Murder in the Medina

Dan’s sandy curls flopped over his eyebrow as he rounded a doorway and turned to show her a chair in his overstuffed office. He was a big guy—well over the 6'3” he claimed to be when asked his height—with a barrel chest and arms that were visibly muscular. He used to be a rugger in college and must still be playing. If not, it was a waste. An affable man with a quick wit and a machine-gun mouth, he was also one of the brightest people Finley had ever met.

The two had met during the first week of law school and often sat side by side during their first year because of their last names, Blake and Burton. But after that, their paths diverged. She focused on international corporate law and he on First Amendment issues. Yet, somehow, they kept in touch, running into each other at friends’ houses or professional events over the past decade.

He was one of the first people she called when she had decided to leave the firm. He also had left law behind, as had she, but he had managed to recreate himself a couple times professionally before settling into journalism. She thought he might share his experience making those transitions.

Besides, he always seemed to know how to lay the issues out, evaluate options, and make a decision quickly. And she needed to do that quickly. She had some money tucked away that would last her a while, but the indecision and uncertainty that surrounded her change of career made her antsy. She was afraid that she would back out and rescind her resignation, going back to the familiar because it was familiar, and not because she liked what she was doing.