him.”
Dan seemed about to press on with his argument when my words finally registered and he smiled in pleasant surprise.
I gave him a schoolmarm’s pointing finger. “Get right on top of how many unfortunate ‘events’ benefited the Muertas... capeesh? ”
“Capeesh!”
Chipper, Dan headed past me.
“That’s what I like about bein’ a 21st Century P.I.,” he was saying. “Ten years ago, shoe leather. Today—Google.”
“Refresh my memory, Ms. Tree,” the psychiatrist said. “This Roger—that’s Roger Freemont, your husband’s other partner?”
“That’s right,” I said. “He was Mike’s partner on the PD for a while, and one of the original partners in the Tree Agency.”
“And he’s the one who...”
“Who left the business when I took over. Yes.”
The pen scratched on paper. “I see.”
“Roger was Mike’s sarge back in Desert Storm days.”
“Yes. I recall.”
I glanced over at him. “...It hit the fan that very first Monday, after Mike’s murder....”
That was my first time seated behind Mike’s desk.
In retrospect, I wondered if that hadn’t added fuel to the fire. The day outside the window at my back was overcast, and Roger’s mood was surly.
He and Dan were seated in the clients’ chairs opposite. Bald, bespectacled Roger was in a black suit with a white shirt and a dark blue tie; he might have been a funeral director. Dan was in shades of tan from sportcoat to shirt-and-tie to shoes, as if he wanted to blend into the woodwork in this overtly masculine office.
Roger was saying, “All due respect, Mrs. Tree—”
“I prefer ‘Ms.,’ ” I said.
His eyes widened. “You choose some silly feminist, what? Affectation? Over honoring your husband?”
“No. I like the pun. Ms. Tree—mystery. Get it?”
“Cute,” Roger said, with a tiny sneer. “Almost as cute as your way of mourning. Body isn’t even cold and you’re already in Mike’s chair.”
“Well, the chair’s still warm.” My stare was pointed. “Roger, what is your problem? Besides your not liking me, and me being a dickless dick, that is.”
He shook his head. “Not a matter of liking. And I couldn’t care less what you pack between your legs. Point is, I’m a full partner in this business—one third Mike, one third Dan, one third you....”
But Dan surprised me and popped out of the woodwork to say, “Your math sucks, Roge. Ms. Tree here is also a full partner—twenty-five, twenty-five, twenty-five, twenty-five. Which with the old boss dead and his wife inheriting? Adds up to fifty percent new boss.”
I wasn’t sure I was reading Dan right. I got his eyes and asked, “Any problem with how that totals up?”
Dan shifted in his chair and sat forward. He wasn’t quite smiling. “No. You’re smart and attractive—you’ll put a great face on this business, grieving widow stepping in for her murdered husband.”
Roger, astounded, stared at the younger detective. “Is that all it is to you, Danny? Business?”
Dan shrugged. “You’re the one talking partners and percentages, Roge.”
I said, “Dan’s correct, Roger—I do hold fifty percent of this agency. You want me to buy you out, I’ll make the arrangements.”
His face stone, Roger said, “Do it then.”
I leaned forward and tried to take anything adversarial out of my tone and my expression. “Roger, I’m not asking you to leave.”
He grunted and his sneer was full-blown now. “And I’m not asking your goddamn permission. I’m senior partner here.”
Dan was giving Roger an offended sideways look. “We all started the same day, Roge.”
Roger, clearly disappointed in his young partner, leaned toward him and said, “Age and experience matter, Danny boy. Ought to, anyway.” Then his gaze swung to me. “If you vacate that chair, and turn it over to me... Miz Tree...then, well, no hard feelings.”
Coolly, I said, “The name on the door is Michael Tree.”
He snorted a laugh. “Real cute.”
He
Dan seemed about to press on with his argument when my words finally registered and he smiled in pleasant surprise.
I gave him a schoolmarm’s pointing finger. “Get right on top of how many unfortunate ‘events’ benefited the Muertas... capeesh? ”
“Capeesh!”
Chipper, Dan headed past me.
“That’s what I like about bein’ a 21st Century P.I.,” he was saying. “Ten years ago, shoe leather. Today—Google.”
“Refresh my memory, Ms. Tree,” the psychiatrist said. “This Roger—that’s Roger Freemont, your husband’s other partner?”
“That’s right,” I said. “He was Mike’s partner on the PD for a while, and one of the original partners in the Tree Agency.”
“And he’s the one who...”
“Who left the business when I took over. Yes.”
The pen scratched on paper. “I see.”
“Roger was Mike’s sarge back in Desert Storm days.”
“Yes. I recall.”
I glanced over at him. “...It hit the fan that very first Monday, after Mike’s murder....”
That was my first time seated behind Mike’s desk.
In retrospect, I wondered if that hadn’t added fuel to the fire. The day outside the window at my back was overcast, and Roger’s mood was surly.
He and Dan were seated in the clients’ chairs opposite. Bald, bespectacled Roger was in a black suit with a white shirt and a dark blue tie; he might have been a funeral director. Dan was in shades of tan from sportcoat to shirt-and-tie to shoes, as if he wanted to blend into the woodwork in this overtly masculine office.
Roger was saying, “All due respect, Mrs. Tree—”
“I prefer ‘Ms.,’ ” I said.
His eyes widened. “You choose some silly feminist, what? Affectation? Over honoring your husband?”
“No. I like the pun. Ms. Tree—mystery. Get it?”
“Cute,” Roger said, with a tiny sneer. “Almost as cute as your way of mourning. Body isn’t even cold and you’re already in Mike’s chair.”
“Well, the chair’s still warm.” My stare was pointed. “Roger, what is your problem? Besides your not liking me, and me being a dickless dick, that is.”
He shook his head. “Not a matter of liking. And I couldn’t care less what you pack between your legs. Point is, I’m a full partner in this business—one third Mike, one third Dan, one third you....”
But Dan surprised me and popped out of the woodwork to say, “Your math sucks, Roge. Ms. Tree here is also a full partner—twenty-five, twenty-five, twenty-five, twenty-five. Which with the old boss dead and his wife inheriting? Adds up to fifty percent new boss.”
I wasn’t sure I was reading Dan right. I got his eyes and asked, “Any problem with how that totals up?”
Dan shifted in his chair and sat forward. He wasn’t quite smiling. “No. You’re smart and attractive—you’ll put a great face on this business, grieving widow stepping in for her murdered husband.”
Roger, astounded, stared at the younger detective. “Is that all it is to you, Danny? Business?”
Dan shrugged. “You’re the one talking partners and percentages, Roge.”
I said, “Dan’s correct, Roger—I do hold fifty percent of this agency. You want me to buy you out, I’ll make the arrangements.”
His face stone, Roger said, “Do it then.”
I leaned forward and tried to take anything adversarial out of my tone and my expression. “Roger, I’m not asking you to leave.”
He grunted and his sneer was full-blown now. “And I’m not asking your goddamn permission. I’m senior partner here.”
Dan was giving Roger an offended sideways look. “We all started the same day, Roge.”
Roger, clearly disappointed in his young partner, leaned toward him and said, “Age and experience matter, Danny boy. Ought to, anyway.” Then his gaze swung to me. “If you vacate that chair, and turn it over to me... Miz Tree...then, well, no hard feelings.”
Coolly, I said, “The name on the door is Michael Tree.”
He snorted a laugh. “Real cute.”
He
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