Death Is a Cabaret by Deborah Morgan

Author:Deborah Morgan [Morgan, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Mystery & Crime
ISBN: 0425182029
Google: FoxwngEACAAJ
Amazon: B00COWEIUA
Goodreads: 1629156
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2001-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Jeff rushed to his room, his mind racing with plans and possibilities. He didn’t know much about Internet investigation. While he was active with the Bureau, he’d relied on an assistant at headquarters to invest the necessary time needed to track things down via the world wide web. Jeff’s take on the Internet was that it consumed an inordinate amount of time if one didn’t keep it in check. Mostly, while he was home, he and Sheila spent much quality time together, visiting about their many interests, sharing the events of the day, watching movies or television, or just sitting in the library reading, secure in the knowledge that the other was in the same room enjoying the same pastime.

There were times, however, when his wife was on-line for hours, researching something of interest or participating in chats or keeping an eye on her bids at eBay. He didn’t begrudge her these times, because it comprised the lion’s share of her interaction with other people. But it was a part of technology he’d never had much use for

He snatched the phone from its cradle and punched his home number.

“Is this the man who stood me up for breakfast?” Sheila asked. She loved caller ID and usually didn’t waste time with preambles.

“Honey, I’m sorry about how things ended last night. But I’m not sorry for missing you.”

“Fair enough. That doesn’t change the fact that you were supposed to call this morning. I was beginning to think I’d been replaced by antiques.”

“Not in a million years.” Jeff told her about the deaths of Frank Hamilton and Edward Davenport. He filled her in on the call to Gordy and concluded with the discovery of the document he now held in his hand.

“Jeff, do you think you’re safe?”

“What? Oh, sure. Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it. Promise me you’ll watch your back.”

“Always. Anyway, hon, I’ve got Gordy running background checks on some of the people attending the festival, but I wonder if you’d be willing to help on something international.” He barely got the request out before she said yes. He knew she’d love playing virtual detective. -”I found a document of some sort. It’s in German, I think, lots of umlauts and consonants crowded together like they’ve never met a vowel. I wonder what it’s like to play Wheel of Fortune over there?”

“What?”

“Never mind. The name of the person who received the citation or diploma or whatever this is, is Eric Von Schreibtisch. There’s also a field that might be a company or an institution, or maybe his major or something—says ‘Europaervolkswirtschaft’.” He spelled the word.

Sheila repeated the spellings. “Are you sure there’s nothing else on there I might need?”

“I don’t speak German so, no, I’m not sure. Start with what I gave you, and we’ll see if I need to translate the rest.” He folded the paper and slid it into his pocket. “How are things there? Everything okay?”

“Sure. I found a salmon recipe in an old Bon Appétit that sounds fabulous, so I’m making that for dinner tonight.

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