Deep Pockets (Carlotta Carlyle Mysteries Book 10) by Barnes Linda

Author:Barnes, Linda [Barnes, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781429901437
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2004-12-27T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

So absorbed was I in my admiration of Fording’s deviousness, I almost tripped over a man fixing the electrical socket on the ground floor of Thompson Hall. I mumbled an apology and was halfway down the corridor before I suddenly halted, turned, and stared back at him—an ordinary Joe wearing ordinary coveralls similar to the ones Leroy and I had worn to impersonate exterminators. The man didn’t react to my glare. He probably was exactly who he seemed to be, but how could I tell? I took a few more steps, recalled the coveralls hanging from the hook on the back of Dowling’s closet door.

The blackmailer didn’t need an accomplice within the ed school, be it department chair, student, professor, or secretary. Dowling could have gained entry to the ed school the same way Leroy and I had gained entry to his flat. Who’d think twice about a man in coveralls kneeling by Chaney’s office door?

Harvard has its own janitorial services, but what if one of the cleaners called in sick? Would they use a temp service for replacement help? Hadn’t Freddie Church said that his buddy Dowling was looking for cleaning work?

A huge SUV had parked nose to my bumper, so it took me longer to extricate my car from its slot than it would have taken me to walk home. Once I’d regained the street, home I went, eager to peel out of my suit and plan my next move. I’d have gotten out of the suit a lot sooner if I hadn’t been confronted with a visitor, Cambridge rookie cop Danny Burkett, smack on my living room sofa.

A cop on the doorstep is one thing, a cop in the living room another. You’re not required to open your door to a cop. You can pretend you’re not home, or openly refuse entry. Your house is your castle.

My house, alas, is also Roz’s castle. Did I mention that Danny Burkett was a very handsome and well-built man? Roz doesn’t care so much about the handsome. She doesn’t go by faces, and she certainly doesn’t care about such niceties as intellect or personality. A well-muscled body is all it takes. Music spilled out of the speakers, the same damn oldies radio station Leon had tuned to, the same Motown soul. The lights were dim. Should I mention that there was heavy breathing involved and that both sofa gropers quickly reacted to my presence and got vertical once I shut off the radio?

I didn’t make any hasty remarks like “I see you two know each other,” because with Roz, that’s not a given. She sees a dude she fancies on the street, she goes up to him and makes arrangements. Lucky her. I had a pretty good idea this one had walked right up to the door and rung the bell.

You ring my bell three times, you get Roz. From the dazed look on Burkett’s face, she was his vision of paradise. Me, I flat out don’t know how she manages it, juggling all those guys, not getting involved, not getting diseases.

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