Death, Taxes, and Green Tea Ice Cream (Tara Holloway) by Diane Kelly

Author:Diane Kelly
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Cozy Mystery
ISBN: 1250023084
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2013-09-30T14:00:00+00:00

chapter twenty-two

Who’s Calling?

I snuck out of my cubicle at four thirty, hoping not to get caught by my new boss and to beat the rush-hour traffic on my new thirty-five-mile commute. What I wouldn’t give for some decent public transportation. But given that I lived in Texas, where cars and oil are king, I was shit out of luck.

I stopped for gas on the way home. I’d need a full tank for my new, long commute. The temperature hovered in the fifties and the station’s drive-through car wash was open for business. Fortunately, it was one of those no-touch types that could accommodate my convertible. No way would I let the bombardment of bird crap continue to defile my sweet red baby.

As I drove into the bay, I was tempted to put the top down and see if the high-pressure water could wash away my worries. If only.

A few minutes later, my Beemer and I emerged from the car wash and continued on our way back to Dallas. I arrived home, reemployed and crap-free. What’s more, no reporters surrounded my home today. Things were looking up. Looked like those big-girl panties were working their magic.

Alicia lay on the couch, the remote in her hand as she surfed through the evening news and pre-prime-time sitcom reruns. No doubt Martin and McGee was experiencing its usual end-of-year doldrums, the downtime before spring tax season. Alicia had probably spent the workday sitting at her desk shopping for after-Christmas sales on the Internet. Once the new year arrived, tax season would kick in full force and she’d be working late every night. Those crazy hours were definitely one thing I wouldn’t miss about Martin and McGee. Of course being a special agent had meant working crazy hours, too, but by and large they’d been much more fun hours.

“I put a frozen lasagna in the oven,” Alicia said, glancing up from the television. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Great,” I replied, unbuttoning my new coat. I hung it on a padded hanger in my coat closet, shut the door, and kicked off my pumps, walking into the living room and flopping down into a chair.

Alicia sat up. “How was the audit department?”

I made a “so-so” sign with my hand. My new boss seemed nice enough and the cases I’d been assigned weren’t bad, but I could do without the confining cubicle. “Guess who I’ll be auditing.”

“Chuck Norris?”

“No.” Too bad. That could be fun. Maybe he’d give me some tips for hand-to-hand combat.

“Don Henley?”

“Nope.” Again, too bad. Who wouldn’t want to meet one of the Eagles?

“Selena Gomez?” Alicia asked, naming yet another celebrity who allegedly lived in Dallas.

“Chloe Aberdeen,” I said lest this back-and-forth continue all evening. More precisely, Chloe Aberdeen-Jennings. Chloe had married into the wealthy Jennings family, owners of Jennings Prefabricated Buildings, Incorporated, which operated a chain of outlets in Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. Jennings Prefab sold a wide range of structures, from small backyard toolsheds to enormous airplane hangars. My dad had bought his barn from their East Texas store in Lufkin.

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