Shrewish

There was a brown, paper-wrapped package on Ron's desk. He stared at it a moment, wondering if he should be listening for ticking sounds. "Miranda?"

"Yes?" The young receptionist leaned into Ron's doorway.

"Where did this come from?"

"Detective Goren dropped it off. He seemed kind of extra twitchy about it. He wanted to put it on your desk personally."

Ron suddenly wished with deep feeling for a stethoscope to put to the package. He and Bobby had fought last night. Loudly. With thrown objects. Bobby had slept on the couch and left before Ron had woken up. "Was he being overly careful with it?"

"He walked in holding it out in front of him like it might blow or something," Miranda didn't notice Ron's grimace at her phrasing, "but then he just kind of threw it at your desk. I think it's a book. Sounded like when you slam your law books for stress relief."

Ron smiled a little. "Thanks, Miranda." He took a chance and reached for the package. Under the brown paper was, indeed, a book. It was a thick volume of Shakespeare. There was a piece of paper stuck in three-fourths of the way through. Ron opened to the page. A yellow post-it underlined a phrase:

Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

The post-it was in Bobby's handwriting. And so am I?

Ron smiled as he dialed the phone. He flipped to the table of contents as he listened to the rings. It was a good selection of plays. It'd fit nicely into his collection.

"Goren."

"And so are you."

There was the briefest of pauses, then: "I'm glad. I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah."