Death, Taxes, and Hot Pink Leg Warmers by Diane Kelly Read Free Book Online Page B

name sounded like a venereal disease or a medication for yeast infections, but at least his hand looked clean. I gave it a firm shake.
    Merle stepped back and gestured to a rolling chair positioned in front of the smaller of two basic desks in the crowded room. “Have a seat.”
    As I slid into the chair and swiveled to face him, several things caught my eye. The first was a security camera mounted in the corner, spying down on the room. The second was that the top half of the interior wall was a one-way mirror looking out onto the bar. I would’ve preferred a view of real mountains rather than the not-so-grand Tetons bouncing up and down on the stage, but at least the window made the small room feel less confining. The third thing I noticed was a faded photograph of Merle and Bernice on his desk.
    Though Bernice hadn’t changed much over the years, I hardly recognized Merle at first. He still had hair when the picture was taken, as well as the glow of youth. His current glow came via a highball glass, which sat next to the framed photograph on his desk. I might’ve assumed the golden-brown liquid in the glass was soda or tea if not for the bottle of Crown Royal sitting next to it.
    Merle picked my resume up from his desk. “Pappy Henderson gave you a good recommendation.”
    Looked like Josh had pulled it off.
    “I’ll miss working for Pappy,” I said. “He was a great guy.”
    Merle asked whether I was familiar with the club’s bookkeeping software. Fortunately I was. Several clients at Martin and McGee had used it.
    Merle made a note on my resume. “We need someone for the six P.M. –to-midnight shift, Monday through Saturday. Those hours work for you?”
    “Sure.” The late schedule wouldn’t interfere with the trial in the mortgage-fraud case and would enable me to take care of other investigations during the daytime hours. Of course, it also meant I’d be pulling double shifts. I should talk to Lu about that. See if she’d give me a raise.
    “Why do you want to work here?” Merle’s brows lifted in anticipation of my response.
    Surely the guy realized it was nobody’s dream to be a bookkeeper at a titty bar. Why put on a façade? I shrugged. “Because I like to have food to eat, gas in my car, and a roof over my head.”
    The eyes crinkled now with humor. “You’re a straight shooter, Sara. I respect that.”
    He had no idea how straight a shooter I was. Best marksman in my group of trainees.
    “Could you start tomorrow?” he asked.
    “No problem.” The sooner the better.
    “Mr. Geils will want to take a look at you.” Merle picked up the phone and punched a button. “Got a minute?” he said into the receiver. “I’ve got a girl here for the bookkeeping job who seems to fit the bill.” He listened for a second, followed up with a “Yes, sir,” and returned the phone to the cradle.
    He jerked his head toward the door. “Come with me.”
    As we stepped across the hall, I noticed Merle walked with a slight limp in his right leg. Arthritis perhaps?
    Despite the fact that Geils was expecting us, Merle knocked on the door and waited for permission to enter. When Geils called “Come in,” Merle opened the door and held out a hand, indicating I should precede him into the room. Perhaps there was a gentleman in this gentlemen’s club after all.
    Geils’s space was twice as big as the cash office, with luxurious furnishings, including a broad desk, a cushy high-backed chair, and a leather couch. Like the cash office, the upper half of the interior wall was a one-way mirror, allowing Geils to keep an eye on the activity in his establishment. A large-screen TV was mounted on the opposite wall. The set was tuned to ESPN. Between the boobs, the booze, and the basketball, this place was pretty much guy heaven.
    Donald Geils stood from his chair, but didn’t bother extending a hand to me, as if I weren’t worth the effort. He wore a silky maroon shirt and a gold pinky ring in the shape of