“Do you serve martinis?” Declan asked. “Maybe another time, thank you,” Maggie cut in, and nudged Declan toward the elevator. “It was a perfectly reasonable question,” he said as they rode up to the third floor. “For a committed alcoholic.” “Should I ever move into a facility like this, I’d insist on a well-stocked bar and convivial fellow inmates.” “I don’t think they’re called ‘inmates,’ Declan.”
