Mystery Series
Judith’s breakout mystery
Writing as Dorothy Howell
HANDBAGS AND HOMICIDE
Find out how far a girl will go for a really great handbag!
Available in hardback from Kensington Publishing
EXCERPT:
I woke up one Sunday afternoon about four months ago with a business card
clutched in my hand from some guy named Kirk Keegan. An attorney at a
law firm on Wilshire.
I shot up
in bed. An attorney? What had I done last night?
I didn’t
remember a car accident, or being in jail – I’d remember that,
wouldn’t I? But I didn’t remember this guy either, so could
I really trust my memory?
He called
later that afternoon and I stood horrified at the sight of his name on my called
ID.
Was he calling
to warn me that the police were on their way to arrest me and that I should
make a break for the border, take a room on the second floor of the Motel Marta
in Cabo under the name Juanita Rivas? Attorneys do that, don’t
they?
Damn, I
should have paid better attention in Spanish class.
I’m
not big on suspense, so I answered the phone. Kirk Keegan’s voice
came through smooth and mellow, despite the background noise.
“We
met at the club last night,” he said.
We did?
“Yes,” I
said, because I definitely remembered going to a club. Otherwise, I was
clueless.
“I
was impressed with you,” Kirk said.
And why
wouldn’t he be? I was carrying a beaded BJ bag and had on the sweet
little black dress I’d just bought at Banana Republic.
“So
I wondered if you’re interested in Pike Warner?” Kirk asked.
Pike Warner … Pike
Warner …. Was that the new handbag line from DKNY?
“Well,
sure,” I told him.
“Be
there first thing Monday morning. I’ll phone in a recommendation,” Kirk
said. “Human Resources is on fourteen. You still have my
card, don’t you? With the address?”
I looked
down at the bent, dog-eared business card I’d spent the night with. Pike
Warner was the law firm he worked for. Kirk Keegan was offering me a
job there?
I didn’t
know the first thing about working at a law firm. My knowledge of the
law itself didn’t extend much past the consequences of exceeding the
speed limit, and then only if you got caught, of course. I’d be
completely lost. Totally out of my element.
“Sure,” I
said. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. Keep
me posted. Let me know how it goes,” Kirk said.
The next
morning I called in sick at the real estate company where I worked using the
touch-of-the-stomach-flu excuse, a favorite of mine, and drove to the impressive
office building in Century City.
The HR lady
had only recently arrived on Earth from another planet, obviously, because
she took one look at my job history – lifeguard, file clerk, receptionist
and two weeks at a pet store – and decided I might fit in nicely in the
accounting department. When I announced I was pursuing my BA, which really
meant that the semester after high school I’d enrolled in community college,
taken two classes, one of which was PE, she immediately scheduled me for the
all-important Pike Warner employment evaluation. A test to see if I actually
had any math skills, something the finance department seemed interested in.
Go figure.
I passed
the test receiving, oddly enough, the exact score as the guy sitting next to
me, and was brought onboard Pike Warner and made part of the Accounts Payable
unit.
They gave
me a huge salary – well, huge by my standards – and my credit card
balances had gone up proportionally. Christmas was on the horizon. Gucci
had come out with a new tote. And there was that troubling miscalculation
I’d made in my checking account.
So here
I was, sitting in my car, staring at the Holt’s sign, shoppers streaming
into the store like picnic ants on a sugar high, who expected to be catered
to, waited on and indulged by a minimum wage grunt wearing an of-course-you-can
smile.
Copyright © Dorothy Howell. All rights reserved. |
