Miranda
On such a beautiful, warm spring afternoon, Miranda yearned to leave the confines of her apartment. A good time, she mused, for a mid-afternoon café time to read the new novel she had placed on hold at the library, what, two months ago? Out the door ten minutes later, she swung by the library to pick up her hold then walked up to the French Café. Before even opening the glass door, she spied the man whom she now referred to as “The Shadow.” She didn’t know his name; she didn’t want to know it, but, he needed to be named. He was in her life, after all. He was following her. She was determined to know what his story was and why he was pursuing her. Miranda had no deep secrets or disreputable past or a windfall treasure in a Swiss bank account, nor did she know anyone who did. Or did she?
