"H" Is for Homicide Read Free Page A

waved, veering in my direction. She's thirty-eight, single, and the closest thing to a "best" friend I'm likely to have. The cluster of office keys was still in the lock and they jingled and clanked as she opened the door. "Hey, babe. I was looking for you Friday afternoon, but you'd already left. Must be nice knocking off at two," she said as she let me in.
    "Where did you come from? The place was dark when I passed by a minute ago."
    She relocked the door and continued toward the copier with me trailing along behind. She was talking over her shoulder, her manner relaxed. "I just popped by to use the Xerox machine. Don't tell anyone. This is personal business. A list of guests for the reception." She raised the lid on the Xerox machine and placed a paper on the glass, punching in instructions. She pressed the "print" button and the machine fired up. She was wearing black tights and knee-high boots with an oversize sweat shirt that hit her just below the crotch. She caught my look. "I know. It looks like I forgot to put on my pants. I'm on my way to Neil's, but I wanted to grab this while I could. What are you up to? You want to join us for a drink?"
    "Thanks, but I better not. I have some work to do."
    "Well, you missed the big excitement. The legendary Mr. Titus showed up Friday afternoon with three of his own hand-picked lieutenants. Two reps and a claims adjuster got canned to make room for them."
    "You're kidding! Who?"
    "Tony Marsden, Jack Cantheas, and Letty Bing."
    "Letty? She'll sue!"
    "I sincerely hope so."
    "I thought he wasn't due here for another three weeks."
    "Surprise, surprise. I'll probably be fired next."
    "Oh, come on. You're doing a great job."
    "Yeah, right. That's why claims posted six hundred thousand in losses."
    "That was Andy Motycka's fault, not yours."
    "Oh, who cares? I'm getting married. I can do something else. I never liked the job that much anyway. How's goes the shopping so far?"
    "The shopping?" I said blankly. I was still trying to cope with the disaster at CF.
    "For the wedding. A dress."
    "Oooh. For the wedding. I've got a dress."
    "Bullshit. You only own one dress and it's black. You're the maid of honor, not a pallbearer." Vera and her beloved were getting married in eight days, on Halloween. Everyone had given her infinite grief over her choice of dates, but Vera was adamant, claiming her natural cynicism was at war with sentiment. She'd never thought to marry. She'd been dating (she said) since she was twelve years old and had gone through countless men. Despite the fact that she was absolutely nuts about her fiancee, she was determined to turn tradition on its ear. I thought a black dress would be perfect for Halloween nuptials. Once the reception was over we could go trick-or-treating together and maybe pool the take. I wanted dibs on the Hershey's Kisses and Tootsie Rolls.
    "Besides, you've had that damn dress for five years," she went on.
    "Six."
    "And last time you wore it you said it still smelled like a swamp."
    "I washed it!"
    "Kinsey, you cannot wear a six-year-old smelly black dress in my wedding. You swore you'd get a new one."
    "I will."
    She gave me a flat look, filled with skepticism. "Where will you go to shop? Not K Mart."
    "I wouldn't go to K Mart. I can't believe you said that."
    "Well, where?"
    I looked at her uneasily, trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy. I knew the hesitation was just an invitation for her to step in and boss me around, but to tell you the truth, I hadn't the faintest idea what kind of dress to buy. I've never been a maid of honor. I don't have a clue what such maidens wear. Something useless, I'm sure, with big flounces everywhere.
    She stepped in. "I will help you," she said, as though to a half-wit.
    "You will? That's great."
    Vera rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was thrilled that I was yielding control. People like to take charge of my personal life. Many seem to feel I don't do things right. "Friday. After work," she