Death Angel (27 page)

It was only eight o’clock and already it
was hot. The weatherman had predicted possible nineties for the day, not
untypical for the first week of July. She raised her face to the sun, feeling
the heat penetrate her skin, spreading slowly through her body.
 

Signing up with the temporary agency had
been the right course of action. The first two weeks she’d worked short
assignments of one or two days duration. In her zombie state, it was exactly
what she needed. All she had to do was show up, do her work, and go home. She
was polite and cordial to the other workers, but kept herself detached from any
more personal contact.

It encouraged her when she didn’t see
anyone she knew and no one appeared to connect her with the publicity
surrounding Jenny’s death or Richard’s disappearance. Without makeup and with
her hair pulled back behind her neck, she looked very different from the
pictures in the paper.
 

With a quick glance at her watch, she
cleaned up the kitchen, took her lunch and a can of soda from the refrigerator,
and left. It was Wednesday and her assignment was for the full week with the
added bonus that the office was just ten minutes from the house.
 

The offices of Garvey & Associates
were in the center of Pickard, a one-story brick building across the park from
city hall. Beyond the waiting room was an open area where the secretaries and
assistants had work spaces opposite the offices of the three associates.
 

The final work space was outside Joseph
Garvey’s office. Unlike the others, it had windows with a view of the parking
lot, unexciting but less claustrophobic. Opposite the door to Garvey’s office
was an arched doorway that led to the conference room and a small kitchen.
 

Paula Craig, the gray-haired office
manager, was situated in an alcove that afforded some privacy from the rest of
the room. Kate’s desk was between Paula’s and the two women who worked for
Garvey. Loretta McCabe and Gail Richardson were both single and in their early
twenties. They had been friendly, but they had little in common with Kate since
they considered her ancient at thirty-one.

When Kate’s service had given her the
assignment, she had immediately recognized Joseph Garvey’s name. He was a
well-known corporate lawyer and one of Pickard’s more celebrated citizens. His
wife Lisa, a gracious sponsor of numerous charities, appeared frequently on the
society page of the
Pickard
Advocate
and the Chicago papers. Kate had met them only once, when they
came to Jenny’s funeral in Garvey’s official capacity as assistant mayor.

She parked behind the building and once
inside began work immediately. It was late morning before she paused for a
break. She pressed against the back of the desk chair to ease the ache between
her shoulder blades. Her fingers were clammy against the hard, plastic keys and
she stopped typing to wipe them against her skirt.
 

Most of the work was correspondence.
Nothing particularly interesting. One of the advantages of working as a temp
was that she didn’t have to stay long at an assignment. Thankfully, she would
only be working for Joseph Garvey for a week. Paula had said he was a
perfectionist. Petty tyrant, more likely.
 

Taking the letter out of the printer,
she dropped it on the pile, pushed her chair away from the desk, and stretched
her legs.

The door of the conference room opened,
and Joseph Garvey bustled across the room to his office.

Garvey looked to be in his late forties
or early fifties, stocky, bordering on the flabby. Understated suits with the
fit of expensive tailoring gave him the slick look of
Gentleman’s Quarterly
.
 

In contrast, his features had an earthy
quality that was almost tangibly sensual. His lips were thick; his nose was
finely cut, ending in plump nostrils. His nondescript hazel eyes were deep set,
slumberous. He might have been handsome except for his acne-scarred complexion
that was too white, as though he spent all his time in shadowed
courtrooms.
 

Kate wondered if his air of importance
was irritating to his fellow attorneys.
 

The only time Garvey had spoken to her
was to criticize her work. It didn’t bother her that he was particular about his
letters. After all, the man was paying her salary. It was his manner that
annoyed her. He never looked at her directly. He checked the letters, made
additions or corrections, and then shoved the letters to be corrected across
the desk without acknowledging her presence.
 

“Damn it, Loretta. I don’t understand
why this has happened again.” Garvey’s harsh voice broke into Kate’s thoughts.
The door of his office was open, so that his words could be heard distinctly in
the outer room. “This is the second time in a month you’ve taken personal time
during office hours.”

Kate flinched at the sound of a hand
slapping on a wood surface and pictured the lawyer glaring at his poor
secretary. In the three days she had been at the office, she had been an
unfortunate witness to several of Garvey’s temper tantrums. She didn’t know
what else to call them. The man blew up at the most inconsequential things. She
wondered why Loretta didn’t quit.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Garvey. I had a
doctor’s appointment.”

“That’s no excuse. If you wish to remain
in my employ, you’ll have to do better. You know the standards I require. I
believe I explained it fully when I hired you. It’s not like you’re right out
of secretarial school. You’ve been here almost a year.”

A year working for that man! Either
Loretta received an enormous salary or she needed a reference badly to put up
with such verbal abuse. Kate stared at the computer screen and spotted a
misspelling. She kept forgetting to use spell-check.

“Lunch time, Kate.”

Paula’s voice startled her, and she
blinked several times to bring her thoughts back to the present.
 

“Lucky thing,” Kate said. “My stomach’s
growling.”

“I’m running down to the pancake house.
It’s beastly hot, but I like to get outside for a bit. You don’t have to eat at
your desk, you know. You’re welcome to come along with me.”

“Thanks for asking, but I think I’ll
stay in,” Kate said, keeping her voice casual. “Go ahead. I didn’t realize I
was holding you up. I never even heard Gail and Loretta leave.”

“Those two always keep one eye on the
clock.” Paula laughed, then wrinkled her forehead in uncertainty. “Are you
positive you don’t want to come?”

“I’m sure,” Kate said. She opened the
bottom desk drawer and held up a paperback in one hand and a brown bag in the other.
“I promised myself I’d finish this book today. And I’ve a sandwich and a Diet
Coke in here.”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
The older woman stood uncertainly beside her desk, then nodded and left.

Kate sat perfectly still as the silence
of the room closed in around her. In the outer offices there was some activity,
so she didn’t feel isolated, only blissfully alone.
 

She got up and walked through the
archway to the kitchen. She took a plastic glass from the countertop and
reached into the refrigerator for some ice. Back at her desk, she poured the
Diet Coke and opened the plastic bag, sniffing hungrily at the chicken
sandwich. She stretched her legs out under the desk and began eating as she
turned the pages of the historical saga she had been reading for the last
week.
 

When she finished, she crumbled the
plastic bag and the napkin, and reached for the brown paper bag. She hit the
edge of her glass and for one heart-stopping moment thought it would topple
over on the freshly printed letters. When the glass settled back into place,
she pulled in a great gulp of air and blew it out slowly.

“Judas. That’s all I’d need.
Soda-stained letters.”
 

She should have cleared off her desk
before she started lunch. She got up, arranged the letters in a neat pile, and
walked across the room to Garvey’s office.
 

The office reflected the meticulous
Garvey. The visitors’ chairs were centered precisely in front of his desk. The
wall on the right, facing the windows, was covered with diplomas and
certificates, all framed identically, marching in two even lines above a
credenza. Behind the desk were bookcases, filled with books, arranged
apparently by size rather than content.

The desk was a contemporary rectangle of
teak, the grain sharp contrasts of brown. There was a green blotter in the
middle. Two pens in brass holders were set in a green malachite base,
positioned on the edge of the blotter closest to the visitors’ chairs.
 

Kate crossed the thick beige carpet,
circled the desk, and leaned over, placing the letters directly in the center
of the green blotter. As she leaned forward, she caught the cloyingly sweet
smell of butterscotch.

The slightest whiff of the distinctive
odor reminded Kate of the half-sucked piece of butterscotch found in the pocket
of Jenny’s windbreaker. Sinking down into Garvey’s chair, she scrubbed her eyes
as if to erase the memory.
 

Opening her eyes, she spotted a pile of
candy wrappers in the ashtray. She reached across and picked up a handful. Her
breath caught in her throat at the bright tartan logo. ButterSkots.

Closing her hand to hide the wrappers
from sight, she pressed her fist against her bosom. Her whole body shook in
reaction.
 

“What the hell are you doing in my
office?”

Twenty

“W
hat the hell are you doing in here
?”

Joseph Garvey’s voice was so unexpected
that a small shriek burst from Kate’s lips. She shrank back in the chair.
 

“How dare you snoop around my office,”
he snapped.

Seeing the enraged man in the doorway,
she was unable to speak. All she could do was stare. She stumbled to her feet,
jamming the candy wrappers into the pocket of her skirt.

“I really am sorry for my intrusion, Mr.
Garvey. I . . . I wasn’t feeling well and I just sat down in your chair.”

“Well, get out. You have no right to be
in here.”

It was the tone of his voice that
brought Kate back to her senses. Anger boiled to the surface. “And you have no
right to be so rude,” Kate said.
 

“I pay your wages, miss.”

“Not anymore.”

Ignoring him completely, Kate brushed
past him. She moved quickly across the room to her desk, picked up her book,
opened the drawer and withdrew her purse. She did not look back as she left the
office.

She drove home, still shaken by the ugly
scene with Garvey. She unlocked the front door, dropped her keys on the hall
table, and headed for the family room. Kicking off her sandals, she padded
across to the couch and flopped onto the soft upholstery.
 

She couldn’t believe how angry she was.
Before she could change her mind, she called the temp agency and told them she
wouldn’t be going back to Garvey and Associates.

As she hung up, it started to rain. Fat
drops of water splashed against the windows and she crossed to the patio doors
to stare out at the backyard. The sky was dark. Thunder rumbled in the
distance, and she could see the flicker of lightning against the black
clouds.
 

Kate had always loved summer storms, and
she had taught Jenny the joy of walking in the rain. As long as there was no
lightning, they would pull on raincoats and boots and head outside.
 

She could still picture Jenny, face
puckered as she turned it up to the leaden sky, her eyelashes trembling on her
cheeks in spiky clumps and her tongue extended to catch the raindrops. Jenny
would race along the sidewalk, jumping with both feet into any large puddle of
water. Summer rain was a time of wild abandon for both of them. Now, a storm
only roused a flood of sadness in Kate’s heart.

With one finger, she followed a
raindrop’s zigzag path down the glass. God, she missed Jenny and Richard.

Silent tears rolled down her face, but
she made no attempt to wipe them away. The pain was there as it always was when
she thought of how much she had lost. She had to let it go. But God, it was so
hard.
 

When the crying eased, she went out to
the kitchen for a Kleenex. She wiped the tears from her face and blew her nose.
Crumpling the tissue, she shoved it into the pocket of her skirt. She was
surprised at the crinkle of cellophane and reached deeper to bring out the
contents.
 

The ButterSkots wrappers.
 

She’d forgotten that she’d stuffed them
into her pocket when Garvey appeared so suddenly in the doorway. She didn’t
want anything to remind her of the wretched man. Walking across the floor to
the wastebasket, she opened her fingers and watched as the plaid ButterSkots
wrappers fluttered down onto the trash.