Dying to Call You Read Online Free PDF Page B

This must be the lawyer. Penelope indicated Helen with a nod of her head. “This woman used this office to create an incident last night. It was unforgivable, but Mr. Asporth has graciously decided to overlook it. You’re sure you don’t want her fired?” Penelope acted like a queen, casually offering to execute a worthless slave.
    “Mr. Asporth has specifically requested that she not be fired,” the lawyer said. “It is his express wish that she return to her job as a—what is it?” He looked at his notes. “Oh, yes, a survey taker.”
    Smart man, Helen thought. Mr. Asporth is afraid if I’m fired, I’ll make a stink and have plenty of time to do it.
    “But if she discusses this incident with anyone, including the authorities, we’ll be forced to take action against your company. After all, she is an employee of Girdner Surveys and its parent company as well.”
    I don’t have any money, Helen thought. But Girdner was loaded. Asporth knew what he was doing.
    The lawyer rose, fat with confidence, and left without a goodbye.
    Helen was still standing. Penelope turned furious eyes on her and said in a hissing whisper, “You heard him. You’ll keep your job, but not because I want you to. If I hear you’ve been talking to anyone, you’re out on the street. I’ll make sure you never work in Broward County again.”
    Helen breathed a sigh. By some miracle, she still had her job. She went back down to the boiler room and told Vito.
    “Good,” he grunted. “Sit down and start selling.”
    Helen tried to concentrate on her sales pitch, but she couldn’t. The scene in the office had been humiliating. Her hands itched for that crowbar. She longed to smash Penelope’s computer. And that was just the beginning. But she tamped down her rage. She still had her job.
    She had something else, too. Hank Asporth’s actions had just confirmed that he’d murdered that woman. An innocent man would demand she be fired, not send a slippery lawyer to shut her up—and make sure she kept her job. An out-ofwork Helen would have time to stir up trouble. She would trust her instincts once again and hope she didn’t get herself into trouble. But she knew better.
    Maybe Helen couldn’t talk about the murder here at work, but she could do some background checking. She had to sell so she could get survey duty again and look at those computer files.
    “I gotta get a sale,” jittery Nick said. He had the computer next to hers. “I really want to keep this job.”
    “Me, too,” Helen said.
    “But you’re selling,” Nick said, biting into his fifth jelly doughnut of the day. “I saw your numbers on the board yesterday. I haven’t had a sale in two weeks. If I don’t sell anything soon, I’m gone.”
    He was right, and they both knew it. Nick was a junkie trying to go straight. He’d been on the street, then moved into a halfway house. Now he was living in a rented trailer. He was touchingly proud of that. But the less he sold, the more twitchy he grew. Now Nick could hardly sit still long enough to sell anything. Helen suspected he was back on drugs.
    “I’ve got to work, Nick,” she said.
    Helen tried to sell all morning. But the more she pushed her potential clients, the more phones were slammed down.
    She was cursed, insulted and propositioned. The computers were calling Kentucky and Tennessee in areas where the gene pool needed some chlorine.
    “Hi, Mr. Moser, this is Helen with Tank Titan. We make a septic-tank cleaner that is guaranteed to help reduce large chunks, odors and wet spots.”
    “Wet spots?” Mr. Moser had a Gomer Pyle accent. “Wet spots are a big problem for me, honey. Got them all over my mattress. You wanna come over and—”
    Helen hung up and hit REMOVE FROM LIST so no other telemarketer would be subjected to him.
    No one was selling that morning. There wasn’t a single sale posted on the board. All around her, she heard the rustle of candy wrappers and chip bags. Telemarketers ate through