least one suspect from there. And tomorrow night, I’ll go to the special condo association meeting to see what I can learn there. And—”
Darryl held up his hands and laughed. “Whoa, Kendra. I know you’ve been successful in solving all those murders, but—”
“But it really matters this time, Darryl. Not that it hadn’t with the others—especially when I was accused.” And when Dante was accused. But enumerating suspects here seemed inappropriate. “You know I can’t make any promises about clearing Wanda, but I’m sure as hell going to try.”
“Thanks, Kendra,” he said softly as I headed for the office door. “Either way, I’ll owe you.”
“All I want from you, Darryl, is your friendship.”
“Count on it,” he said.
But I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if helping Wanda was my first failure.
“HI, KENDRA,” EFFERVESCED Mignon, the bubbly receptionist at my law firm. Her auburn curls bobbed as she spoke while seated at a small desk in the area that had once been the hosting area of a restaurant. “You had a few calls this morning. The callers all asked to be sent to your voice mail.”
“Thanks.” We conversed for a few lively minutes about her weekend, and I sipped on a cup of coffee I’d picked up along my way. Mignon had just started dating a new guy, and was really jazzed.
“And how about you?” she piped after extolling the exciting virtues—or sinfulness—of her new guy. “Are you still seeing Dante DeFrancisco?”
Word got around everywhere—especially places where I spent lots of valuable time. Like here.
“Yeah, Kendra,” said Elaine Aames, a senior-aged attorney who’d just walked into the reception area with Gigi, a Blue and Gold Macaw, perched on her shoulder. “How’s Dante?”
I noticed the silver-haired founder of our law firm, Yurick & Associates, standing behind her in what had once been an aisle between booths in this former restaurant building. “What about you, Borden?” I said somewhat ruefully. “Are you going to ask about Dante, too?”
“Not me,” he said in his high-pitched voice. “I’m not going to ask . . . but I’ll listen to your answer.”
Which made me consider wringing a neck or three. But, hey, Dante was definitely newsworthy, so it wasn’t surprising he’d be the subject of gossip around here—and everywhere else. But I preferred privacy.
Not that I’d get it. “Dante’s fine,” I said rather smugly. “I spent some time with him yesterday at a pet adoption event, and we’re getting together for dinner tonight. Any more questions?”
If they wanted to know how he was in bed, they were at least discreet enough not to ask.
“Nope, but I think it’s really cool that you’re seeing him,” Mignon chirped.
“So do I,” I said.
As Borden and Elaine headed into the conference room that was once a bar, I went down the aisle past attorneys’ offices along the outer wall of the single-story building. Cubicles for secretaries and paralegals abutted on the inside. My office was a comfy corner one, and my litigation style of collecting files everywhere made it feel even cozier.
I sat down in my ergonomically correct chair behind my cluttered desk and noted that the light was indeed blinking on my office phone, indicating messages.
There were four. The first was from Corina Carey. Surprise! But I owed the tabloid reporter, since she had given me contact info for Margaret Shiler’s former husband. I called her back immediately.
“Why didn’t you call me on my cell?” I asked.
“I did, earlier today, but you didn’t answer. You might have been doing your pet-sitting, but it was late enough I figured you could be at your office.”
I wasn’t certain why I’d missed her, but I gave her a rundown now of the little I’d learned from Paulino Shiler.
“So who else are you interviewing now?” she asked.
“Off the record?”
“Of course . . . for now. But if you give me anything interesting,
Darryl held up his hands and laughed. “Whoa, Kendra. I know you’ve been successful in solving all those murders, but—”
“But it really matters this time, Darryl. Not that it hadn’t with the others—especially when I was accused.” And when Dante was accused. But enumerating suspects here seemed inappropriate. “You know I can’t make any promises about clearing Wanda, but I’m sure as hell going to try.”
“Thanks, Kendra,” he said softly as I headed for the office door. “Either way, I’ll owe you.”
“All I want from you, Darryl, is your friendship.”
“Count on it,” he said.
But I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if helping Wanda was my first failure.
“HI, KENDRA,” EFFERVESCED Mignon, the bubbly receptionist at my law firm. Her auburn curls bobbed as she spoke while seated at a small desk in the area that had once been the hosting area of a restaurant. “You had a few calls this morning. The callers all asked to be sent to your voice mail.”
“Thanks.” We conversed for a few lively minutes about her weekend, and I sipped on a cup of coffee I’d picked up along my way. Mignon had just started dating a new guy, and was really jazzed.
“And how about you?” she piped after extolling the exciting virtues—or sinfulness—of her new guy. “Are you still seeing Dante DeFrancisco?”
Word got around everywhere—especially places where I spent lots of valuable time. Like here.
“Yeah, Kendra,” said Elaine Aames, a senior-aged attorney who’d just walked into the reception area with Gigi, a Blue and Gold Macaw, perched on her shoulder. “How’s Dante?”
I noticed the silver-haired founder of our law firm, Yurick & Associates, standing behind her in what had once been an aisle between booths in this former restaurant building. “What about you, Borden?” I said somewhat ruefully. “Are you going to ask about Dante, too?”
“Not me,” he said in his high-pitched voice. “I’m not going to ask . . . but I’ll listen to your answer.”
Which made me consider wringing a neck or three. But, hey, Dante was definitely newsworthy, so it wasn’t surprising he’d be the subject of gossip around here—and everywhere else. But I preferred privacy.
Not that I’d get it. “Dante’s fine,” I said rather smugly. “I spent some time with him yesterday at a pet adoption event, and we’re getting together for dinner tonight. Any more questions?”
If they wanted to know how he was in bed, they were at least discreet enough not to ask.
“Nope, but I think it’s really cool that you’re seeing him,” Mignon chirped.
“So do I,” I said.
As Borden and Elaine headed into the conference room that was once a bar, I went down the aisle past attorneys’ offices along the outer wall of the single-story building. Cubicles for secretaries and paralegals abutted on the inside. My office was a comfy corner one, and my litigation style of collecting files everywhere made it feel even cozier.
I sat down in my ergonomically correct chair behind my cluttered desk and noted that the light was indeed blinking on my office phone, indicating messages.
There were four. The first was from Corina Carey. Surprise! But I owed the tabloid reporter, since she had given me contact info for Margaret Shiler’s former husband. I called her back immediately.
“Why didn’t you call me on my cell?” I asked.
“I did, earlier today, but you didn’t answer. You might have been doing your pet-sitting, but it was late enough I figured you could be at your office.”
I wasn’t certain why I’d missed her, but I gave her a rundown now of the little I’d learned from Paulino Shiler.
“So who else are you interviewing now?” she asked.
“Off the record?”
“Of course . . . for now. But if you give me anything interesting,
Similar Books
