Death Loves a Messy Desk Read Online Free PDF Page B

can’t help flirting with pretty gals. But he’s harmless. Save your money.”
    With every bit of dignity I had, considering that my so-called toy car was practically impaled, I got behind the wheel and revved the engine. A bit of strained muscle from Del and Mel and the Miata shot forward onto the road, spewing grass. I waved good-bye as I headed for the building and the semi slowly rumbled off toward the highway.
    I would have been suitably impressed when I pulled into the parking lot at Quovadicon if my knees hadn’t been like jelly after my two near misses. Not only was the building on the end of a scenic drive, but the grounds were gorgeous. I hadn’t really expected grounds, let alone this lovely wooded site. Whoever had done the site plan had left the woods pristine, and the building was set into the surroundings looking like it belonged there, the trees reflected on the glass cladding, a riot of fall flowers spilling out of cement planters near the front. I tucked the Miata in between a yellow Volkswagen “Bug” convertible and a shiny red Ford Focus and hustled up the front stairs to the wide glass entrance, set in tawny granite panels. I noticed that the wheelchair ramp had been nicely integrated into the building’s approach and lent it a lovely curved flow. Definitely not an afterthought.
    If Fredelle Newhouse hadn’t told me the company was logistics, shipping, and storage, I wouldn’t have picked up a single clue from the surroundings.
    Fredelle was waiting for me by the door as I stepped through and snapped my umbrella closed. I always carry a clear plastic bag in my briefcase to keep damp umbrellas from ruining my papers. I smiled at her.
    This time her sweater was candy pink and had a tiny black Scottie dog appliquéd over her heart. I hoped that the drizzle hadn’t entirely wrecked my hairdo. If so, it was too late to do anything about it.
    “I’m so glad you made it,” she gushed. Her small hands fluttered, in a blur of matching pink nail polish. “Shame about the rain.”
    I couldn’t think of a single reason why I wouldn’t have made it under normal circumstances. No point in talking about the rain or even less about the weird events on my drive in. If you tell people you got stuck on a planter, they might be less inclined to take your advice.
    She burbled on, “And right on time, too. Let’s go ahead.”
    I smiled and glanced around the entrance. Elegant and classy. Silver-gray Berber carpet. Deep aubergine accent wall. For some reason I was expecting a wall-sized photo of the founder or at the very least a framed portrait, but there was only the crisp aluminum lettering of the company name mounted on the wall. Proud to be in Woodbridge was painted under it in flowing script.
    Fredelle led. I followed. The espresso wood reception desk was discreetly set back and angled away from the door. As we passed it, she stopped to introduce me to a young woman who was gazing at her computer screen with an uncomprehending expression.
    Fredelle cleared her throat. “Autumn?” she said.
    “Mmm?” Autumn answered without actually turning. She had glowing skin and rich chestnut hair cascading in a shiny waterfall down her back.
    “This is Charlotte Adams. Charlotte, this is Autumn Halliday. Autumn, Charlotte is going to be helping me find some more efficient ways to lay out our office.” Fredelle twisted her hands as she introduced me. She might as well have been wearing a bright yellow T-shirt that screamed I AM A BIG FAT LIAR in glossy black letters. Not that it mattered, as Autumn had continued staring at the screen and fiddling with a lock of her hair.
    She did however manage to say, “Awesome,” but I was pretty sure she didn’t mean it.
    Fredelle cleared her throat, and Autumn tore her attention from the screen.
    “Nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand to Autumn, who swiveled to stare at it before reaching out to give it a boneless shake.
    “Autumn Halliday,” she said, in