LITMIR.BIZ

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the air they breathe.” I studied her, but her painted face, her mask, gave nothing away. If Allen had a feeling, any feeling, it was buried bone deep. “For example, the gentleman leaving as we came in didn’t seem too happy with you.”

      Her eyes widened. “Philip?” She chuckled. “I’m not worried about Philip Hewitt. He’s a worker bee, a drone. I enjoy his little fits of pique. They give me a chance to cut him down to size.”

      “What do you know about him, other than that?” Ben asked.

      “I know he thinks he’s a much better writer than he is. And that he hates female authority figures, which is why I hired him and why I keep him on. It’s fun watching him wrestle with it.”

      I clocked the cat. “Anyone else you like messing with?”

      Allen didn’t answer.

      “Okay, how about this one?” I said. “Why haven’t you called the police?”

      Allen took a long, thoughtful sip from her little coffee cup before setting it down and taking a few moments more before she graced me with a reply. “Because they aren’t needed. This is a private matter, and I’m keeping it private. No hordes of gossip-greedy reporters waving microphones and cameras in my face. Have either of you ever seen my name linked to scandal?”

      Allen waited for an answer. I thought of the married senator she’d latched onto a few years ago. There’d been low gossip and covert whispers, but they’d been careful not to draw attention to the relationship. It had been the worst-kept secret in town, and none of my business. Ben shook his head no. I just sat there. She seemed satisfied.

      “That’s not by accident. Someone’s looking for attention, hoping to get it by aligning themselves with me. I won’t give them that satisfaction. In the meantime, until they realize they’re not going to get what they want, I have you two. You have your orders.”

      Our orders? I scanned the butterscotch room. “Obviously, money’s no object, so why go for a moonlighting cop and a one-woman PI shop instead of a full-scale security firm? There are a lot of them out there.”

      “For this, big isn’t necessary, is it? Or are you saying even this small job is too much for the two of you to handle?” She looked from Ben to me and back again.

      Sitting there watching her, I wondered what kind of life the woman lived. What made her so sure of herself and so inflexible and unfeeling toward those around her? Who loved her or didn’t? I couldn’t know, of course. I was meeting only the public Allen. She could be completely different out of her Prada than she was in it, but somehow I doubted it. Ben tapped the leg of my chair with his foot, and the subtle jolt instantly stopped my mind from wandering.

      “Well?” she was asking.

      “Excuse me?”

      “I asked if we were on the same page.”

      I let that sit. This was my chance to bolt, and I would have in a New York minute if Ben and I weren’t tight and I hadn’t given my word.

      I smiled. “Absolutely.”

      Ben breathed out heavily. Relief? What did he think I’d say?

      “Good. I can’t imagine you’d have any more questions.”

      I glanced at Ben, who seemed satisfied to let our meeting come to an end without a challenge, so I just nodded and smiled.

      Allen leaned back in her chair, her eyes holding mine again. “I can read people pretty well. Had to, growing up where I did.” She picked up a tiny spoon from the tray, pointed it at me. “Let me tell you about yourself.”

      I groaned inwardly. How could I make Ben pay for this? How would I go about sinking a fishing boat? Would I need power tools, or could I do it with just a handsaw and elbow grease? Acetylene torch? I slid Ben a sideways look, but he wisely avoided eye contact. Power tools. Definitely.

      “Cassandra,” Allen said, smiling condescendingly. Her familiarity pulled me up short. “Do you mind if I call you Cassie?”

      Some smiles are warm, friendly; some are cold, a warning, an opportunity given for somebody to rethink, proceed with caution. I gave Allen the latter. Nobody called me Cassie. It didn’t fit me. My own mother had never called me Cassie, and who knew me better than she had? I could practically feel Ben sweating through his blazer. My eyes met Allen’s; hers met mine and locked. There was a dark twinkle in her eye. She was messing with me, pushing, digging.

      “I do mind, actually. Unless, of course, you’d prefer that we all operate on a first-name basis? You call me Cass, I’ll call you Vonda, and he’s Ben. We can chuck the professionalism altogether and get real homey. You cool with that?”

      She recoiled, and the devilish smile melted away. She couldn’t marginalize me without taking herself down a peg, so what to do, what to do? How important was it that she be the Vonda Allen? I sat and waited for her to work it out.

      “Ms. Raines, then.”

      I was not surprised. Maybe reading people was fun only when you thought they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, read you back? Allen looked a little unsettled, or as unsettled as I imagined she got. She was definitely hiding something, I thought, but we all hid something. I wondered what Allen’s something might be.

      The room got quiet; the silence was so profound, I could almost hear Blue Note licking his privates under the desk.

      “Do you play poker, Ms. Raines?”

      I shook my head and ignored the impulse to check my watch for the time.

      “People would have a hard time reading you.”

      “I’m a pineapple,” I said.

      I’d confused her. “Yes, well, I’ll take Detective Mickerson at his word. Anything else you feel compelled to ask?”

      Ben spoke quickly. “No, I think that’ll just about cover it.”

      “Then I’ll be ready to go at six.” Allen picked up her phone, punched numbers.

      I interrupted the dismissal. “Do you like marigolds, Ms. Allen?”

      Her finger froze over the number pad, and she fixed me with flat eyes. “I prefer roses and orchids.”

      And then she turned away and ignored us. Ben and I eased out into the hall. As we stood there, our backs to Allen’s closed door, decompressing, I suddenly gave in to a perverse urge and elbowed Ben in the ribs, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to make me feel better. He let out a grunt.

      “You’ll pay for this one, Mickerson. Big-time. I’ll dig deep.”

      “Knew that when you gave her the poker face. Just do me a favor, huh? Keep it above the belt? I’d like to father children someday.”

      I glared at him. “No promises.”

      Chapter 3

      Nobody, not even me, tried to kill Allen the entire morning. Ben and I spent the time eyeballing the FedEx guy, the mailman, and a couple of office workers from down the hall who’d come to meet friends for lunch. Allen had a designer salad; Kendrick ordered in burgers for Ben and me. No letters. No marigolds. Just the two of us cooling our heels in rich lady chairs outside Allen’s door.

      I stood after a time, stretched out the kinks. “I’m taking a walk.”

      Ben shot me a sly look.

      “Bubble,” I said before he had a chance to remind me. “Got it.”

      I strolled down the hall, peeking into the offices, at the unhappy people, but stopped at a small room with a copier in it when I saw Kendrick hastily feeding envelopes through a metered stamp machine.

      “Kendrick?”

      He jumped, reeled around. I’d obviously caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. He eyed the

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