Two deputies stepped out of the house as the snow cat's engine died and Jesse jumped out. "Where's the body?" He asked. "Have you made an ID yet?"The ...arger deputy answered. "It appears to be a break in gone wrong. Whoever the shooter was, he or she was surprised while in the process of breaking into the barn. You keep anything of value in there?" Nothing," Jesse answered. "Who was the victim?" Some unemployed punk named Harold Rasmussen." The big deputy seemed to dismiss Harold's death as of. As for the second objective, getting laid, partly I saw it as useful practice for the following weekend (an undress rehearsal, as it were), but mainly it just seemed like a good idea. Let me say at once that thanks to meticulous planning Operation Saturday was an unqualified success. The previous night I had restored Wendy to her rightful place in the main bedroom so Alicia had her room to herself while Florence, who had returned as instructed to her college during the day to attend to her. ’ The thing tilted her head. ‘What do you want, Calla? Do you want to belong to Her? Do you want to own your beauty and your power in a way this world will never let you? Or do you want to keep living, hand-to-mouth, hoping a man will look beyond your blemishes and take you.’ She snickered, her voice dripping derision. ‘Or that your father might sell you to some other father’s son in return for fresh eggs each morning, and knowing you will never know the wetness in your cunt that you feel. ”I looked out the window and saw it was dark. I pulled out my phone and looked down to see that it was just before midnight. I had been working on the story since just before noon. I shook my head and looked at Deb. She must have picked up my confusion.“Mick, how long have you been working on that story today?”“Since noon.”“Wow.” Her bright green eyes opened wide.“I just got into a stream of consciousness thing and went with it.”“Must be a hell of a story.”“I was happy with it.” I said.