“Not last night,” he muttered. “Not the night before. Night before that. Okay, okay, I’d’ve been working. I write horror novels, and right now it starts rolling for me about ten at night.” “Drew Henry Havers?” Peabody asked. “That’s right.” “You’ve scared the bejesus out of me for years.” His plain, pale face lit up like a runway. “Best compliment ever. Thanks.”
