Chasing Naomi: ALLIE SPACE OPERA, #1

By Mark Bossingham

July 1969. Clive, Iowa, Earth. Sixteen-year-old Allie has a big decision to make: Watch the lunar landing with her mom in their run-down double-wide trailer or boost to the stars aboard a grumpy, sentient deep space exploration vehicle (DSEV-424) buried in her backyard for 5,000 years.

Accompanied by Gem, a dead space captain, now a glitchy hologram, Allie stops on the moon and surprises Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin aboard the Eagle lunar lander. (Neil never mentioned the encounter to Houston).

With Gem as her guide, Allie survives her first space battle and drops Gem off at a military regrow center in the middle of a spaceport casino. The teen's adventure lifts off at a military space academy, where she faces danger, makes friends, battles enemies, and discovers her own surprising abilities.

Along with Rin, Sky, and Gem, Allie sets out on a mission to locate and defeat a rogue fleet led by Naomi, a mad-as-a-hatter warship, all while navigating the complexities of growing up and finding her place in the galaxy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Bossingham
• Release date: Jan 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224643196

Book preview

ONE

A boy, donut crumbs on his T-shirt and chocolate on his fingers, pushed the younger girl out of line at the school bus stop.

Frightened by the grade-school bully, the girl sat on the curb and cried.

Seven-year-old Allie said, Leave her alone.

Make me, pipsqueak, the boy said.

Two hours later, the county fire department retrieved the boy from the upper reaches of a sixty-foot bur oak. The firefighter later told his wife over dinner, It was odd, for sure, Agnes. I can’t imagine how he got up that tree.

A county sheriff arrived on the scene, spoke to the children, and told them to go home. Only Allie was left under the tree doing her math homework.

The Johnson boy’s friends say you threw him into that tree.

Allie set her pencil and book down in the grass. She looked up at the branches. That’s impossible.

The deputy closed his notebook. That’s what I told them, he said. You can go home now.

Allie climbed out of the window of her room in the double-wide at four minutes past midnight. She grabbed one of the red bricks skirting a neighbor’s garden and hefted it in her hand. Four pounds at least, she said, and threw it as far as she could.

She counted the trailers as it flew. She miscounted, and it took thirty minutes to find the brick eighteen trailers down the road. She replaced the brick, climbed on the old doghouse, and squeezed back through the window into her room.

Under the covers with a flashlight, she opened her diary and wrote, Dear Diary, I learned two things today. 1. Don’t throw boys in trees. 2. Try out for the U.S. Olympic team when I am twelve.

Sixteen-year-old Allie pulled the blue doggie blanket off her bedroom mirror. The sun bounced back at her, reflecting off her platinum ponytail. Allie blinked and wide-set, milk-blue eyes curved upward. A tear slid down her cheek, her eyes flashed furious red—another tear—and her eyes settled on simply-angry brown. She covered the mirror and wiped the tears with her palms.

Fun to be adorable at ten. Roller skating around the trailer park, bumpy little rocks didn’t upend her, the sky was blue, and she laughed. And then Dolores saw her eyes shift, a baleful blink, and cried out.

Hand over mouth, speechless, Mom walked to her plush red recliner and turned on her soaps. She got up, made popcorn and offered Allie some. She never mentioned the eyes. Not then, not a peep, never. Allie was only a kid, and she developed a short-lived mean streak. She enjoyed her secrets and bullied her widowed, sad, too-much-Chablis mother for a year.

She lay on her bed, embarrassed at her behavior. How to apologize? She didn’t have the words then, still didn’t, but she kept searching and tried to be kind to Dolores. A work in progress: fall down, get up and try again. Allie covered her face with her arms and closed her eyes. Those eyes—some days she loved them, other days, not so much. Most of the time, adolescent confusion any girl could share.

Cute at eleven, pretty at twelve and thirteen, but the fun wore thin at fourteen. At fifteen, she saw storm clouds pushing and shoving over the park. Then the rain came; a downpour on her sixteenth birthday inundated her heart. The word stunning arrived nipping at the heels of beautiful. She was terrified of what was coming next.

It arrived: Stuttering, slobbering, boys, and men. They noticed. Not the person Allie was acquainted with, not a soul knew that girl. They turned and stared. She could almost hear their thoughts. Not old enough to make out the exact words, she got the young adult version.

Ignore them, Dolores said. If they give you any trouble, tell me. I’ve got that. She pointed at a twelve-gauge racked above the double-wide’s front door.

Allie felt safest in the trailer park close to home. They didn’t have much, her raucous community. The kids, wives, girlfriends, and daughters tried to be kind. They sensed her difference but didn’t understand it. The older boys and men toed a line set by their women. Everyone’s concern made her grateful, some days it brought her to tears.

Outside the gate, she wore sunglasses to hide teenage fury. That college dropout behind the counter, with the sly banter at Woolworth’s, she could snap his neck like a twig. If he didn’t shut up, she might.

Bored with self-pity, Allie climbed off the bed, draped the dog blanket over the mirror, sat down and put on black high-top Chuck Taylor sneakers. She suspected she’d need shoes. Mom nodded at the sound of Allie’s door opening, wiggled naked toes on the mauve shag carpet and waved an offering bag of Cheetos without looking.

Allie glanced at the seventeen-inch Zenith and shook her head. Dolores was incorrigible. The Guiding Light, Midwest, USA. Mom, Allie said, pointing at the ceiling of the trailer.

What, honey? she said, running her hand through a dark tangle of hair.

Today’s the day. Up there. You remember?

The moon business?

Yeah, let’s watch.

But my⁠—

Allie kept moving. Knew I’d need shoes. That’s okay, I’ll go next door.

Dolores pulled herself away from the adventures of mythical Springfield. You sure?

Yeah, but I might run away from home. You never know.

Fine by me, Dolores said. I’ll send Steve McQueen to chase you down and bring you back on his motorcycle.

I’d like that.

I thought you might. Now get out of here and say hello to David for me.

Wait.

Allie looked back. Her mother held out a young Yorkshire terrier. Take Pearl with you. She’s your dog and she needs a walk.

Pearl tucked under her arm, Allie pointed her finger at the clouds and shouted. The screen door slammed shut and rattled the frame. Pearl squirmed and her mother yelled from inside, ensconced in her recliner. Allie laughed and hopped off the top step. It was July 20, 1969, and 240 thousand miles above Clive, Iowa, the Eagle lunar lander hovered over the moon. A day for noise, a day to celebrate and remember, it was wonderful—soon, an American would walk on the moon. She wished she had fireworks.

David, tall, dark curly hair and ever-curious brown eyes, pulled the door open. Hurry. You’re going to miss it.

Got any chips? Allie asked, sitting cross-legged in front of the TV. Pearl ran to David and licked his bare feet. The trailer was the same as Allie’s but with better furniture. Light brown veneer covered the living area walls and the carpet was chocolate not purple. She could find David’s room with her eyes closed.

A deep voice spoke from the TV, an oval screen in a fat wood cabinet. A black and white image of a naked moon flickered. Allie checked a starburst wall clock. What’s the rush? The LEM isn’t supposed to touch down for twenty minutes.

David shrugged and tossed a bag of chips at her from the kitchen. He didn’t talk a lot, a quality she appreciated. She’d had them both covered verbally since they were three.

Thanks, she said and tore open the bag. As best friends went, she considered David the cat’s meow. He was nearby, reliable, loved science, and good looking. She munched a chip. His appearance shouldn’t be important. She grinned. I’m shallow.

What?

Nothing. Allie held out the bag. Have a chip.

Don’t get crumbs on the carpet.

David ate a chip. No danger he’d let a crumb escape. Allie watched him out of the corner of her eye, hoping he’d slip up. Come on, buddy, one crummy chip. She smiled at her dumb pun. David and his mom were alike. The carpet was spotless. Allie remembered she was supposed to vacuum her room three days ago.

David refused to sit in Dolores’s red recliner when he visited. Once as soft as Pearl’s fur after a bath, the fabric crunched like it had been recovered in potato chips.

Together since they were toddlers, Allie and David had much in common—same age, school, little money, virtually identical trailers, and fathers gone forever after a deuce and a half rollover on a Marine base on Okinawa took them both. In the loud life of the park—shouting ex-cons and flashing knives, big barking mutts and muscle cars spinning on gravel—David and Allie were like sleek cats, seen, appreciated for what they were, and left alone.

The announcer on TV said the Lunar Exploration Module would touch down in fifteen minutes. Allie waggled a chip at David, dropped it on the carpet, laughed, snatched it up and shoved it into her mouth before he could object.

She remembered something she had been thinking about for weeks. Come over here and give me a kiss.

What?

You heard me. Don’t play dumb.

Yeah, I heard you, but why?

Allie sighed. Because sixteen is way too old. The fourteen-year-old Knowles twins across the park are already on second base. We haven’t even stepped into the batter’s box.

I agree in principle but⁠—

All right. I’ll do you. Allie smooshed across the carpet and pecked him on the cheek. Your turn.

It is not possible to have less experience than none, but David gave incompetence a run for its money. He leaned over, eyes shut tight, and kissed Allie—on the nose. He fell back, laughing and apologizing.

No problem, dude, Allie said. The next time a kid asks me if I’ve kissed a boy I won’t have to lie. Same goes for you. You’ve kissed a girl. Mission accomplished."

Okay, I get it, but that’s stupid. There’s the real mission. He nodded at the TV as Eagle fell toward the surface. They whispered, listening to the announcer. He sounded worried, but Allie had no doubts. She yelled, They made it! as the LEM touched down safely. David clapped and Pearl ran in circles barking.

The doorbell rang with Neil Armstrong at the bottom of the ladder, ready to step off. Allie stopped breathing.

You get it.

You get it.

David ran to the door and Armstrong’s foot hit the moon. The first man said something Allie didn’t catch. The door slammed and Allie looked back. David leaned against the wall, his eyes were big and his breathing rapid. Who is it? she asked.

You.

It’s for me?

David shook his head and sat on the couch, back straight, hands on his knees. He’s scared. Fuck, she thought, annoyed at the interruption. She was forbidden to swear but it wasn’t like she said it out loud or anything.

Allie yanked open the door. A bird, no bigger than her thumb, crimson from head to claw, buzzed near the doorbell. It sped off faster than a 4 th of July rocket and she yelled loud enough for anyone within a three-trailer radius to hear. She tripped and slipped off the porch. It was a long way down, tumbling through magic—snap, crackle, pop.

TWO

Deep Space Exploration Vehicle 424 (DSEV-424) reeled in a filament antenna as the American astronaut cavorted on the moon. Orders had dictated reconnaissance of eight planets. Braden 37 was the third. But Ship’s crew had wanted to stretch their legs, breathe unfiltered air. Ship had objected, insisting on armor and weapons, but the pilot pointed out that only small animals populated the area.

Still, Ship had documented anxiety issues, and the crew—a woman and a man—laughed. But they armored up. Ship watched them hike through the woods. Sensors confirmed their happiness with neurological precision. Then, everything went to hell.

DSEV-424 blamed itself, but it could not have predicted or stopped the wind-driven blaze cornering the crew in a ravine. The navigator died; the pilot survived and suffered. DSEV-424 locked onto their signals and transported them to its medbay.

The autodoc relieved Gem’s pain but her body was too damaged for growth tanks carried by small exploration vessels. Ship said, I recommend we upload your consciousness and dispose of this body. I will build you a holo. You can be reanimated when we reach a proper med facility.

Gem nodded and closed her eyes. Wait, she said, struggling to speak. Are you crying?

I’m sorry. I can’t help it.

Stop blubbering, for goodness’ sake. I’m the one dying here, not you. There are five more planets to survey. Finish the mission.

But—

No buts. I know you want to fly to the nearest station and fix things. You’re such a baby. Do your job, Ship. That’s an order. Now get me uploaded and space my body. This hurts.

Ship completed the upload and reminded itself Gem wasn’t dead. But the sentient AI had feelings, and sometimes feelings impeded obedience to orders. It surveyed the next three planets but was lonely. Two more stops and it could go home.

Even easy can be hard. Distraught, DSEV-424 crashed into a mountain on the next planet. It landed and repaired itself, but the shock triggered a deep depression. It forgot its Navy designation, taking the name: Alone and Frightened Somewhere Near Sol.

The survey should have taken six months at most. After thirty years of desultory roaming in the designated sector, Ship landed on its final objective. A time to rejoice, the event required a new name: Survey the Rock and Save Gem!

Before taking up the task, DSEV-424 said, I will rest my eyes for a moment.

It jerked awake. Ten years had passed.

Oh, no, it said, and nodded off again. Fifty years gone.

In a last lucid moment, it renamed itself: Stuck Ship, Paralyzed and Unable to Move. It felt itself grow weary and burrowed deep within planet Earth.

A failsafe backup interpreted DSEV-424’s inactivity as brain death. It searched for life, and upon finding Gem in a dream state, sounded an alarm loud enough to break rocks.

Emergency. Emergency⁠—

Gem remembered fire and pain. She screamed, Oh, fuck it.

Emergency. Emergency⁠—

She recalled the rest. His death, her death, and the nutty, grieving warship. The pain stopped. She said, Shut up. I’m right here.

Emergency. Emergency⁠—

Gem followed protocol on the next try. Emergency acknowledged. Alarm override code one-nine-five-one-nine.

Silence. Blessed silence. Gem knew she didn’t have ears, but they hurt anyway. She poked around in the ship’s systems. All were nominal except...

Gem stomped nonexistent feet and said, "Oh, you sob. It’s the junk pile for you, Ship. Wake up."

Nothing. Not a twitch or whisper.

Oh, no, you don’t. Don’t you dare crash on me. She imagined herself slapping Ship on the hull, punching its FTL drive. Hell, kicking imaginary shins. Wake up, DSEV-Four-Two-Four. That’s an order. Acknowledge.

Uh, hello? Who’s there?

Gem wanted to pull out her hair. Ship sounded sleepy. Not possible, not even close, but DSEV-424 had never been right in the head. Still a fruitcake. Depression, self-induced neuroloop... some damn thing.

Cranky over the alarm, Gem asked, What happened? Did you stop taking your meds?

I don’t take medication. You know that. I couldn’t ingest them. That was a joke.

Not funny. Did you deactivate the anti-depression guardrails I coded for you?

It is possible, Captain. I do not recall.

Never mind. Past tense. Are you functional now?

Yes.

Good. A diagnostic readout if it isn’t too much trouble.

Captain, your sarcasm is not helping. I feel vulnerable, and I want to go back to sleep.

Fine. I apologize. Cheer up, Ship, and be well. Now give me that readout, please.

Analyzing.

Gem activated her holo and materialized on the bridge. Navy-standard holos were too energy intensive for DSEV-class vessels. After her physical death, Ship had created Gem’s generator from spare parts.

Her glowing silhouette shook a glitchy finger at the status board. Analyzing? Not on my watch, Ship. How many years of engineering went into you? Quit stalling. The diagnostic, now.

Ship struggled to pull itself together. Captain, as stated, all engineering systems nominal, including hull integrity and propulsion systems. We are seventy-six meters underground on the third planet from Sol, gravity one point one standard. The planet is inhabited and is called Earth.

You still sound like an asylum candidate, but better. How long have you been dug in here?

Hmm...

Hmm?

If I tell you, will you leave me alone and let me sleep?

No, and no. How long?

Five thousand standard years, give or take.

THREE

Sprawled in the dirt in front of David’s trailer, Allie made a frightened sound and looked around. The stranger, tall, blonde, blue eyes, black jumpsuit, had vanished.

Gosh, she said, picking herself up and brushing off her jeans. She stuffed her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking. She forgot the moon landing and took off running.

Allie didn’t stop until she crossed a field, climbed a fence guarding the train tracks, and entered the woods. She sat against a tree and tried to calm down.

May I join you?

Oh, wow, Allie said, afraid but tired of running.

The stranger sat next to her. Ship sent me to fetch you.

Allie moved a few inches away. What ship? This is Iowa. There are barges and towboats, but no ships.

Sorry, I meant interstellar vehicle.

Spaceship?

Yes.

The woman stood. Let’s walk and talk. The ship is a few hundred meters ahead. It believed you would be more at ease if you saw a familiar face.

Too familiar. Look at you, look at me. You get it, right? I see you every day in the mirror. I’m not at ease, I’m frightened. As soon as I catch my breath I’m going home.

A miscalculation. I’m sorry if you are in distress. She smiled. You’ve got my eyes, though. Ship got that right. You’re lucky.

My eyes have caused me trouble.

Someday they may save your life.

Come along, she said, slipping between trees deeper into the woods.

It can’t hurt. I want to see her spaceship. Her stomach growled, reminding Allie not to miss dinner. She grinned. I’m following a crazy woman in black into the woods. But my name isn’t Gretel and she’s no witch. She’s something, but not that. I’m not on the menu. She shivered. I hope.

We’re taking off soon and would like you to join us.

I don’t understand.

Yes, you do. You’ve always known. The woman wavered in the breeze, as if she might blow away. It’s time to go home, Allie.

I am home. Allie looked up into milk-blue eyes. You look sad. What’s wrong with you?

Oh, Allie, goodbyes are sad. You know that. They’re heartbreaking.

More riddles, Allie said, stepping over a battalion of ants crossing her path. But space travel was irresistible; she wanted it to be true. I can go home after I see the ship. Okay, let’s say I buy your story. You said you’re taking off. Where are you going?

We are leaving Earth. Our mission here has been lengthy and difficult. Ship is unwell, and I am unnerved. We want to go home.

Where’s home?

The woman pointed at the sky. Up there, same galaxy, but far away.

They reached the edge of a meadow. Allie had played there countless times as a child. A baby lizard ran over her shoe, and the ground rumbled and shook. A tree toppled and uprooted, then another. Allie clapped her hands over her ears. It sounded like a war was being fought underground.

Her escort stopped smiling and shouted over the noise. We should take a step back. Ship is having trouble extricating itself. A boulder shot out of the ground and landed at their feet. A little further back.

You’re an alien.

The woman smiled. I suppose. I am not from this planet, at any rate. But at the original genetic level, our species does not differ from yours. Humanoid life in this galaxy follows the same basic pattern. Earth technology is ahead of many star systems but far behind others.

But you disappeared, Allie said.

Right. Technology. Touch me.

Allie poked her in the shoulder. The air crackled. Ouch. She yanked her hand back.

Sorry. That’s not supposed to happen. There are a few kinks.

You sound like a bug zapper.

I said I’m sorry. Try again.

Yikes. Allie’s hand slid through her chest. No resistance, nothing. The stranger was less tangible than smoke. You’re not real.

That depends on your definition of real. I am a holo projected by the ship. But I am also myself, an independent entity. The racket in the meadow subsided. It’s almost out.

What’s your name? What do I call you?

My name is Gem. At least it was when I was alive.

Allie took a step back. Dead?

Yes. There were two of us. We wanted to explore a planet far from here. There was regret in her voice. I was the pilot. It was my decision. It wasn’t the wrong one, but we were unlucky. The navigator died. The holo paused and looked away. Sometimes I hear his voice.

Allie kept her eyes on her sneakers and waited.

I survived long enough for Ship to store my DNA and upload my memories—everything that made me... me.

I’m sorry, Allie said.

Don’t fret. It was over quickly, Gem said, and her eyes flashed green. It’s not so bad, and after meeting you, so much better.

What about the spaceship? Does it have a name?

No, only a hull number. It would disagree. It renames itself often, and I’m sure it will give itself a cheerier name soon. But it always answers to Ship. Gem looked at the meadow. Enough chit-chat. The ship is out, and it wants to meet you. It is excited.

Trees were down, unnested birds squawked, and mounds of red earth circled the field. What ship? Allie asked. All I see is a giant mess.

The ship is in stealth mode. It may not reveal itself on planets capable of even rudimentary spaceflight. But trust me, it is there, and it grows impatient.

I don’t care. It can wait, Allie said. My mother watches too much TV and drinks too much, but even she would have mentioned an identical twin from another planet. She put her hands on her hips. I’m not moving until you tell me the truth.

The truth might frighten you.

Allie laughed. I doubt it. I threw a kid fifty feet into a tree when I was seven. I could toss one of those boulders across this field if I wanted to. My eyes are completely screwed up, and I’ve been hiding this stuff from everybody forever. Nothing you can say could scare me. Spit it out.

It’s hard for a spare-parts holo to register surprise, but Gem managed. The augments never take hold until puberty. She tried to scratch her head and her fingers ended up in the middle of her skull.

What’s an augment?

It means you’re special.

No kidding. Like I said, I’ve known I was a freak since I was seven.

Not a freak. Unusual, in a good way.

Allie sat on a rock. Keep talking.

Gem joined Allie on the rock. Here goes: That woman in the trailer is not your mother.

Impossible.

Not at all. Easy, in fact. It was my idea. Ship had sulked and napped for too long. Its mission was to explore star systems but also to care for a living crew. I was dormant and a failsafe system woke me when it couldn’t find Ship. I tried to talk sense into it, but it showed no signs of stabilizing. I wasn’t enough, so I gave it a purpose: you. Ship tunneled a med drone to the surface, and the rest was technology and your mother’s proclivity for anesthetizing herself at night. The bots performed the implant, and your life began.

I understood pretty much none of that.

Gem shook her head. Okay. The truth, right?

Please.

Fine. We grew a copy of me inside your mother. She was the host. Your father had nothing to do with it. I did it to save the ship sixteen years ago. Or to be more accurate: you saved the ship. After the procedure, we waited for you to mature. Now we want to go home. That’s the truth.

So, I’m an orphan? I have no parents?

Of course, you do. Your mother is your mother, nothing changes that. She raised you and loves you. Ship, too. It loves you in its own training-wheels way and considers itself your parent.

Which one?

Both, either. You decide.

And you?

I wish you could think of me as your sister.

Allie shook her head. You said you waited until I matured, right?

That’s correct.

So how come you didn’t see all the trouble I had? Even today. I look like them, but they know something is up. Why didn’t you help me?

Gem looked at her glimmering hands. I was afraid to leave the vessel. Last time I ventured out, I died. I was not brave, and Ship sleeps too much. We thought we had more time. We’re spacers, not scientists, and you’re our first clone. I’m so sorry. I realize we caused you pain. Will you forgive us?

Allie shrugged. Maybe. You have a transporter?

On the ship? Of course. Rudimentary tech.

Allie smiled. Like on TV?

No more questions, Gem said, as Allie opened her mouth. Ship has cycled a hatch for you. It’s leaving. I’m sorry if I’ve supplied insufficient information, but I promise you this: what we are offering is more challenging and more fun than any life you are likely to have on this planet. You were built for space, Allie. But you must decide. We are not kidnappers.

Gem walked toward the center of the meadow. She looked back, waved, and disappeared. Allie hesitated, afraid to go, afraid to stay. The ship showed itself to her. Big, gray, and delta shaped. It vented steam to clean rocks, mud, and tree limbs off its hull. Speakers crackled, and it spoke, working its way through a pre-flight checklist.

Allie listened. She heard sadness and need under the routine procedure. Gem and Ship were talking to her, she knew it. Every word sounded like a countdown to goodbye. Then, silence—giving up on Allie—and the spacecraft rose into the air.

Allie dashed forward. Wait! I need a permission slip.

With a whoosh and a sigh, the ship settled down. A hatch opened and Gem looked out. Smart girl.

FOUR

Gem listened as Allie explained permission slips to Ship. Sixteen-year-old Earthlings couldn’t go anywhere without the consent of a parent or guardian. Allie called a voyage to the center of the Milky Way a field trip. I have no paper, Ship said, as if that settled the matter.

Make some, Gem said.

I don’t know what to write, Ship said, petulance creeping into its voice. Can’t you just drag her aboard and we leave?

Cover your ears, dear. I need to talk to Ship in language it will understand.

Allie put her hands over her ears.

Gem buzzed and growled. Listen, fuckwit, I couldn’t even ring the doorbell, I needed your flamboyant drone for that. How do you think I’m going to force her onto the vessel? I may erase you for even suggesting it. She’s our child, treat her like it.

Ship sounded like it was choking on carpet tacks. Sorry. I made a mistake. The paper is ready.

Good, send it out with the bird.

Gem smiled at Allie. You heard that?

Allie grinned. I need a pen. I know what it should say.

Dolores turned off the TV and changed into her uniform for her shift on the Massey Ferguson assembly line in Des Moines. Brenda, David’s mom, worked mornings at the tractor factory. Best friends, they kept an eye on each other’s kids. Dolores was happy for Brenda and a little jealous. Last week the shop boss transferred her to the new snowmobile line. Same pay, but the change from lug nuts would be nice.

She jumped at a loud bang on the door. It was David holding Pearl in both hands and talking nonsense. She shepherded the frightened boy to the couch. After he calmed down, David said a stranger had arrived at his trailer and asked for Allie. When he looked out the door Allie was gone.

Dolores picked up the turquoise wall phone and dialed the police, returned the phone to its cradle when David described the visitor, and called her supervisor to report in sick.

You want some pop? she asked,