The Trouble With Murder by Catherine Nelson Read Free Book Online Page A

talking
about.”
    “Please. I saw the way you were
looking at him.”
    When had I become so transparent?
    “Still, it was none of your
business.”
    “He would have jumped at the chance
to press charges. Ever spent a night in jail?”
    Yes. I was not interested in a
repeat stay. But that was not the point.
    I rolled my eyes and turned away
from him. As I did, something caught my attention. Framed in one of the office
windows, Sandra York was watching Pezzani and me outside. Our eyes met briefly,
and a look very much like a sneer contorted her face. An instant later she
turned away, looking pleased with herself.
    A thought occurred to me then, but
it was so farfetched, so ridiculous, I dismissed it.
    “Let’s have those forms,” I said.
    “You just got fired.”
    “First, Paige doesn’t have the
authority to fire me. Second, our deal was complete, aside from a signature,
before he interrupted. I intend to sort this out, and I don’t want to lose a
bunch of residents in the meantime.”
    “You’re asking me to lie,” he said,
digging the documents out of his briefcase and handing them to me.
    “Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic.
I’m asking you to do the right thing.”
    I scribbled my name on the forms
where indicated then handed them back. “I expect a guard in that building at
six p.m. this evening.”
    “You’re bossy for being unemployed.”
    “You’re hysterical,” I said,
digging the helmet out of my bag. “A word of advice: you shouldn’t manhandle
people. It can be dangerous.” There was no sympathy or remorse in my voice.
    “You’re upset; I get it,” he said
lightly, waving a dismissive hand in my direction. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
    “Yeah, right.”
     
    _______________
     
    I sat at a table in the window of Dazbog Coffee on Harmony
Road, sipping a frozen mocha. Dazbog is my favorite coffee place, and having been
dragged out of my office before I’d finished my first cup, I could justify the
indulgence.
    I’d calmed down considerably, but I
was still plenty pissed. From the coffee shop, I’d called White. He hadn’t
answered any of his numbers, and I’d left messages at all of them. More than my
job status, my concern was White thinking I stole from him. I couldn’t imagine
White would believe I’d embezzled from him, but I wanted to confirm.
    I took a drink then raised the
phone. My mechanic should have gotten to the garage and seen my truck by now.
But he hadn’t called me. I dialed his number and waited. I was irritated when
the call dropped to voicemail again. Obviously I didn’t quite have my temper
under control just yet.
    Maybe it would be a good idea for
me to burn off some steam. My thoughts returned instantly to the extra weight
I’d criticized that morning. Briefly, I scowled at the perfectly blended coffee
drink on the table in front of me, involuntarily envisioning it sliding down my
throat and right to my backside. It seemed I could benefit from some physical
activity in more than one way.
    I left the coffee shop and scooted
over to 24 Hour Fitness. After the beefcake at the front desk gave me a
detailed tour of the facility, I was set up with a woman in her thirties, who I
guessed was blessed with natural slimness and was more concerned with her dyed
blonde hair, tanned skin, and designer clothes than with exercise. And she’d
definitely picked up on the Axe, which I could see didn’t help her opinion of
me. We didn’t talk much while she took my information.
    Then I spent thirty terrible
minutes sweating and panting on an elliptical machine. When I reached the point
of either puking or crying, I hobbled back out to the scooter and decided to
head home and finish packing. Tomorrow was moving day, and I still had quite a
bit to box up. Sitting astride the Cushman, I used the collar of my new 24 Hour
Fitness t-shirt to wipe away the sweat still running down my face and dialed
Margaret Fischer, the leasing agent I was working with for my