A Job to Kill For by Janice Kaplan Read Free Book Online

worse. On day four, Officer Erica McSweeney rang my doorbell at ten o’clock at night.
    “May I talk with you for a few minutes?” she asked with a friendly smile. “I’d like to update you on the Cassie Crawford situation. After hours, so off the record.”
    I hesitated briefly. Did I want to let in a cop? Upstairs, Jimmy was sleeping, Ashley sulking, and Grant studying. Dan had gone back to the hospital for an emergency, which in his plastic surgery practice could mean anything from a horrible accident to an actress with a zit.
    Jack Rosenfeld had warned me not to talk, but Officer McSweeney seemed more friend than foe. I opened the door and she sauntered in, looking even more striking than the first time we’d met. Her glossy brown hair swung freely at her shoulders, and her face glistened with shimmery eye shadow and shiny lip gloss. She still had on her standard-issue police uniform, but given that it was after hours, she’d opened the top button, revealing an antique gold locket on a chain.
    “Pretty necklace,” I said, leaning in to look.
    She fiddled with the clasp and snapped it open. “My mom,” she said, displaying the woman’s picture inside. “She died two years ago.”
    “I’m so sorry.”
    “It’s been hard,” she admitted, closing the locket. “I miss her.”
    I touched her elbow sympathetically. “I lost my own mom to breast cancer right after I got married. I know how you feel. You never get over it.”
    “Your dad?”
    “Never really had one.” It was too complicated to explain and didn’t even matter anymore. “But you know what? You go ahead and build your own family. That’s why my husband and kids are so important to me. I’d sacrifice anything for family and friends. Nothing matters more.”
    “For sure.” We looked at each other, an unexpected understanding passing between us. Then Officer McSweeney regained her official composure and stepped back toward the door. Something was up.
    “Actually, I have a colleague in the car who wants to talk to you,” she said. “Mind if he joins us?”
    Too late now. I nodded, annoyed at my own naïveté. Did I really think the lady cop had come by for an evening of pity-party girl talk?
    Stepping briefly outside, she beckoned in the direction of the black Chevy parked in the driveway. A fireplug of a man jumped out and hustled up the flagstone path, almost knocking over one of the bamboo-shaded lamps that subtly lit the way. He didn’t wear a uniform, but his outfit screeched cop—a nondescript navy suit, wrinkled blue shirt, and well-worn brown shoes. He came in, wiping his feet on the Persian rug in the foyer, apparently confusing a hand-tied antique Sarouk with a Kohl’s welcome mat.
    I pursed my lips and didn’t say anything. Annoyed or not, I’d be a proper hostess.
    I led them through the living room, past the library, and into the new room Dan and I had added on to the back of the house. I felt a tingle of pleasure all over again at the gracious room. The glass walls dissolved any distinction between indoors and outdoors, and a semicircular atrium swept up into the night sky. Jutting from one end was a greenhouse, twenty feet long by ten feet wide, a place for relaxing and enjoying nature.
    Or for talking to cops.
    “What an amazing spot,” said Officer McSweeney, looking around appreciatively. She squinted into the darkness, catching sight of the dimly lit greenhouse. “Will you show me your flowers later?”
    “There’s not much to see yet,” I said modestly. “This is the first time I’ve started with seeds indoors. Right now the pots are mostly varieties of roses and orchids. But I do have one beautiful pale yellow Oncidium .”
    “La-di-dah,” muttered the man, speaking for the first time. “Who do you think you are, Nero frigging Wolfe?”
    “Pardon me?”
    “Nero frigging Wolfe,” he repeated, a little louder. “Fictional detective. Grew orchids in the top floor of his townhouse. That who you’re