My Boss is A Dead Man by Christina Harlin

Author:Christina Harlin
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: mystery, serial, lawyers, law, legal, serial killer, contemporary, law lawyers, detective, law enforcement, legal assistant, legal profession, office, detective fiction, law firm, legal law thriller suspense courtroom murder women, mystery fiction, secretary, mystery romance, mystery detective, legal humor, legal comedy, legal fiction, mystery suspense thriller, office work, legal secretary, office comedy, mystery humorous, serial murder, mystery legal suspense, chic lit, legal thrillers, secretary romance, women authors, mystery female sleuth, contemporary adult, detective romance, office humor, contemporary mystery romance, comic mystery, legal romance, office conflict, mystery thriller women sleuths

Chapter Ten

Coincidentally, Tommy Curtis lived rather close to the Kansas City Plaza, so it wasn’t any trouble for me to stop there on the way to my office at in the Plaza Tower. I had been to his home twice before when I had worked for Curtis & Klempt: once to deliver some papers to him that he had to sign, once to attend another dreadful party thrown by Tommy’s soon-to-be-ex-wife. He lived in a gorgeous bungalow-style sprawl on a very snazzy street and he sublet the upper floor to boarders, usually bohemian professors from the nearby university who needed to minimize their commutes. I thought that was rather a funny story: Tommy had bought this high-end property at his social-climbing wife’s insistence but they had discovered, upon moving in, that they had maxed out their credit, blown their savings, and could barely afford to furnish the place. Tommy’s wife couldn’t be expected to live under such harsh circumstances so she left him, and since then Tommy had kept the house perhaps out of spite.

There were five cars in the driveway, and I had to park on the street, which could likely get me towed on this swank stretch of road. I didn’t anticipate being very long. I hurried up the lawn and was met at the door by Rhonda, who was holding a cell phone and looking harried.

“Hi there,” I said. “I would have called first but—”

“God, don’t call,” Rhonda pleaded. “I am routing our firm’s calls through everybody’s cell phones and it’s making me a crazy woman. If I have to explain one more time . . .”

I didn’t hear the end of that. She shut the door behind us and hurried away; the phone in her hand was chirping. I followed through the house, whistling softly at the beautiful hardwood floors, the breathtaking windows and light fixtures. The place was exquisite. I saw no furniture here; these front rooms must be the ones Tommy sacrificed in order to stay. The kitchen, however, was furnished and occupied by Rhonda, talking rapidly on the cell phone while she scratched on a pad, Dana Davenport, who was seated at a kitchen desk and clacking madly away at the computer there, and Bridget St. John, seated at the kitchen table with her legs propped up on it, ankles crossed, as she read a Cosmopolitan. She caught my strange look and said in explanation, “We’re working.”

Dana stopped her typing and asked me, “Did you bring those envelopes for me?”

I shook my head. “No, haven’t had a chance to make them, since I spent most of yesterday being interrogated and having my property searched. I’d like to talk to you.”

“I’m swamped in more work than a chimp at an autoplant!” she complained.

I stared her down. “It’s about embroidered pillowcases,” I said.

Dana’s mouth turned into a tight little line. “Well. Let me finish this first. You want to wait out back, there’s more room there.”

She meant it was private and we could talk there, and I was willing to give on this.

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