sloane and Stroud walked among a throng of tourists dressed in T-shirts and shorts, the maple trees and three-story brick buildings shading the Pioneer Square sidewalk from the bright summer sun. “How long have you owned your store?”
    “Sixteen years. I opened when my daughter was five. People thought I was nuts.”
    “Why?”
    “Because at the time most toy stores were closing, notopening. The chains were taking over, and they can buy in volume and sell at prices independents can’t touch. Most of my friends thought failure was inevitable.”
    “But you opened a store anyway.”
    Stroud flashed an impish grin. “I have a hard head.” She knocked on it twice and then fingered a gold chain around her neck as they walked. “The simple answer is I needed to make a living after my divorce, and toys are really all I’ve ever known. My father owned a toy store in Michigan, and I had always envisioned taking it over, but then I got married and my husband’s job moved us out here. Eventually Wal-Mart and Toys “R” Us drove my dad and just about everyone else out of business.”
    “Well, it looks like you’ve succeeded.”
    She stopped, this time to knock on a tree trunk. “Don’t jinx me. I’m surviving. Like all retail at the moment, the toy industry is in a slump. Kids don’t know how to play like they used to. They all want the video games and cell phones and iPods.”
    Stroud stepped into an establishment called Kahili Coffee. “My friend Kelly owns it,” she explained. “He’s got a second store in downtown Kirkland near where I live; I like to support him when I can. Coffee companies have their own struggles, especially in this city.”
    Sloane treated her to a mocha latte and ordered himself a cup of black tea. They agreed to share a blueberry scone and took a table along plate glass windows. The walls and floor were painted a burnt orange and tastefully covered with prints of coffee plants and leaves.
    “What is it about Kyle you wanted to talk about?”
    Remembering the building manager’s surprised reaction, Sloane asked, “That strikes you as odd, doesn’t it, that Kyle would come to see me?”
    “ Curious is a better word. Kyle