Chapter 97: What The Stalker Had To Say

Work kept me busy into the wee hours, a welcome distraction. I'd unplugged the phone, letting the message service take my calls after it rang incessantly starting about two seconds after I got back from the parade. But I really needed to do some damage control and, as I sighed over the maxed-out list that clogged my phone's inbox, not to mention the email flood that washed away any chance I had to sleep in the next several hours, I let myself become absorbed in running Petunia's again.

Speaking of my place's namesake, she curled up next to me on the couch in my living room downstairs, snoring as I settled my laptop on my legs, propped my feet on the coffee table, and sorted through all the pending messages burdening my chugging computer with their demands.