Read Death Spiral for Free Online Page A

back her wayward lock of hair. “It’s after five o’clock.”
    “Meaning what?”
    Meaning nothing, Carole thought to herself. Meaning I should just shut up and go home. “Meaning it’s time to close the office and since you’re going to do whatever you’re going to do anyway, well, I suppose I could just show you where the shop is.”
    Wilf and Carole walked down Main Street together. Wilf glanced over at her from time to time ready to give her a smile of encouragement but Carole continued to stare grimly ahead. She was almost as tall as Wilf, his bad hip had dropped his height by almost an inch, and he could tell by her slight hesitations that she was having difficulty walking in time to his slow halting gait. He tried to speed up.
    As they neared the end of the business section Carole pointed across the street to a lighted shop window. Wilf thanked her very much, said he’d see her first thing the next morning and aimed himself through the five o’clock traffic toward the other side. A bell tinkled over his head as he pushed through the shop’s door. He could hear a rough voice coming from the back, rising in volume and then falling abruptly silent.
    A tall man in a long yellowish leather coat hurried toward him, maneuvering sideways along the narrow centre aisle to brush by the racks of clothes. He passed without a word or a look, yanked the door open and headed out into the dark.
    The door slammed shut, the bell tinkled merrily behind him.
    Wilf moved along the aisle, pushing through the first phalanx of women’s dresses. A wave of warm, faintly perfumed air greeted him. He tried not to entangle his cane, his bad leg, knock anything down. When he looked up he was surprised to see a young woman standing in the middle of the store. She was short and slight, her shiny black hair cut almost as close to her head as a boy’s. She didn’t seem the least upset over the tall man’s abrupt departure.
    “Can I help you?” she said.
    “Hello,” Wilf replied, “I’m Wilf McLauchlin.” He rested his cane against the front of his coat and held out his hand.
    The young woman smiled and walked up to him. She was at least a head shorter than he was. She put out a small hand. “I’m Adrienne. Hi.”
    Wilf took her hand. It was small and soft and surprisingly warm.
    “Can I help you with something?” she said.
    Wilf wondered which it was, either she hadn’t heard the news yet that her benefactor was dead and therefore she remained untroubled, or she’d known for days and still remained untroubled. He looked into her eyes. They were a wash of pale violet, endless as a trackless sky. He couldn’t tell.
    “What are you looking for?”
    “Oh. Just a present.”
    “That’s nice. And who’s the present for?”
    “My girlfriend.”
    “Well, that’s even nicer. Do you have anything in mind?”
    Wilf released her hand. “I was thinking maybe a sweater.”
    Adrienne smiled again and walked between two racks of clothes toward a shelf of sweaters. Wilf followed her.
    “Do you know your girlfriend’s size?”
    “I’m not sure. She’s tall. About five ten maybe. A bit skinny.”
    Adrienne turned to him. “Slim you mean.”
    “That’s it,” Wilf said. “Slim.”
    He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He wondered if it had to do with the thick press of women’s clothes secluding them in the otherwise empty store. Her frailty, her smallness. And it seemed to Wilf that she knew she was vulnerable in all that crush of clothes and that the thought of it amused her. A distinct message of availability wafted through the warm perfumed air, though it didn’t seem to be anything she was actually doing, just an innate part of her. Just palpably there. It struck Wilf as extraordinary.
    “We have some really lovely sweaters. Does your girlfriend wear cashmere?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    And it struck Wilf that if only he had the courage to reach out and touch her right then, touch her anywhere, she wouldn’t have