Waiting for Armando (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) by Judith K. Ivie Read Free Book Online

was regaining her composure. I also knew exactly who she meant.
    “Harold Karp!” we said in unison and laughed.
    Karp was the firm’s bean counter by vocation and an avid horticulturist by avocation, cultivating profits by day and an impressive assortment of flora by night, which he insisted upon potting and displaying on the desks of all but the most pollen-sensitive staff. I myself had been presented with a clump of Lily of the Valley in a porcelain pot just yesterday, along with detailed instructions on how to nurture it in the dry environment of the Metro Building. I wasn’t optimistic. My gardening skills were never all that terrific. Besides, I always seemed to prefer the weeds to the expensive perennials.
    “Well, that seems safe enough,” I agreed, remembering Karp’s thinning hair, round shoulders, and soft paunch as he patrolled the perimeter of BGB’s four floors each morning to make sure all of us peons were present and accounted for. Ingrid would face no threat from Karp.
    “I’m glad you have a plan.” I patted her hand briefly.
    “It’s just so infuriating to be thought of as one of Girouard’s harem,” Ingrid continued. “I know everyone thinks I’ve been sleeping with him right along, but it isn’t true, and it never will be true.” She frowned at her reflection. “I’ve put up with his pestering this long only because I really need my paycheck, and I’m almost vested in the firm’s retirement program.”
    “Do you think Girouard will let you go quietly?”
    “I don’t know, but I had to do something. I had reached my limit, you know?”
    The chattering of other secretaries, headed for lunch, could be heard approaching the women’s room. “I know exactly what you mean. Okay now?” I asked quietly.
    Ingrid nodded vigorously and put a finger to her lips. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my waterworks our little secret. I don’t want to blow my cool and collected image.” She grinned gamely, if a bit crookedly.
    “You’ve got it. Besides,” I added, nodding toward the trash receptacle,” you’ve got something on me, too.”
    “Yeah, between us, we share two of the worst-kept secrets in this place.” Giving a final tuck to the recalcitrant tress, Ingrid winked and led the way out. We went in opposite directions to our respective pods.
    I arrived at my desk just in time to hear Bolasevich howling for Strutter , who sat before her computer wearing a transcription machine headset and her habitual serene expression.
    “Tuttle! Get your lazy ass in here before I tell Paula Hughes to hire me a real secretary,” he yelled.
    It wasn’t the first time I had heard Bolasevich’s vulgarity, but it always made me flinch. Strutter remained where she was, fingers busy on her keyboard, until she came to a stopping place that seemed to suit her.
    “Tuttle, where the bejesus are you? Get in here, for crissake !”
    Strutter calmly removed her headset and gathered up a pad and pen. “At least this time he didn’t say lazy black ass,” she commented, rising from her chair and swaying languidly toward Bolasevich’s door. “That really pisses me off.” She paused in the doorway and smiled benignly at her boss. “You bellowed?”
    “I wouldn’t have to if you ever, for once in your life, moved your keister into second gear,” the big man grumbled. “Shut the door and take a seat. I’ve got a letter of opinion to get out this afternoon, so don’t take all day about it.”
    Strutter stepped inside the office and closed the door, winking broadly at me just before it shut. Always ladylike in demeanor herself, she seemed completely unperturbed by Bolasevich’s ugly mouth, whereas I would have been ballistic. Let Bellanfonte take that tone with me just once, and he’d see my keister heading for the building exit—in overdrive. Where do these lawyers get their arrogance, I wondered for the umpteenth time. Girouard thinks he’s God’s gift to women, Bolasevich thinks he’s