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project, and rightly so. So while I was concerned about having to break this news to him, I was flattered that Michaela thought we were up to it.
    â€œHe’s taken the software in new directions and I think it’s time he had another field test. Which is why, when I knew you were off to Sue Suicide’s latest atrocity, I let you go.” She stopped chopping and chewed her lower lip. “In retrospect that was not wise. There wasn’t time to— I apologize for letting you walk in blind like that.”
    This time the three of us carefully did not look at each other. The news she’d shared was shocking enough. Now an apology? I had seen Michaela put one in the head of a “helpless” serial killer without a blink. The serial killer had also been her employee. We understood the execution a lot more than the apology.
    â€œGreer called and explained you’d hit a wall—and encountered Dr. Gallo. Him again; the man can’t stay away from trouble! He said you were coming to the office, which was a huge help.”
    â€œGreer called you? And said Gallo was there?” Was I shocked, appalled, thrilled, confused? Yes.
    â€œWe help each other now and again,” she said vaguely. “We work for different people, but we all share info. But. As I said, my apologies. Now go find Paul and let him know about this new case. And gently hint, gently hint, that things around here might change but he’ll likely still be working in the same building with the same people doing the same things.”
    â€œAnd then…?”
    She put her knife down and looked each of us full in the face. “You’re buying me time, time I need to pull something together. I can’t do what I’m doing unless you help me.”
    Will you help me? remained unspoken. But I knew we would all be on board. Emma Jan so as to potentially prevent another uprooting in her life and career. George because he was selfish and liked his life exactly as it was. Me for the same reasons as the other two.
    â€œI guess we need to get to it,” I said at last, and started for the door.
    â€œWait,” Michaela said.
    We turned, wondering what next—another apology? A thank-you? A death threat?
    â€œTake some of this damned zucchini with you. I can’t stand the wretched vegetable.”
    â€œThe perfect surreal finish to a very strange twenty minutes,” Emma Jan muttered, and I laughed again; I could not help it. Because she was right.

 
    chapter sixteen
    With a start, I realized I was at my desk; George was across from me at his desk, muttering and rummaging; and my phone, neatly centered in the middle of the desk blotter Shiro insisted on using (sometimes she thinks it’s 1970) was chiming.
    I glanced at the clock; I’d lost twenty minutes. The good news was, I was fully clothed and felt no new bruises. It could have been worse. Lots of times, it had been worse. And something else—Adrienne, my psychotic “sister,” my third self, hadn’t made an appearance in over two weeks. Maybe our doctors were right. Maybe I—we?—was/were getting better. Falling in love
    (not really)
    and Moving Day and my work at BOFFO, which wasn’t just interesting but also fulfilling—we were doing pretty good, despite our, uh, eccentricities, and really, we should congratulate ourselves for all we’d accomplished.
    With that happy thought in my head, I picked up my phone and pressed the app for Shiro’s notes. I had a pretty good idea what she was going to tell me, but that didn’t make me feel better. When we were kids she’d leave real notes on real paper with black pens, her beautiful spidery writing my first lesson that something could look nice and still be awful. She almost never left me good news. It wasn’t always her fault, but that didn’t make me like it much.
    Cadence,
    BOFFO has lost funding. Michaela is working on a plan. Only you,