Worked to Death (Working Stiff Mysteries Book 2) (23 page)

She ignored me. "So it was suicide and not murder. But still, that poor man. He was going through something huge and yet he never let his dream die. He wanted that story, and he was willing to go through with an elaborate scheme just to get it."

"Yep," I agreed.

"Sounds like the perfect premise for a television show," Ms. Lanier added, as she zipped her bag closed. "I might e-mail HBO and pitch it to them."

I rolled my eyes.

"Yoo-hoo!" Ms. Maimie's voice rang out from the front door. "I'm packed and ready to go."

"Where are ya'll going?" I asked again.

"Me, too," Sundae's voice joined the mix.

I wandered into Ms. Lanier's den and found Ms. Maimie and Sundae standing there with their suitcases in tow.

"What's going on here?" I asked, suspicion rising inside me.

A horn beeped outside, and we all stepped out onto the porch to see the source.

"Are ya'll coming or not? The day's not getting any younger," Penny yelled out the driver's side window of her large SUV that was idling in the driveway.

The women hurried down the porch steps. Paget ran around from the backyard where she'd been tending to Pickles. She was all smiles as she climbed into the front seat next to Penny. She was no worse for wear after her episode from yesterday. I'd brought her home earlier this morning.

"Why does she get to ride shotgun?" Ms. Maimie asked as she handed off her rolling suitcase to Sundae who was hefting the bags into the back of the vehicle.

"Where are you taking my sister?" I asked, starting to fear the worst.

"Ya'll haven't told her yet?" Penny asked, shaking her head.

"Oh yeah, we're kidnapping you. Taking you to the beach for the weekend," Ms. Lanier said, walking past me to give Sundae her duffel.

"Kidnapping me? Haven't I had enough of that this week?" I asked, but couldn't stop the smile from forming on my face.

"C'mon you two—get your butts in gear," Ms Lanier bellowed as she slipped into the back of the vehicle with more grace than you'd imagine for someone of her age.

"How did all this get planned without my knowing about it? I'm not even packed."

"We packed for you," Sundae said. "Just get in and have fun. You have a new job on Monday, and this is your last weekend of freedom before work interferes again."

She climbed in, leaving me the only one standing in the driveway.

"What about Pickles?" I motioned to the sad face that was sitting at the fence behind me.

"Denise Owens is on her way to get him. She and Adam will keep him for the weekend. He'll be fine," Penny explained and then unnecessarily blew the horn at me.

I looked back at my house, door boarded up and mystery solved. A new job on Monday. And all my friends together for a couple of days of fun ahead of us. What could be better?

"Okay," I said and climbed in, closing the door behind me. We started backing out of the driveway.

"Woot Woot! Gulf Shores, here we come. Muy beuno," Sundae bellowed and everyone cheered.

"Wait a minute," I yelled, and Penny slammed on brakes. Everyone lurched forward and then back into their seats. They all turned to look at me.

"What?" Penny asked, watching me in the rearview mirror.

"What about my date, tonight? With Devon?" I wasn't so sure about my new potential relationship with him. We were pretty different after all. And there was the connection to Ms. Maimie that sort of frightened me. Plus the history with Ty and the fact that he was Devon's boss. Not to mention the complication with Colin.

"Oh, honey, I took care of it," Ms. Maimie interrupted my thoughts, and Penny started backing up again.

"What does that mean?" I was scared to ask.

"He and Ty are going to the Catfish Haven's dinner theatre tonight," Ms. Maimie explained.

"Yeah, they can tell you all about it on Monday," Ms. Lanier finished the thought.

Penny laughed. "Oh that sounds like a date made in heaven."

"Wait a minute," I yelled, but this time Penny didn't slam on the brakes. She just kept rolling through town and toward the interstate that waited only a few miles ahead.

"What now?" Ms. Lanier asked, reaching down into her bag and extracting snacks.

"Do they know that they are going together? I mean, does Devon know that I'm not going to be there?" I studied the not-so-innocent faces of Ms. Lanier and Ms. Maimie.

Then they started laughing, and we all joined in.

Ms. Lanier passed me a bag of chips, and I dug in. Penny reached behind her head and handed me the latest edition of
The Millbrook Mile
. I swallowed a Salt and Vinegar chip and then opened to read the front page. "Drugs, Death, and Disease in a Small Town" read the headline. And the byline read, "By Mick Thibault."

I smiled and munched on another chip.

* * * * *

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Kerri Nelson survived a fifteen year career in the legal field and then took her passion for crime solving to the page. But her journey to become a mystery author took a decade long detour into the world of romance where she penned twenty two novels and novellas in various sub-genres.

Born and raised a true southern belle, Kerri holds many useful secrets: how to bake a killer peach cobbler, how to charm suspects with proper batting of the eyelashes, and how to turn your parasol into a handy weapon.

Kerri is an active member of both Sisters in Crime and International Thriller Writers, and as a mentor to other authors, Kerri has successfully developed her popular Book Factory Method and assisted dozens of authors achieve publication via pitches crafted in her Pitchworthy class.

She also edits professionally through her freelance editorial service, Deep Cover Edits, and as a staff editor for two small presses. Her latest writing adventure is the new #1 Bestselling Cozy Mystery series "The Working Stiff Mysteries" now available wherever books are sold.

To learn more about Kerri Nelson, visit her online at:
http://www.kerrinelson.com

* * * * *

Working Stiff Mysteries
:

Remote Consequences

Worked to Death

Ornamental Danger
(holiday short story)

Other works:

Cross Check My Heart

Vegan Moon

Making the Ghost of It

Double Take

Kissing the Bull

Falsify

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this Working Stiff Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another funny, romantic mystery from
Gemma Halliday Publishing
:

MOTION FOR MURDER

BY

KELLY REY

CHAPTER ONE

I knew right away that it wasn't going to be a typical day at the law firm of Parker, Dennis, and Heath. For one thing, there was only one client waiting in the reception area when I got to work, a huge man in a ketchup-stained T-shirt with a pelt like a squirrel and work boots that spoke to days spent hiking in landfills.

For another thing, that client was holding a gun.

I saw only three ways to handle the situation. Three became two when I saw I had a dead cell phone. My next option was to approach him calmly, discuss his issues coolly, and dispatch him to the nearest police station quickly. Or make a hard left, flee to the kitchen, and hide behind the refrigerator until braver souls took charge. That's why I was hugging the SubZero when Missy Clark came in the back door. Missy had been a secretary with the firm for a lot of years, and she'd seen a lot of things. But a colleague cowering beside a major appliance wasn't one of them, and it stopped her in her tracks.

"Hey, Jamie." Her right eyebrow lifted. "What're you doing?"

"Ssh." I cocked my head toward the reception area and put my finger to my lips in the universal gesture for
Be quiet—can't you tell there's a kook with a gun out there?

Missy tiptoed over to squat beside me. "What's going on?"

I pointed. "There's a gun out there with a house attached to it."

She took a peek. "Adam Tiddle." She sighed. "He's harmless. He's mad because we didn't take his case. He thought it'd make him a millionaire. He's been showing up ever since Dougie turned him down." She shook her head. "I told him it was going to bite him in the briefs."

"I don't think biting is what this guy has in mind," I said. "Unless chewing and swallowing are involved. I'm not going out there until he's gone."

Missy shrugged. "He's not as bad as he looks. He was in a car accident."

"I've seen him," I said. "No car accident did that."

"His neighbor was changing a flat, and Adam was holding up the car," Missy said.

I nodded. "And the jack broke?"

Missy looked puzzled. "What jack?"

Oh.

"That's the problem. There's no negligence there except for his own. He just doesn't get it." She pushed herself up. "I should call Dougie and warn him."

Dougie was Douglas J. Heath, Esquire, commonly known in secretarial circles as Dougie Digits for the creative and offensive use of his eleven fingers. Thank goodness the eleventh was only an extra pinky finger. I shuddered to think of the damage he could do with another thumb. Dougie had a penchant for spandex and a predilection for ogling secretaries in sundresses. He was the approximate weight of a garden gnome, with a perpetual swagger, and arms that formed two hairy parentheses to his torso. Dougie had once sued a Chinese restaurant for causing a stress disorder because its fortune cookie had predicted grim tidings, and that pretty much tells you all you need to know about Dougie.

Before Missy could pick up the phone, the gnome himself burst through the back door, all pink and flushed with the effort of hustling the six feet from his Mercedes. Everything left Dougie pink and flushed. He broke a sweat lifting his bottle of vitamin pills. Dougie wore the most expensive shoes, the most beautifully tailored suits, and the priciest haircuts, and he still looked like the sleaziest personal injury lawyer in town. He was holding a DVD in one hand that was either a memorialization of his weekend escapades or a copy of his latest commercial. I've seen his commercials. I wasn't sure which would be worse.

His eyes narrowed when he saw me and widened when he saw Missy. All men reacted like that to Missy. Probably because she was five-nine, and five of it was legs. "I don't see any computers in the kitchen, ladies. And it's too early for lunch, Winters."

A flush of embarrassment started at my belly button and washed upward. "You're probably wondering why I'm hiding next to the refrigerator," I said, but Dougie wasn't paying attention. He was too busy looking at Missy. "That top does amazing things for your cans, Clark."

Missy didn't even flinch. She gave me a sidelong look that might or might not have included a wink, tore a paper towel off the roll, and handed it to him. "Here. Clean yourself up. You've got someone waiting."

Dougie brightened and blotted. "A new client?"

"Hold on, you probably shouldn't—" I said.

Missy ignored me. "Yep. Sounds like a live one, too."

"Hot damn, and it's only Monday." Dougie swiped the towel across the back of his neck and dropped it on the counter beside his video. "Teeth?" He peeled back his lips for Missy's inspection.

"Teeth," she agreed.

His lips snapped shut. He adjusted his tie, straightened his lapels, ran a hand through his hair, and patted Missy on the backside. "Make me a protein shake, will you, doll? I'll be right back."

"If you're lucky," Missy muttered, yanking open the refrigerator.

I just sat there, feeling like I should be doing something, as long as that something wasn't following Dougie into Adam Tiddle's orbit. So I measured a half cup of Dougie's protein powder into the blender for Missy while ogling the bare-chested model on the label—he was probably a louse, too. A stench rose from the blender, and I clamped the lid on to stifle it. Judging by the odor, Dougie's daily protein shakes tasted like Adam Tiddle's boots.

Missy had gotten as far as slicing a banana when we heard a shout and the clatter of Bruno Maglis in the hallway, and then Dougie was back, panting, sweat running down his artificially bronze cheeks. His eyes were a little wild. "You could've told me Tiddle had a gun," he said to Missy. "I can't believe you didn't tell me Tiddle had a gun. He could've killed me out there! Do you really hate me that much?"

She probably did, but Missy didn't confirm or deny. She dropped the banana pieces into the blender and hit a button, serene as the Virgin Mary, and watched Dougie's protein shake slop around for a few seconds.

He turned to me, hands propped on his hips. "Did you know Tiddle had a gun?"

"I didn't know it was Tiddle," I said, which wasn't quite the same thing.

"Christ." He shook his head, snatching the glass Missy offered him. "You broads are too friggin' much. Good thing he forgot to load it."

That explained the yelling. Probably Adam Tiddle, out of frustration. As slippery as Dougie Digits was, you didn't get too many shots at him. So to speak.

Dougie drank half the shake in one motion, let out a ripping belch, and left his upper lip unwiped. Between the protein shake and the makeup, his face looked like a color wheel. "I threw the dumb country fuck out," he groused. "Next time he sets foot in here, call the cops." He fixed me with the death stare. "That means you, too, if you can stop humping the refrigerator long enough."

"There's nothing going on between me and the refrigerator," I said hotly, but Dougie had gone back to his protein drink. Probably a good thing. There was a cheesecake in the fridge that might say the fridge and I had something very real. But that was for another time. I got out of the kitchen before Missy had the blender rinsed out.

My desk was squeezed into the reception area with Missy's and the firm's third secretary's, Paige Ford, who hadn't graced us with her presence yet. Probably got lost on her way to work. After all, she'd only been with the firm for six years. I dropped my handbag beneath my desk and sat staring at Adam Tiddle's empty chair while I pondered the meaning of life. I'd like to say I arrived at some stirring realizations in those thirty seconds, but I'd be lying. Instead, I noticed the small white envelope propped against my computer monitor and forgot all about Adam Tiddle. It was an invitation to the senior partner's house for the annual firm barbecue. According to Missy, Ken Parker held the affair every August in his private Xanadu, nine rural acres complete with rolling hills, stables, and an in-ground pool with Jacuzzi. Since I'd only worked at the firm eight months, this was my first invitation. I tucked the invitation in my bag and suspended all thoughts of resigning for the moment. I was just shallow enough to want a glimpse of how the other half lived before I slunk back to my downscale apartment and rued my decision not to attend law school.

Also, I wanted more of that cheesecake.

I switched on my computer and sat back to admire my surroundings while it booted up. It wasn't an unpleasant place to work, once you got past the lawyers and the staff. The partnership owned the building, a rehabbed Colonial within walking distance of the courthouse and all the downtown power restaurants. Lawyers upstairs, tucked safely out of sight from bill collectors and disgruntled spouses. Secretaries downstairs in the line of fire. Basement reserved for closed files and Dougie's gym equipment. According to Missy, Ken Parker's wife had done the decorating. Lots of navies and burgundies and creamy whites. And for the lawyers, lots of mahogany and leather. Ken Parker and Howard Dennis had wanted to create the impression of understated wealth, dignity, and integrity for their practice. If you overlooked Dougie Digits, they'd succeeded.

Thing is, Dougie Digits was hard to overlook. Believe me, I've tried.