Though I wouldn't have believed it two weeks ago, peace of sorts prevails at Econ Scrutiny and with the lives of its employees. We five hirelings, as dissimilar as snowflakes, are tripping over one another in an effort to display mutual accommodation.

Betsy and I agreed to let mother nature move forward, leaving the Julie-Howie soap opera free to develop its own destiny. There was a sad acceptance Howie's future belonged in Howie's hands and not ours. We had no right to challenge his choices in spite of our lives being tied to his as tightly as a water-logged knot. By mutual agreement, announced to Howie by our silence, no discussion about Julie took place unless initiated by Howie himself.

Howie remained in rapture over Julie and his perception we'd accepted her as no one gave vocal evidence to the contrary. We've not even discussed the woman among ourselves, instead leaving time to dictate the direction the wind will carry this matter. Other problems, at least temporarily, have resolved themselves.

Ethel Reagan has become a staunch advocate of allowing the wondrous Psychic Tipster sufficient freedom to perform her good works amid mountains, or woods, or plains of Idaho where she resides. Yes, Ethel confesses to appointment as the tipster's public representative and seems to be accepted as sorts, in the eyes of her growing public of readers. Even the trash-can liner newspaper that caused us to be hunted down by reward-sniffing hounds has backed off, terminating their contest. They claimed to have done so in the spirit of good will and a desire to protect the privacy of the tipster. Our personal security remains constantly on high alert.

If the Federal Government is continuing to dog us, they are doing so clandestinely, as we've heard nothing of their activities. By mutual agreement with both Daniel Brennan and Merrill Cooms, our conversations are reduced to an occasional call, for security sake.

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We tackle our work; professionally and without rancor to one another in spite of a pall of indecision that oft times seeps in like a chill from a leaky window frame. A major success helped raise our spirits. Betsy picked up a case of a body dump in Illinois and, as it was a slow day, we tried to bracket the unknown time of the corpse's disposal. Howie nailed it on the first try, managed to catch a license plate number, and a killer was apprehended in hours. He was tied to four murders and a dozen rapes. Thankfully, there was no mention of a tip, psychic or otherwise; only a "routine traffic stop."

Another potential case prompted a lively discussion among our group. Usually we rely on Betsy's sole decision as a method of choosing a case but the wide spread interest in this kidnapping caused her to share it with all of us. The eight year old son of a popular rapper named Buzz-Cousin was abducted for a million dollar ransom. The crime was national headline news. While Martha and Betsy, buoyed by our recent success, were eager to tackle the case, Quinn, not surprisingly, and yours truly to a lesser extent, were hesitant.




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