Murder at Fire Bay Read Online Free PDF

my teeth. “John Crouch.”  
    The Boss laughed. “Your favorite postal inspector, eh . . . Leo?”
    “Yeah, my favorite,” I had answered. And with that I’d rung off. Needless to say, Crouch was not a favorite person of mine. I had had a few run-ins with the s.o.b. Run-ins about rules I thought were in the gray area of postal regulations.  
    * * *
    “Someday I’m going to get you,” he had bragged. And now, here he sat, slim, trim, gray-headed, white shirt and all, putting the cold eye on a hapless Abby. She had practically melted down into a puddle. When Crouch put that blue-eyed stare on you, you knew you might as well kiss the kids goodbye. I had already learned Abby was a divorced woman with three school-age kids at home. She needed this job.  
    This was a situation Crouch enjoyed, having a victim about to pee their pants.
    “Tell me again, Abby, exactly how long these thefts have been going on.”
    The asshole had only asked her three times. It occurred to me she was due some representation from the union since she was just acting as a supervisor. While John put the cold stare on Abby, I got up and went out the door. I doubted he even noticed my absence.  
    I made a beeline for a sorting case where Martha sat, gently shoving letters into their respective slots.  
    “Martha,” I said quietly, “I think you’d better come to the office.”
    Her green eyes searched my face. “Why?”
    I took a deep breath. I was going to catch hell for this.
    “Abby is being questioned by a postal inspector.”
    Her hand paused in mid-air, her eyes grew wide, and her mouth became a straight line. She uttered only one word. “Hell!”
    “Give me a minute to get back in the office, and then knock, okay?”
    She nodded. Every Postal Service employee is supposed to be accompanied by a union rep or a co-worker when hauled into the office. Management knows this, of course, but if the employee doesn’t say anything, the manager or whoever, often just forges ahead. John Crouch wouldn’t be happy with me, but I did it for management’s sake as much as for the employee. A lawyer would tear up the statements made by an intimidated employee faced by someone like John Crouch.  
    I had barely sat down when a knock sounded at the door. Crouch gave me a look. I shrugged as I walked to the door. There she stood, drawn up to full height, which must have been just under six feet, ready to do battle.  
    Martha strode past me, clipboard in hand.
    “All right, what the hell is going on here? Abby, not another word, you understand?”  
    Abby could only nod and swallow—I suspected her throat had probably turned to sandpaper.
    Crouch gave me a dirty look, but I shook my head and put on what I hoped was a surprised, innocent look. He would get no help from me. In a perverse way, I was looking forward to this little encounter.
    “I was simply asking a few preliminary questions about a problem here at the post office,” said Crouch.
    By now the clipboard was beating a rhythm on Martha’s Levi’s.
    “Crouch, you know better than that. Why wasn’t I notified?”
    He rose to a standing position. “That’s Mr. Crouch to you!”
    I remained seated. This was like a tennis match where your head swivels from side to side trying to keep track of the ball. Abby’s head and mine moved in synch from Martha to Crouch and then back again.  
    A smile came to Martha’s face.
    “Oh, is it then? John, you know I am equal to you in labor situations like this!”
    There was a pause, as the two stood nose to nose. The only sound was the clipboard making an occasional slap on what I imagined to be a classy leg. That image set me to thinking about being a married man and needing to give my Jeanette a call that evening.  
    Since there was a break in the battle, I decided to take a hand and stood up.
    “Let’s sit down,” I said. “Shouting at one another isn’t going to fix anything.”
    For a minute I thought they were going to stand there