Legwork by Katy Munger

She leaned over the counter, giving me a good look at the tops of her breasts. They were the color of coconuts and looked just as hard. They were not, I am grateful to say, as hairy. “That man can make my motor run, know what I mean?” As if to prove it, her nasal voice softened to a purr. I did not ask for details. “I need this back in twenty minutes,” she said, raising an eyebrow at the two folders. “My boss is mad at me on account of I told him he was sexually harassing me. So he’s not taking kindly to any personal favors I may hand out these days, know what I mean?” The gum cracked again, on cue.
    I nodded wisely, woman-to-woman, as if Bobby spent his afternoons chasing me around the desk and I could really relate. In truth, the last guy to sexually harass me— without permission, of course—wound up with hot coffee in the crotch.
    I stuffed the folders in my bag and went outside to read them, choosing a nice spot on a brick wall nearby. There was the usual new construction project clogging traffic on the outskirts of the Fayetteville Street Mall. Probably another hopeful office building going up in this no-man’s land of urban dreams.
    Nancy knew her stuff. She’d pulled the deeds and deed histories on both Ramsey Lee’s land and the plot across the river. Ramsey had been left the property by a grandfather fifteen years ago and had held on to every inch of it since. The other deed was even more interesting. The land across the river had belonged to a former councilwoman for the city of Raleigh. She’d donated it to the city about a year and half before for future use as a public park. Apparently there had been some sort of holdup, because there sure as hell was no park on the plot. The file’s checkout history on the outside of the folder showed that it had been a hot item over the past six months. Everyone from a city planning committee representative to a parks and recreation commissioner to several lawyers whose names I recognized had been taking a peek. Plus, guess who? Yep—Thornton Mitchell. Something was going on with the land all right. If Nancy didn’t know, I’d search NandoNet for news on it.
    “Yeah, a lot of action on that folder,” Nancy admitted when I returned it. “Don’t follow that stuff myself.” I had slipped her a twenty and it disappeared faster than you could ask for change. “Why, thanks. That’s right nice of you. Can I get you some photostats?” I nodded and handed her the other file.
    She took the folders without comment and disappeared into a back room. She was back in less than two minutes with full copies neatly stapled in one corner. She handed them to me with a sunny smile and I realized that Bobby D. was right: she did have a lot of girl in her. “Here ya go, honey,” she said with a wink. The crack of her gum had grown merrier with her twenty-dollar windfall and she sounded like microwave popcorn heating.
    “Thank you,” I said. “Clairol Ash Blonde?”
    “L’Oreal,” she replied. “Because I’m worth it.”
    I made it back to the office in time to do a little cyber surfing and put Bobby on the case of the park that was not yet a park. He was still in the same position, what a surprise, and eager to do what he could to earn that triple fee.
    “There’s something going on with the piece of land where Mitchell was killed,” I explained. “The file on it’s been checked out a lot over the past few months. I’m going to comb the press clippings. What can you do?”
    “Leave it to me, doll face,” he promised, reaching for the phone.
    I logged on to NandoNet and launched a search using the name of the property’s former owner. I got several hits right away. The land had been in her family for generations, but she had deeded it to the city on the stipulation that it be used as a public park for the education of local school children on the importance of natural resource management. After flexing her liberal muscles, she had packed her bags and