have taken him on as a client?
The wine and the fatigue from the long day were kicking in. Claudia yawned as she scribbled more notes, then moved on to folders number seven and eight. Seven was a rather boring sample; nothing stood out. Ron Gibson, twenty-nine, an advertising executive. The writing meandered along without a lot of energy. Claudia thought he was a little depressed, but he would be okay once Grusha hooked him up with the woman of his dreams.
Number eight was an elfin woman with massively large, artistic handwriting. Her bio notes described her as Penelope Mendes, a twenty-seven-year-old writer from L.A. The handwriting was block printed but the letters touched, which suggested that while she wanted to be independent, Penelope really needed closeness.
The last folder in the pile belonged to John Shaw, award-winning professional photographer and world traveler. At thirty-nine, he was a little older than the other clients she had viewed. He had a clean-cut, wholesome look, with springy ginger hair and blue eyes—unusual for a redhead, she thought. When she came to his handwriting sample, the news was not so good.
The writing style was a conventional school type, except for a serious problem with the upper loops. Some of the l’s were twisted, while others were shaped like a candle flame with bulging sides and soft angles at the apex.
While twisted lower loops like the ones in Heather Lloyd’s handwriting pointed to sexual issues, in the upper loops the twists could indicate serious medical or psychological problems. Claudia couldn’t diagnose a specific illness without a medical license, but she knew that physiological problems could sometimes be seen in handwriting.
If a physical illness was not the source of the flame-shaped loops, then John Shaw had an idiosyncratic view of life; he was not on the same wavelength as the rest of the world. The baselines also pointed down, a sign of depression, illness, or fatigue.
Claudia stacked the folders on the desk and went into the bathroom. She began her evening rituals to prepare for bed, thinking about what she had learned. So far, several of the male population of Grusha’s matchmaking club had monumentally failed to impress her. She had observed enough red flags in the handwritings of three of the male clients to believe that any of them could have engaged in behavior that might come back to haunt the matchmaker. And Heather Lloyd was a self-involved egotist, so she could be a problem, too. She guessed that the other clients had been thrown in as ringers, to test her.
She got into bed and was switching off the light when her cell phone rang.
Chapter 5
“Claudia? Hey, how ya doing? It’s Susan Rowan—sorry to call so late, but I figured you’d be up. I know you—you’re always working.”
The Long Island accent on the other end of the line was one that was hard to mistake. Susan Rowan was a colleague who lived in Manhattan. Claudia didn’t know Susan well enough to view her as a close friend, but they had crossed paths several times over the years and shared meals at a couple of handwriting analysis conventions.
“Susan. Good to hear from you.”
“I just heard you were in the city, so I was hoping we could get together while you’re here.”
“Where in the world did you hear that?”
“Oh, you know. A little bird told me.”
“What little bird might that be?”
“I’ll tell you about that later. How long are you gonna be here? Do you have time to meet?”
“Of course, Suze, I’d love to see you. What’s your schedule like?”
“How about breakfast tomorrow? There’s a good bagel shop up a block from your hotel. Go out the front door, turn left and start walking. You can’t miss it.”
Claudia pressed the end button and crawled back under the covers, wondering where Susan had obtained the information on her whereabouts. Besides Jovanic, she hadn’t told anyone except her close friend, Kelly Brennan, that she was going to be
The wine and the fatigue from the long day were kicking in. Claudia yawned as she scribbled more notes, then moved on to folders number seven and eight. Seven was a rather boring sample; nothing stood out. Ron Gibson, twenty-nine, an advertising executive. The writing meandered along without a lot of energy. Claudia thought he was a little depressed, but he would be okay once Grusha hooked him up with the woman of his dreams.
Number eight was an elfin woman with massively large, artistic handwriting. Her bio notes described her as Penelope Mendes, a twenty-seven-year-old writer from L.A. The handwriting was block printed but the letters touched, which suggested that while she wanted to be independent, Penelope really needed closeness.
The last folder in the pile belonged to John Shaw, award-winning professional photographer and world traveler. At thirty-nine, he was a little older than the other clients she had viewed. He had a clean-cut, wholesome look, with springy ginger hair and blue eyes—unusual for a redhead, she thought. When she came to his handwriting sample, the news was not so good.
The writing style was a conventional school type, except for a serious problem with the upper loops. Some of the l’s were twisted, while others were shaped like a candle flame with bulging sides and soft angles at the apex.
While twisted lower loops like the ones in Heather Lloyd’s handwriting pointed to sexual issues, in the upper loops the twists could indicate serious medical or psychological problems. Claudia couldn’t diagnose a specific illness without a medical license, but she knew that physiological problems could sometimes be seen in handwriting.
If a physical illness was not the source of the flame-shaped loops, then John Shaw had an idiosyncratic view of life; he was not on the same wavelength as the rest of the world. The baselines also pointed down, a sign of depression, illness, or fatigue.
Claudia stacked the folders on the desk and went into the bathroom. She began her evening rituals to prepare for bed, thinking about what she had learned. So far, several of the male population of Grusha’s matchmaking club had monumentally failed to impress her. She had observed enough red flags in the handwritings of three of the male clients to believe that any of them could have engaged in behavior that might come back to haunt the matchmaker. And Heather Lloyd was a self-involved egotist, so she could be a problem, too. She guessed that the other clients had been thrown in as ringers, to test her.
She got into bed and was switching off the light when her cell phone rang.
Chapter 5
“Claudia? Hey, how ya doing? It’s Susan Rowan—sorry to call so late, but I figured you’d be up. I know you—you’re always working.”
The Long Island accent on the other end of the line was one that was hard to mistake. Susan Rowan was a colleague who lived in Manhattan. Claudia didn’t know Susan well enough to view her as a close friend, but they had crossed paths several times over the years and shared meals at a couple of handwriting analysis conventions.
“Susan. Good to hear from you.”
“I just heard you were in the city, so I was hoping we could get together while you’re here.”
“Where in the world did you hear that?”
“Oh, you know. A little bird told me.”
“What little bird might that be?”
“I’ll tell you about that later. How long are you gonna be here? Do you have time to meet?”
“Of course, Suze, I’d love to see you. What’s your schedule like?”
“How about breakfast tomorrow? There’s a good bagel shop up a block from your hotel. Go out the front door, turn left and start walking. You can’t miss it.”
Claudia pressed the end button and crawled back under the covers, wondering where Susan had obtained the information on her whereabouts. Besides Jovanic, she hadn’t told anyone except her close friend, Kelly Brennan, that she was going to be
Similar Books
