Booktree.ng_Forgotten-Witness

He sniffed, raising one nostril and then the other. He opened
his mouth and stretched it wide and long until his jaw muscles
popped. Then he shook himself like a wet dog. He felt the
blood starting to flow. Finally, Eugene took his hand off the
phone, put his long fingers to his temples and pressed the soft
little indentation in his skull. He raised both arms, landed his
elbows on the desk and was just about to grasp his pounding
head in his upturned palms when he heard the knock, saw the
door fly open, and Ann’s compact and competent self walk in.
“Dammit. I told you to wait until I give you permission to
come in here.”
Ann stopped cold. Her eyes were the size of saucers, her
lips frozen around the first word she had intended to speak. In
all the years she had worked for Ambrose Patriota – and by
default Eugene Weller – she had never heard the man raise his
voice. When Eugene was unhappy he drawled, he snipped, he
degraded, he insulted, but he never, ever screamed. Thank
goodness he had never done it before since he sounded like a
nine-year-old girl when he did.
Eugene swallowed hard. He rotated his neck and raised a
hand, flipping his fingers to indicate she may enter. “Sorry.
I’m sorry. Come in.”
“Senator Patriota’s proposed schedule for pre-convention
activities.”
She approached cautiously and slid this on to his desk.
When he didn’t move, she put the next one under his nose.
“Mrs. Patriota would like you to arrange for a VIP tour of
the capitol including lunch in the Senate dining room. I’ve
listed her guests, their personal contributions, connections, and
available dates for the tour.”
Ann held her breath.
Nothing.
Her mouth went dry; her brain went into overdrive.
Maybe Eugene was dying.