" We’re supposed to be sharing our memories of Dave Jones. I never met him, so I’m not much help, but you did. What was he like?”
Jones glanced at Molly. “Well. He was . . . tall.”
“Tall,” Gina shot Molly a look, too. Except hers was loaded with Can you believe this idiot?
“Very tall,” Jones told her. “Taller than me.” He stood up. “I really must go.”
He handed Molly his mug, making sure their fingers touched, albeit too briefly, then thank-you-ed and good-evening-ed his way out of the tent.
Molly didn’t wait for his footsteps to fade away before turning to Gina. “Are you all right?”
“Are you all right?” Gina countered, sotto voce. “Brother, could this guy be any more clueless? You wanted to talk about Jones and . . . Best he can manage is he’s tall? And did he really think I was interested in whether the fourth seat or the fifth seat behind the bus driver had more of its original pudding?”
Molly covered her smile with her hand. That had been excessive. “Some people talk when they’re nervous,” she suggested. And some people talked when they wanted to make sure other people wouldn’t talk. "

― Suzanne Brockmann , Breaking Point (Troubleshooters, #9)