“You got dinner plans?”
“No, not really.”
“Good. Follow me. There’s a great Montana-Mex place about twenty miles down I95.”
“The exact place.”
Half an hour later Cortazar had a margarita the size of a small aquarium in front of her. She caught Phyl looking at the bowl-sized glass. “Don’t worry. This’ll take me all night.”
“Okay.” Phyl sipped from her beer bottle.
“You joined the force. How’d that happen?”
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