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Page 248
Philip Rousseau. His presence on the other end of the phone was surely why Abby's sense of disquiet made her heart somersault in her chest.
Even from across the desk, Abby could hear the angry roar from the other end of the phone, followed by a loud noise. Lydia flinched, putting down the receiver. "It's bad enough the s.o.b. has to call and yell," Lydia complained, "but it's not fair that he has the fun of hanging up first."
Another abbreviationone Abby had yet to learn. But the meaning was not as important as another question. She managed a smile. "Does he call or come here often?"
"Too often, if you ask me." Lydia snorted. "Now he's threatening again to sue Mike for killing his sister. I think it's a good idea, myself. Bringing the thing to court would get the facts in the open, show that Mike didn't do anything wrong to cause the accident."
"Really?" Abby was thrilled. Maybe, once and for all, Mike could be cleansed of the guilt that plagued him about Dixie's death.
Lydia shrugged. "Well, that's my opinion. But who knows what the dratted lawyers would dig up? There'd be all sorts of dirt thrown all over the place, and no matter what, Mike might look bad." Reaching again for the phone, she announced Abby's arrival to Mike.
In less than a minute, he was in the reception area. There was a broad smile on his face, though furrows of apparent pain were etched on his brow. "Come in, Abby," he said, his deep voice tired. "Boy, do I have a headache."

 
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