Fatal Greed Read Online Free PDF

revealed, right down to the top of her derriere.
    Marisa had me in the palm of her hand.
    She dimmed the lights and told me to close my eyes. The music then segued to one of Buble’s classic love ballads, changing the mood. We had danced to this song the night we decided to move in together. The rhythm of my heart changed from panting dog to lover.
    “Okay, open your eyes.”
    She walked slowly, deliberately toward me, wearing the red heels, and nothing more.
    “This is your lucky day, Michael Doyle.” She sat on my lap. “We’re going to see if you’re up to the test.”
    I picked her up, and she curled her heels and legs around my waist as we kissed. I stumbled, and we fell onto the couch six feet away. She stripped off my clothes, then guided us to the bedroom, where we made love for the next sixty minutes. In the end, she yelled out my name and collapsed on my chest.
    She had touched my heart and I had touched hers.
    “I’m not sure what I did to deserve this. I don’t think I missed any important anniversary dates, have I?”
    “Michael, one day we might have a real anniversary date for you to remember, not some first date, or first time we had sex.” Her chin rested on my chest. “But seeing you lying on that stretcher this week, hearing your story, I gained perspective. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me we’re made for each other. We have trust in each other, and we’re in love. I just wanted you to know how I felt.”
    I fell asleep with visions of red heels dancing in my head.
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    I awoke the next morning refreshed and kissed Marisa on her cheek. She squeezed my leg and released a loving groan. With renewed energy, I bounced outside to scoop up the paper, wondering if the press had learned what I knew about the murder—the body stuffed in the plastic garbage bag was female. As I leaned over to pick up the paper, I realized Stu hadn’t called me back with more questions. Fine by me. I noticed the For Sale sign in the Silva’s front yard had disappeared. Maybe they’d reconciled. Or decided to not join the great race for accumulating the most expensive trophies. I hoped we could all start hanging out together again and have some fun.
    With the paper tucked under my arm, I took Marisa’s morning mug of coffee to the master bath where she was applying her final touches of makeup before heading off to work. Picking up the main section of the Times Herald , my eyes became glued to the primary article, written by Stu. The coroner’s office had finally released the name of the victim: Tiffany Chambers.
    Bile crept up in my throat as I reached for the edge of the tub. A name, a person connected to the arm I’d seen slide out of the bag. The cold, white arm belonged to Tiffany, someone I knew. I squinted my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t vomit. But the image flashed repeatedly, forcing me to replay the sick and confused feeling I’d experienced when I first saw the arm.
      “Michael, are you okay?” I pointed to the newspaper. Marisa grabbed a face cloth, wet it, and held it against my forehead.
    “A name had to come out eventually.” She squeezed my shoulder.
    I thought more about the person Stu had disclosed as the victim of a murder. While attractive and professional in every interaction I had with her, Tiffany’s personality seemed to be guarded, slightly fake. She appeared reluctant to form a genuine bond with anyone.
    I had no reason to think somebody would want to kill Tiffany. Frankly, at Greenberg & Associates, the person most vilified by employees, customers, and vendors was Jeanne, the owner and chief taskmaster. Though Jeanne could be a hard ass, she still had strong morals. That’s really the only way I could put up with her. When her character was tested, she viewed the world through an ethical lens.
    We read more. The coroner’s office still hadn’t determined cause of death. I surmised it wasn’t a quick gunshot to the head or some other singular violent