LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter 4

      A while later Ben took his own walk down the hall. He said he was going just to make sure things were quiet up front, but I knew better. He was no better at maintaining the bubble than I was. While he was gone, I flipped through one of Allen’s ego-riddled magazines, my legs crossed, my eyes periodically lifting off the page to check the hall, Allen’s door, and whatever else needed a quick look-see, my ears peeled for anything that didn’t sound right.

      Kendrick was at the copier. I could hear the clunky whir of the machine. And then there was Chandler, who, for some inexplicable reason, had nothing better to do and was now sitting at the small intake desk outside her office, watching me read. Whenever I looked up, there she was, and to my great chagrin, it appeared she was prepared to keep at it.

      “That’s a good issue,” she said.

      I lowered the magazine just far enough to expose my eyes. It’s okay, I thought. Great? Hmm. “It’s entertaining.”

      “Marlon Hinchey is one of our up-and-coming young performers. He came to us. We didn’t have to put feelers out. Strive is just that good.”

      I nodded. For a moment there was a lull in the conversation, mainly because I wasn’t committed to entering into one. Chandler had been quite the cold fish earlier on; now she seemed ready to engage in polite conversation. Why? Allen wasn’t paying me to gab the day away. One might argue she wasn’t paying me to read it away, either, but that was a discussion for another time.

      “Not very exciting work. Watching someone.”

      I lowered the magazine to my lap, a finger between the pages to mark my spot. I wondered if Chandler meant my watching Allen or her watching me. She stood up, walked around the desk, leaned back against it, arms crossed. Her smile threw me. I checked the hall. No Ben. Shoot. I sighed, stood.

      “The less excitement the better.”

      Chandler seemed to consider that. “I see your point. Exciting would be bad for Vonda.”

      I tossed the magazine onto the chair and walked over. “You must have more important things to do than watch me read.”

      “Just making sure things run smoothly. I can’t do that closed up in my office.”

      I glanced over at her office. It was half the size of Allen’s but still large enough to corral at least half a herd of cattle. Nicely decorated, I thought, and the desk sat squarely on the floor, like a normal person’s desk should. Score one for Chandler. “Run smoothly for us or for her?”

      She lowered her arms, lifted off the desk. “Everyone.” She turned to pace around the tight little rotunda. “You and Detective Mickerson are questioning the staff.” She stopped, turned back to face me. “Despite what Vonda said. I understand why, and it’s good you’re doing it. Find out anything?”

      “It’s early yet.”

      “Yes, well, I wouldn’t place too much stock in what you’re being told. Philip and Linda have axes to grind. They may not like Vonda, they may even resent her, but they respect her authority.”

      I thought back to Philip Hewitt’s dramatic walkout, Linda Sewell’s legal representation, and Kendrick’s liberal use of the postage machine. None of that looked like respect to me.

      “She’s tough,” I said. “Strong willed.”

      “Absolutely, and if she were a man, those would be considered positive attributes. But I’m sure you understand that. You likely get that yourself.”

      “Fair amount. How long have you worked for her?”

      Chandler sat down again. “I’ve worked with Vonda almost fifteen years. We started out at the same PR firm. Then we decided to break out on our own, start the magazine.”

      “Quite a leap of faith,” I said.

      Chandler grinned. “It was. There were some lean years, and for a long time it was just Vonda, me, and a couple of young writers doing everything, but we made it.” She swept her arms around the room, beaming with pride. “We’ll celebrate our eighth anniversary this September. And you’ve heard about the talk show. It’s network, not cable access. National reach. Who knows how far we’ll go?”

      “Your original writers . . . Are they still on board?”

      “Oh, no. Long gone. They didn’t have the patience to take the long view. When things got tough, they gave up. It takes time to build a successful business. Young people don’t get that.” Her face turned to stone. “I know you think someone here is doing this, but you’re wrong.”

      I pressed my lips together. I didn’t think I was wrong. I could think of at least two people right down the hall who might be likely candidates. Chandler apparently saw only loyalty and unity, while I had seen, almost from the moment I walked in here, anything but that. Still, she was entitled to her delusion. I gave Chandler another studied look, then padded back to my spot. “I’d imagine your responsibilities don’t allow for a lot of personal time.” There was no wedding ring on her finger, but that didn’t mean much these days, and marriage wasn’t the only way to be committed to someone, or even to a couple of someones. “All the late hours?”

      “You must know something about that, too. I don’t mind them at all. Whatever needs to be done.”

      I picked up the magazine and sat. “The letters . . . Do you remember how they came in? What kind of envelopes, maybe? A return address?”

      It looked like Chandler was racking her brain to remember. “I wish I’d paid closer attention, but things get so busy here. And then, when Vonda told me to throw everything out . . .”

      “Except for the letter you showed Detective Mickerson?”

      Chandler stared at me. “I was worried for Vonda. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s for her own good. You think those things were important?”

      The envelopes might have offered a clue to their sender’s identity. At least they’d have given us a place to start. They might even have traced back to Allen’s own postage machine. I offered a small smile. “Could have been.”

      * * *

      Ben made it back from his canvass but had little to show for it. No one else had admitted to holding a grudge against Allen, he reported, but neither had they exhibited a willingness to invite her out for a drink after work or nominate her for Boss of the Year. In short, Allen’s compliant employees were sad passengers in an oarless canoe hell-bent for Misery Falls.

      “Pamela in reception’s got one foot out the door,” Ben whispered, tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair. “She’s clocking out for good as of this Friday. Scuttlebutt is Allen pegged her as being thicker than a concrete post, and she took offense.”

      “And she’s sticking around till Friday?”

      “It’s that or not get paid for the time she’s already put in. She’s paying for night school. And I ran into your buddy Kendrick. He’s got a sneaky look to him. Reminds me of Loquacious Frye. I told you about him. Helped corner him my second year in uniform. He looked clean-cut, upstanding. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Biggest drug slinger on the West Side. Had twenty dealers working under him.” Ben’s eyes narrowed, and his gaze slid down the hall, toward the copy room. “Kendrick’s got Loquacious written all over him.”

      I shook my head, getting tired of the whole thing at this point. “Not Loquacious. He’s sneaking stamps, not slinging drugs.” At least not as far as I knew.

      “Stamps? Huh. Well, that’s a letdown.” He readjusted the gun at his side. “I don’t see anyone good for the Dear Bitch letters,

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