Crime Time

Julie from Boston reentered the picture bright one Monday morning when she accompanied Howie into the office. While Howie stood shyly by the door, she boldly stepped forward and introduced herself.

"Hi nerds, I'm Julie O'Malley." No handshake for Julie; she gave each of us a robust hug.

Julie was a pretty girl, in her mid-twenties, I guessed. She was taller than Howie but rail thin and possessed an engaging smile, long blond hair and arresting blue eyes. Jeans, sneakers and a Harvard tee shirt made up her attire. She glided over to Howie's side and grasped his hand while he maintained a nervous smile.

"I'd like to think you were gawking at my boobs but I know better. To answer your question, no, I didn't go there; it's the final present from a gone-forever boyfriend." She looked at each of us in turn. "I keep asking Howie about you people but he blows me off. I decided to see for myself."

We introduced ourselves one by one, each adding a brief history. I gave my stock rundown of Econ Scrutiny, Inc. Julie responded like everyone else; with the usual dazed look of acute indifference.

"Sounds like scads of fun," she dead panned and immediately changed the subject as she gazed out the window. "I like it here. Boston is great but it's incredibly busy all the time. The Keene State College sounds cool too."

"Are you a full time student?" Betsy asked.

She looked to Howie before answering, as if looking for direction. "It's complicated," she finally said. "I take classes when I can afford it but I'm busy, with other stuff. I met Howie in a philosophy class, but I need a field where I can make enough money to keep the bill collectors at bay and put bread on the table." She added, "Maybe I'll win that million bucks and go back to school full time."

Martha laughed. "I used to play the lottery too. It's good for dreams and fantasizing."

"I can't afford to waste the buck. Maybe I'll bump into the Psychic Tipster and cash in. That's all my friends talk about."

I don't know how the others kept a straight face but I pulled out a handkerchief, pretending to blow my nose. I caught a glance at Quinn who looked like his dog died. Betsy, my love, managed to orchestrate a quick change the subject.

"Did you enjoy the philosophy class?" She probed.

Julie gave Howie's hand a tug. "He was the best part of the course."

"Julie did very well," Howie offered, speaking for the first time. His voice had the ring of a nervous third-grader giving his first speech. "She's very intelligent."