Crichton.”
“Ben, do you really think you should be doing this? So soon after the murder, I mean?”
“Christina, I’ve got one week to find out who killed Hamel. And my best modus operandi is to find out whatever I can about these legal eagles. And what better way to do that than here, at this corporate pressure cooker, where all my chief suspects are conveniently gathered?”
She tapped her fingers pensively on the steering wheel. “I suppose you’re right….”
“So what’s your problem?”
She pulled her car beside a row of BMWs and Land Rovers. “My problem is, it’s entirely possible that one of these legal eagles has committed murder, and we’re now about a million miles from any kind of help. If the killer finds out you’re after him, he or she may be tempted to give a repeat performance. With you in the starring role. Capeesh?”
Ben fumbled with his overnight bag. “Well…when you put it like that…”
Ben trailed in from the training exercises about eight-thirty, a portrait of complete exhaustion. He and his colleagues had been training since noon; it seemed like forever.
He stumbled through the door of the stone bunkhouse and found to his dismay that everyone else in the group was standing at the bar, fully showered and changed, staring at him.
“Have a bit of trouble with the last group of exercises?” Chuck chuckled. “Everyone else has been back for half an hour.”
“I have a problem with heights,” Ben muttered. “Ever since I was a kid.”
“I can see where that would make it hard to finish the course,” Chuck replied. “After all, you were almost six inches off the ground.”
“Hey!” Crichton interceded. “We’re here to bond, not to denigrate. This is Ben’s first time on the course. Cut him some slack.”
Thanks, Dad. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Please do,” Candice tittered.
Ben mounted the stairs, threw his clothes on his bunk, and crawled into the shower. The day had been filled with a variety of exercises designed to teach noble workplace skills such as teamwork, mutual trust, assertiveness, and leadership, via sixth-grade problem-solving scenarios. Transporting five people across a ravine with three two-by-fours. Lifting one another through the spider’s web (a vertical lattice of latex webbing). Moving “toxic waste” (a glass of water) to safety on a rope swing—while blindfolded. All peppered with inspirational lectures about the Universal Yo!
The worst was the Trust Fall. Victims—er, participants—were supposed to climb to a platform about seven feet up a tree, turn around, fold their hands across their chests (very symbolic), and fall. Backwards. The idea was that your bosom buddies on the ground would catch you in their outstretched but unlinked arms. That was the idea, anyway. You were supposed to trust that they would be there, even though you couldn’t see them as you fell. Unfortunately, Ben didn’t trust any of them, except Christina, and he knew she couldn’t catch him by herself.
He’d been up there a full fifteen minutes before he fell, and even then it was just because he got dizzy and lost his balance.
On the last leg of me course, everyone was supposed to complete a lightweight obstacle course on a slightly raised platform. The course involved jumping, swinging on ropes, and balancing on telephone poles and thick metal cables. Ben started near the front; he ended dead last. Worst of all, he had to smile and pretend to be good-humored about it as colleague after colleague passed him. Even Christina overtook him, after he refused her offer to haul him through the tough spots.
After he finished drying off, Ben dressed, shaved, and descended to the ground floor of the bunkhouse for Crackerbarrel.
Crackerbarrel?
Chuck saw him first. “Hail, Ben Kincaid, mighty warrior!” he shouted, then snorted into a fistful of potato chips.
Ben made a mental note that if he ever became uncommonly wealthy, he would devote all
“Ben, do you really think you should be doing this? So soon after the murder, I mean?”
“Christina, I’ve got one week to find out who killed Hamel. And my best modus operandi is to find out whatever I can about these legal eagles. And what better way to do that than here, at this corporate pressure cooker, where all my chief suspects are conveniently gathered?”
She tapped her fingers pensively on the steering wheel. “I suppose you’re right….”
“So what’s your problem?”
She pulled her car beside a row of BMWs and Land Rovers. “My problem is, it’s entirely possible that one of these legal eagles has committed murder, and we’re now about a million miles from any kind of help. If the killer finds out you’re after him, he or she may be tempted to give a repeat performance. With you in the starring role. Capeesh?”
Ben fumbled with his overnight bag. “Well…when you put it like that…”
Ben trailed in from the training exercises about eight-thirty, a portrait of complete exhaustion. He and his colleagues had been training since noon; it seemed like forever.
He stumbled through the door of the stone bunkhouse and found to his dismay that everyone else in the group was standing at the bar, fully showered and changed, staring at him.
“Have a bit of trouble with the last group of exercises?” Chuck chuckled. “Everyone else has been back for half an hour.”
“I have a problem with heights,” Ben muttered. “Ever since I was a kid.”
“I can see where that would make it hard to finish the course,” Chuck replied. “After all, you were almost six inches off the ground.”
“Hey!” Crichton interceded. “We’re here to bond, not to denigrate. This is Ben’s first time on the course. Cut him some slack.”
Thanks, Dad. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Please do,” Candice tittered.
Ben mounted the stairs, threw his clothes on his bunk, and crawled into the shower. The day had been filled with a variety of exercises designed to teach noble workplace skills such as teamwork, mutual trust, assertiveness, and leadership, via sixth-grade problem-solving scenarios. Transporting five people across a ravine with three two-by-fours. Lifting one another through the spider’s web (a vertical lattice of latex webbing). Moving “toxic waste” (a glass of water) to safety on a rope swing—while blindfolded. All peppered with inspirational lectures about the Universal Yo!
The worst was the Trust Fall. Victims—er, participants—were supposed to climb to a platform about seven feet up a tree, turn around, fold their hands across their chests (very symbolic), and fall. Backwards. The idea was that your bosom buddies on the ground would catch you in their outstretched but unlinked arms. That was the idea, anyway. You were supposed to trust that they would be there, even though you couldn’t see them as you fell. Unfortunately, Ben didn’t trust any of them, except Christina, and he knew she couldn’t catch him by herself.
He’d been up there a full fifteen minutes before he fell, and even then it was just because he got dizzy and lost his balance.
On the last leg of me course, everyone was supposed to complete a lightweight obstacle course on a slightly raised platform. The course involved jumping, swinging on ropes, and balancing on telephone poles and thick metal cables. Ben started near the front; he ended dead last. Worst of all, he had to smile and pretend to be good-humored about it as colleague after colleague passed him. Even Christina overtook him, after he refused her offer to haul him through the tough spots.
After he finished drying off, Ben dressed, shaved, and descended to the ground floor of the bunkhouse for Crackerbarrel.
Crackerbarrel?
Chuck saw him first. “Hail, Ben Kincaid, mighty warrior!” he shouted, then snorted into a fistful of potato chips.
Ben made a mental note that if he ever became uncommonly wealthy, he would devote all
Similar Books
