My Boss is a Serial Killer by Christina Harlin

Author:Christina Harlin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: comic mystery, romance adventure, romance and adventure, mystery thriller suspense, contemporary, legal mystery, law firm, contemporary adult, romance, office politics, mystery and suspense, mystery humorous, contemporary mystery romance, secretary romance, office humor, law lawyers, mystery female sleuth, legal secretary, lawenforcement, mystery, detective romance, romance ebook, secretary
Publisher: Christina Harlin
Published: 2010-09-20T18:31:38.540918+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Gus had his son Doug for the weekend, and I wasn’t nearly established enough in his life to warrant an introduction. He could hardly bring the boy to me and say, “Doug, this is Carol. I’ve known her for ten days, and we’ve been having lots of sex.” That’s not a cool thing to do to a kid, particularly when he only gets to see his dad every other weekend. That was father-son time, not meet-the-squeeze time. Anyway as much as I enjoyed my temporary all-access pass to Gus Haglund’s body, I was accustomed to being alone and not unhappy about it.

After Gus departed my house on Friday evening, I finished Nowhere Man and then on Saturday morning I gave up on Season Three of MI-5 after only four episodes. That was quite a disappointment, but I hadn’t liked it nearly as much since Season One anyway. Besides that, I guess half the cast got movie deals and left the program. Most shows can’t survive major cast changes, yet in this case, my disappointment was more about the tone of the program turning gloomy and dull. Ah, well, they can’t all be masterpieces. For Saturday night and Sunday, I had Wire in the Blood Season 2, and that would be enough to round out my weekend. Sunday is an excellent day to watch British mystery series. Something about the atmospheres of a lazy Sunday afternoon and a murder mystery complement each other perfectly.

Always, in the back of my mind, were the two conversations I’d had with the two most important men in my life. My talk with Bill, in which he’d promised to review my suicide data, with a look on his face that had been forlorn and dreadful. My talk with Gus, in which he’d promised to find out all about Kansas City’s suicidal widows, with a look on his face that had been clever and eager.

What did it mean? Hell, I kept telling myself, it didn’t have to mean anything.

I almost called Bill’s cell phone to talk to him about this. I didn’t, though, because I’d been so vehement with him about keeping our off-business hours separate that it didn’t seem right. If I called, it would mean I was really worried about something. If I didn’t call, it surely would mean everything was fine.

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