The Last Word Read Online Free PDF

either once you meet her.
    5 . Depends on how bad the hangover.
    6 . Don’t judge me. Running is hard.

SUBORDINATES
    MEMO
    To All Spellman Employees:
    Albert and Olivia will be out of the office until Thursday afternoon. We will arrive
     when our other business is taken care of.
    Signed,
    The Subordinates
    N o matter what my ragtag group of investigators is wearing, Spellman Investigations
     tries to have a weekly summit in which we debrief each other on our current caseload.
     This routine was intact for close to two years before I took the reins, and it will
     remain intact as long as my parents don’t become nudists. It is policy to have the
     meetings in the morning, since we don’t run the tightest ship and people like to skip
     out early on Friday. I’m the kind of boss who doesn’t mind that sort of thing, so
     long as the work is getting done and my employees aren’t in the other room eating
     pancakes.
    At the very least they could have been sneaky about it, but the unit was openly flaunting
     their pancake consumption during the weekly summit.
    I entered the kitchen to see whether I could wrangle my parents/underlings.
    “Would you care to join us for the meeting?” I asked.
    “Didn’t you get the memo?” Dad said.
    “I did. Thank you for laminating it and Krazy Gluing it to the top of my desk. However,
     since you’re only twenty feet from where the meeting is taking place, I don’t see
     why you can’t make that short trek into the office.”
    “Can’t you see we’re eating?” Mom said.
    “You can bring your pancakes,” I said.
    “They taste better in here,” Mom said, devouring half the stack in a mouthful.
    “Well, we can wait ten, twenty minutes, until you’re done,” I said, being accommodating.
     For a hundred-and-ten-pound woman my mother eats like a longshoreman. You’d think
     she has a tapeworm.
    “Nah, we don’t want to rush our digestions. We’ll see you later,” Dad said. Dad, alas,
     most definitely does not have a tapeworm. I didn’t want to say anything. But Dad has
     no business eating pancakes. It must have been his cheat day, but yesterday was his
     cheat day.
    There was no point in pushing the matter further. My current strategy for coping with
     renegade employees was failing, and I needed to come up with another plan. I returned
     to the office to find Demetrius (bow tie–free) and Vivien whispering conspiratorially.
     I could only gather that they were discussing the dissension among the ranks. My lack
     of leadership was becoming not only a professional problem but also a personal embarrassment.
    My presence halted the sotto voce conversation. Vivien, looking worse for wear even
     for a college coed, returned to her desk. I’m not one to judge; from age twelve to
     twenty-five you could generally rely on my being the least-polished-looking person
     in the vicinity, unless you dropped me by helicopter against my will at a Grateful
     Dead concert. 1 But Viv, that day, didn’t just appear ungroomed—she had clearly given up on a knotty
     tangle in her long dark hair, and her clothes had the imprint of repeated wear—butunhinged as well. Her bloodshot eyes darted around, like overcaffeinated scopes attached
     to trigger-happy rifles.
    “Have you eaten anything today, Viv?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “No,” D said. “She raided Rae’s junk food stash.”
    I returned to the kitchen, plucked a stack of leftover pancakes from the stove, squeezed
     some fake maple syrup on top, and grabbed a fork. I responded to the unit’s protest
     by explaining that the hotcakes were for Viv and returned to the office, putting the
     plate on her desk.
    “Since my parents are up to speed on the cases, 2 let’s have a quick meeting without them. D, can you do some background checks on
     any employee who has been with Divine Strategies longer than five years?”
    “I’ll get started today,” D said, shuffling papers distractedly.
    “How did your interview with the