A Skeleton in the Closet (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) Read Free

the first letters of Margo, Charlene and Kate.” She handed the envelope to Margo and looked at us expectantly. “What do you think?”
    I held the print-out closer to the lamp on Jenny’s desk. The Law Barn’s loft had windows and skylights, but downstairs, only the offices at the rear of the first floor enjoyed natural light. The lobby, which occupied the center of that level, was always a bit dim, so we kept a variety of table lamps on during the day to brighten things up. I turned the sheet of paper sideways and peered at the scribbles in the margin, apparently made with the same blue felt pen that was used on the envelope. “It is reported commonly that there is fornication among you,” I read with difficulty and looked up. “A Bible verse maybe?” I had been raised as a Lutheran, but my adult attitude toward organized religion was distinctly agnostic, and my remembrance of Bible verses was sketchy.
    Margo took a look. “Sure sounds like one to me, Sugar, if I’m rememberin ’ all those Sunday mornins ’ I spent yawnin ’ at the First Baptist Church of Atlanta correctly. And what’s this last part? ‘And it shall come to pass that instead of sweat … no, make that sweet … smell there shall be stink.’ Is that a reference to the absolutely revoltin ’ plant in this news article?”
    “I guess,” I responded doubtfully, “but what does one thing have to do with the other? And why does someone want to bring fornication and large, smelly plants to our attention?” We looked blankly at each other, then back to Jenny.
    “My guess would be some religious zealot has it in for one of you,” she announced. “He or she probably doesn’t like the fact that all of us unmarried females are breaking at least one of the Commandments on a regular basis.” She smiled sunnily . “You know, Kate and Armando … Margo and John … Emma and Ron … oops! Sorry, Kate. I keep forgetting that you’re Emma’s mom.”
    My smile was thin. “I believe you said ‘all of us,’ which would include you, would it not?” I said tartly. Margo giggled, and Jenny started to squirm. The telephone rang, and she snatched it off the hook gratefully.
    Momentarily stumped, we left the article and its envelope on Jenny’s desk and headed for the coffeemaker. Along with the photocopier, it stood in a little alcove to the left of the lobby. Rhett Butler kept us company, no doubt hoping for a handout from the jar of dog treats that sat next to the coffeemaker. “So what’s on everybody’s agendas today?” I inquired as I slid a pre-measured filter pack into the plastic basket and poured water into the top of the machine. Making coffee for the junior associates had been one of Margo’s duties at the Hartford law firm where she, Charlene and I had worked before we joined forces to open the realty office, and she flatly refused to do it again outside of her own kitchen. I didn’t blame her.
    “I’ve got showings scheduled from nine-thirty on at Vista Views,” she began, referring to the new active adult community for which we served as rental agents. “Then a quick manicure at one o’clock.” She tsk-ed over the state of her fingertips. They looked fine to me, but when it came to the fine points of personal grooming, Margo’s standards were higher than mine. “After that, it’s paperwork and more paperwork unless …” hope brightened her expertly made-up face, “ Strutter comes in with a new listin ’, as I frankly expect she will.” Strutter was the nickname of our third partner, Charlene Putnam. Recently remarried and the mother of a young son from her first, long-ago marriage, Strutter was a drop-dead gorgeous native of Jamaica. Soft curls fell to her shoulders, and eyes the color of the Caribbean sparkled in her beautiful, brown face, which topped a figure to die for and legs up to here. No one who had ever seen Charlene strut her stuff ever questioned the sobriquet.
    “Where is Strutter anyway?” I