Death on the Mississippi Read Online Free PDF Page B

full sales presentation. Bea, whose own sense of the dramatic had been honed by years on the political scene, was able to appreciate the fine-tuned orchestration the tall Katrina presented. The sales manager’s approach featured a subtle sexuality directed toward Lyon, combined with an inchoate sister-bonding superiority with Bea. This barely perceptible sexist approach manipulated the targets (the potential customer, she informed them in an aside) in such a manner that both male and female responded to the sales message in different but positive ways.
    Bea could not approve of such sexist manipulation, but realized that it worked. Although she lived in a beautiful home only a few miles away, she found herself tempted to sign a contract.
    â€œI’ll sign. I’ll buy one,” Lyon said.
    â€œWow, you’re good at this,” Bea had to admit.
    â€œIt pays pretty damn well,” Katrina said. “I get a nice commission on each unit I sell personally, and an override on any sold by my sales people. Let me tell you, it sure beats waiting tables.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Listen, I have an appointment with a live one in two minutes. We’ve completed the tour except for the main building. Would you mind awfully if I left you on your own for a while? Dalton says cocktails on the esplanade in an hour.”
    â€œWe can amuse ourselves,” Bea said. “Go right ahead.”
    Hand in hand they ambled along the walkways that wound past gardens and pools. Gas lamps had been installed in strategic positions so that at night their flickering light would cast leaf shadows along the paths. The walks had been constructed in such a way that from any point there was a water view.
    They turned a corner to find themselves facing one of the small cottages that was undergoing complete restoration. Three shirtless young men wearing nail aprons were shingling the roof. Sam Idelweise stood on the ground looking up at their progress as he shook his head in disbelief.
    â€œGrip the goddamn hammer by the base of the handle, you cookie cutters,” he yelled up to his young crew. “God save me from college kids pretending to be summer carpenters,” he said to the Wentworths.
    â€œThey look pretty good to me,” Bea said. “That one in the middle has great pecs.” Idelweise looked puzzled and Lyon looked stricken. “Two can play this game, Wentworth,” she said.
    â€œI need to talk.” Sam directed them to a bench far enough from the cottage to give them privacy.
    â€œYou want to speak to me because I’m Dalton’s friend,” Lyon said. He was getting used to the role.
    â€œJesus, yes. You got it right. Dalton said you were quick on the uptake.”
    â€œYou want to talk about money.”
    â€œHow does he do that?” Idelweise asked Bea.
    â€œPractice,” she replied.
    â€œYou’ve got to get through to that guy and wake the asshole up. This is one hell of a sweet job, but he’s fucking it up.”
    â€œWhy don’t you just leave this flutching job and work some flutching place else?” Bea said sweetly.
    â€œSorry about my language, Mrs. Wentworth. You get used to talking like that in construction. I can’t leave this job. I got a piece of the action and my name is on some of the paper.”
    â€œIn the event of chapter eleven or worse, they can’t pierce the corporate veil to touch your personal assets,” Bea said.
    â€œI don’t know about any veil crap, but I do know that yours truly and his house and personal bank accounts is on at least two notes that asshole talked me into signing.”
    â€œHow can they take your house if this is a corporation?” Lyon asked.
    â€œThey certainly can if Sam signed personally in addition to signing as a corporate officer,” Bea said. “Banks love the additional protection of getting personal notes as guarantees.”
    â€œThey called it a