The Ultimate Exit Strategy by Nikki Baker

Author:Nikki Baker [Baker, Nikki]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, murder mystery, Lesbian, Chicago, Virginia Kelly
Publisher: ReQueered Tales
Published: 2022-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

XVI

I made a resolution that morning to drive to work more often because even with Cassandra dropping me by the Park Shore, I’d ended up at Whytebread a good half an hour earlier than I would have arrived on the bus. Not that I got much face-time credit for it. That morning, like most of them lately, the office was quiet. Most doors were closed, most people shut behind them and only The Irishman had the self-confidence to be loitering in the hall – lounging was more the picture, like he owned the place – not just the hall, the whole universe.

“How are Wes’s chosen people this morning?” He fairly shouted at me in a voice of good nature I was not inclined to trust. “Hey. Hey.” The Irishman was calling. “Don’t get used to it, Virginia.” His body seemed to have swollen so that it stoppered the hallway and I couldn’t get around him. “Do you hear me? Nothing around here is going to change for you.” The Irishman had pushed up very close to me, breath hot and jubilant. “Too bad there isn’t going to be any Gold Rush deal.”

“Is that what Winslow told you the night he died?” I managed to ask at a prudent number of paces. “Or did you just beg him to let you stay, Tom?”

“Oh, I’m going to stay all right, young lady. Things around here are going to stay just the same as they always were.” The Irishman hissed, any pretense of goodwill completely eroded, “You just remember that.” Then he stepped aside politely as if he’d been wishing me a good day.

* * *

I’d had the strange idea that with Winslow’s death life would slow down, but somehow my world kept turning, at least the phone kept ringing. A frantically blinking phone message light greeted me in my office: Two calls from Naomi, a message from my old friend, Sandra Rutherford, for whom I had promised to baby-sit on Friday night, and three messages from Emily Karnowski, my ex-girlfriend and tax accountant, who I realized, just at that second, I’d forgotten to meet the previous night.

Em had called at 6:35, 7:00 and 7:30 the evening before, the night I’d spent reacquainting myself with Cassandra, regarding our appointment to discuss my tax situation. With each message Em sounded progressively more piqued, so the return call required a really good story. In the meantime, I checked my e-mail.

There were twelve electronic messages since yesterday afternoon. Nine of these were client-related. There was one from my dad whose subject line read, My new cooking class. There was a message from Starr who’d apparently, had a change of heart, wanted to meet me back at the office at 8:30 tonight, and a long, rambling, indiscreet epistle from Spike. While I was cringing over how I would answer her, Naomi called again.

“I left two messages on your home machine last night.” Naomi began to berate me almost immediately, and I thought Cassandra must have turned the ringer off.

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