Knock Me Off My Feet by Susan Donovan Read Free Book Online Page B

contract."
    "Later," she said, not looking up.

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    Chapter 3

    « ^ »
    August 27
     
    Dear Homey Helen:
    Have you ever noticed how some stains just never come out, no matter how hard you scrub? I think you owe your readers the truth. I think you should tell them that not everything can be made nice and tidy, that some things never come out right—in the wash or in life.
    Perhaps I'm just bitter.
    Fondly,
    Your most loyal fan.
    PS: I so enjoyed your tip on how to remove furniture indentations from deep pile carpet.
     
    "At home? This came to your home address?" Quinn's frown lines deepened as he went from Audie's face to Stanny-O's.
    "It was in my mailbox last night."
    "Why didn't you call me?"
    "I … uh, you were off duty."
    "You've got my card. You call me anytime, all right?" Quinn made sure she saw that he meant it.
    She nodded.
    "I don't get it." Stanny-O rose from his desk and held an open box of candy under Audie's nose. "The guy threatens to drop you in the Bass-O-Matic with the last letter, then gets all philosophical about it in this one. Care for a mint?"
    "Wow! Yes!" She grabbed a Frango Mint and tossed it in her mouth, feeling the chocolate melt on the back of her tongue.
    "Another?"
    "Sure! Thanks, Stanny-O." She smiled at him until she saw the surprise in his small blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Detective. I heard Quinn call you that."
    "Ah, no problem, Audie." He grinned at her. "One more?"
    She nodded happily and snapped another mint from the box. Stanny-O seemed quite pleased with himself.
    "Hey, Willy Wonka, any report from the state police lab yet?" Quinn asked.
    "Yeah. All of them are off a midline ink-jet printer, nothing fancy, nothing high-powered. Like from a home office kind of setup, one of the major brands. Nothing unusual that would make it traceable."
    Quinn nodded. "And where are we on fingerprints?"
    Stanny-O looked down at a page of handwritten notes. "Griffin Nash, Marjorie Stoddard, Audie here, we got Tim Burke's on file, along with Will Dalton, Kyle Singer, and Darren Billings, who apparently ran with a bad crowd as a juvenile. And we had Mr. Russell Ketchum come in. He didn't like getting his hands dirty, by the way."
    "Little late for that," Audie mumbled to herself.
    Quinn heard her and raised his eyebrows in amusement. "We had a nice long visit with Mr. Ketchum last evening," he said.
    "You going to arrest him?" Audie looked hopeful.
    "Nah," Stanny-O said. "Being an asshole lawyer isn't a chargeable offense last time I looked. Besides, we can't seem to come up with a reason he'd do this. I mean, what would Russell Ketchum have to gain if you got scared and quit the family business?"
    Audie looked at both the detectives. "Nothing. He'd actually lose quite a bit, personally and for the law firm. Homey Helen has always been one of their biggest cash cows."
    "Exactly," Stanny-O said. "So, we'll put him on the back burner."
    "Thanks for bringing this in," Quinn said, placing the latest note inside a manila envelope. He rose off his desktop and cupped her elbow. "I'll walk you to your car, OK?"
    "Sure—" Quinn was already hustling her across the room, his palm now flat against the small of her back. "Bye, Stanny-O."
    "See ya," he replied.
    Quinn spotted her Carrera 911 in the parking lot without much trouble, and they walked together toward the car. He put his hand on her upper arm as she opened the driver's side door.
    "What are your plans today?" Quinn asked.
    Audie shrugged a little. "Stuff at the office. I thought I'd go for a run this afternoon after lunch. Then I've got a book signing and talk at the Newberry Library tonight."
    "Where do you run?"
    She pursed her lips. " Lincoln Park . Why?"
    "Today you've got a partner."
    "Quinn, I don't think—"
    He very softly brushed his knuckles across her cheek, and the jolt of his touch made her eyes fly wide.
    "He knows where you live, Audie, and my commander doesn't want another Homey Helen getting hurt on our watch—bad for the city's image