My Boss is a Serial Killer Read Free

attained a new gravity.
    This was my chance to show him the real
extent of my powers. Secretarial power is a vague thing and seldom
seen or appreciated. We’re like the folks who work backstage at a
play: we’re doing our job best when you never realize that we’re
there.
    I said, “I’ll take care of it, but after you
leave. Mr. Miller is our quality assurance maniac and the go-to guy
for confidentiality matters. If I take these things to him while
you’re here, he’ll want to meet you. That’s code for interrogation.
Before you realize it, you’ll be up to your chin in a departmental
meeting and you’ll probably be billed for the time.”
    Detective Haglund’s face grew solemn at my
joke, and I sensed a past run-in with an attorney.
    “ But,” I said quickly, “if you slip
quietly out the front door, I can claim complete ditzy ignorance,
make a few copies, stick a label on them, and viola! By tomorrow,
you’ll be able to talk to Bill about his client.”
    “ You make it sound like
magic.”
    “ That’s what it is. Secretary magic.” I
made an honest attempt not to beam at him, yet I couldn’t really
help myself. My God, what a cutie.
    “ Well I’m glad I got to meet you first,
Carol.” Detective Haglund got to his feet, picking up the few
things that he wasn’t going to leave with me. He shrugged into his
jacket. “Sounds like I started with the right person.”
    “ I’m always the right person to start
with.”
    He held my worshipful gaze with his own. His
was not worshipful, I suppose, but it was a healthy shade of
appreciative. I exercised self-restraint and did not leap on
him.
    “ Do you have a business card or
anything I can give Mr. Nestor?” I asked.
    Gus produced a stack of cards from that same
bottomless pit of a pocket where he kept everything he owned. I
took three of them. “For the QA people,” I lied. I gave him a card
of my own, because I’d been careful to grab a few when I passed my
desk on the way back from getting his soda, my intentions fully
formed.
    “ This is my direct line,” I explained,
indicating the obvious, as an excuse to get right up next to him
and bow my head next to his, “and this is my cell phone. Feel free
to call me on the cell, if you need to.”
    I smiled up at him without much pretense.
    “ It’s best to call me instead of Mr.
Nestor, anyway,” I continued, “because I always know how to get in
touch with him, and I don’t mind. The clients call me frequently. I
don’t have a husband or a roommate or anything, so it doesn’t
bother anybody.”
    Detective Gus Haglund peered at me.
    “ I’m saying that I’m single,” I assured
him.
    Oh friends and neighbors, that was so unlike
me. I swear it was that screw deposition that made me into a tramp.
But no, you say. You say, Carol, you can’t blame everything you did
that afternoon on being bored at work. People are bored at work
every day without resorting to harlotry. So I’ll make this
admission. I’d been divorced for three years and had been on very
few dates. I hadn’t been asked much, hadn’t wanted to go out much
anyway, and hadn’t sent out any signals. An entire life upheaval
had happened to me back then, and as a result I’d retreated into a
protective, quiet little shell that was, if not utterly rewarding,
comfortable and easy for me. Emerging on the other side from this
extended mental vacation, I found myself feeling more confident
than ever and also a little reckless. I was doing harmless
eccentric things in every corner of my life—painting my furniture,
buying racy shoes, acting rather indifferent to authority. This
episode was a bit more extreme than any of the others had been so
far, but then again, Detective Augustus Haglund was my
inspiration.
    How is it that a human can feel mortified and
pleased at the same time? I couldn’t believe I’d just announced my
availability, but I was proud of myself for having done so. Anyway,
what was the worst that could happen? I