Easy Innocence

Chapter 33

AT FIRST Georgia didn't hear the knock at her door. She was working on the computer and the TV was on. When the tapping persisted, she thought about ignoring it. She was in the middle of searching articles on teenage prostitution. Then she realized whoever was there probably could hear the TV's babble from the hall and knew she was home. Easier just to get rid of them.

She opened the door to see her upstairs neighbor, Pete Dellinger, leaning on a pair of crutches.

Her eyes widened. "What happened to you?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Fractured my ankle playing basketball two days ago."

She opened the door wider. "Well, I guess you'd better come in and sit down." So much for getting rid of them.

He hobbled in. He'd cut off the right jeans leg, and the leg was encased in plaster from his toes to his knee. She examined the cast. "All that for an ankle?"

He shrugged, or as good a facsimile as he could while manipulating the crutches. When he reached the couch, he turned around and leaned the crutches against it. Plopping down on the cushions, he blew out a breath.

Georgia followed him over. "Does it hurt?"

"Not too much." He patted his shirt pocket. "Vicodin."

She nodded. "What can I get you?"

"You got a beer?"

"You're on Vicodin."

"One beer won't kill me."

She eyed him, then shook her head. "Sorry. I don't drink."

He frowned. "Then what were you doing at Mickey's the other night?"

"Making a mistake." She shot him a look, daring him to contradict her.

He looked back. Then his eyebrows smoothed out. "No problem. I'll take whatever you have."

She went into the kitchen, got out a couple of Snapples and poured them into glasses. Coming back into the living room, she handed one over. "Did you at least make the shot?" She pointed to his foot.

"Nope. Lost by two points."

"The final indignity." She settled on the other end of the couch. "What about your job? Can you work?"

"I'm a bureaucrat. I'm always able to push paper around."

She thought back to his comments about fish waste and how to dispose of them. "You do environmental stuff?"

He grinned. "Nope. But I used to go fly fishing with my father in the North Woods." He paused. "I work for the State of Illinois. In the Department of Agriculture's Bureau of Weights and Measures."

"Never heard of it."

"I'm the director."

"Oh." She crossed her legs uncertainly.

"Don't worry. No one else knows we exist either," he said. "And with any luck, we'll keep it that way."

"What do you do?"

"I travel around the state measuring and weighing products."

"Why?"

"To make sure you get what you pay for. For example, I make sure you're really getting a gallon of gas, a bushel of potatoes, or a pound of hamburger."

"How?"

"I weigh things. With my scales."

"You have a special set?"