T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality by T. Lynn Ocean

Author:T. Lynn Ocean [Ocean, T. Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery: Cozy - Security Specialist - North Carolina
ISBN: 9780312373689
Publisher: Minotaur
Published: 2007-09-18T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

The countdown readout my head was revolving much too quickly and there were only five days left until our patch of earth rotated into the consequential calendar square of July first. I couldn’t help but think of it as an execution date for someone, most likely Jared Chesterfield. Not to mention the momentous occasion when the biggest cybercrime in history would occur, if Soup didn’t stop it.

With nothing better to do at the moment, I made an appearance at the Barnes Agency. Although Rita bitched and moaned about the heavy workload since I retired, she appeared to be handling things just fine. I’d driven Spud and Hal—who was still blessed with a driver’s license—to pick up the Chrysler at J.J.’s Repair Shop and stopped at the agency afterward. Rita shot me a don’t-you-feel-sorry-for-me face. I almost heard weepy violin music playing in the background.

Our secretary had a baby boy, she told me, and it weighed seven pounds, seven ounces. She couldn’t tell me what Suzie had named the kid, but Rita knew its weight. Baby Seven-Pound-Seven-Ounces received a blanket and a sport stroller compliments of the Barnes Agency.

Looking like an excited kid with a new toy, Rita sat at her desk testing a gadget. It looked like an ordinary fountain pen but contained a radio-frequency detector and would alert her with a slight vibrating mechanism if someone within a ten-foot radius was wearing a wireless microphone. The pen was a much more subtle way to tell if someone was wearing a wire than patting them down. Surprisingly, it was an actual ink pen encased inside a Montblanc shell. You could write a note or sign a restaurant tab with it.

Trish had borrowed the agency’s surveillance van for a few hours and, through an office window, I saw her pull into the driveway. She was one of the few people I allowed to use the van for jobs other than my own, but she was good with the electronics and smart enough to stay out of trouble. The agency also allowed her to run a tab for use of the van, and she paid it off by working for us when we needed her. It had been a pretty good setup for both of us.

“Hey, Jersey,” she said, breezing through the door and tossing the van’s keys to Rita. “What are you doing here? You miss the place?” Trish is petite and usually wears her waist-length blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. When sitting in the driver’s seat of the big Chevy van, she could pass for sixteen.

“The boss came by to check up on me,” Rita answered. “I think she feels guilty about dumping everything in my lap.”

“What are you working on?” I asked Trish, ignoring my partner’s barb.

“The usual. This lady’s pit bull lawyer hired me to get some skinny on the husband, who filed for divorce. He’s an orthopedic surgeon and graciously offered to let her keep the Beemer and the beach house,” Trish explained while folding a piece of Juicy Fruit into her mouth, accordion style.

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