Killer Career (9 page)

Pam looked doubtful, which was understandable since they’d had
their share of experiences with the temporary work force. Sometimes
it didn’t seem worth trying, yet they had to do something. There
was too much to do and not enough people to do it.

Dee, already nodding in flight, headed toward her computer to survey
the damage.

Julie went straight to her own office. There she called a one-hour
dry cleaners, followed by a temp agency, where she requested the best
assistant available.

Mondays were busy enough with clients who’d suffered all weekend
without advice and wanted answers now.

With the proliferation of telephone calls and the absence of recent
files on the computers for reference, the busy morning sped past
leaving no time for lunch. Mounds of waiting tasks stared at Julie
wherever she looked, on the desk, the credenza, even the floor,
meaning more late nights at the office and no time to spend doing
what she craved. At this rate her dream of being a writer would never
be real.

It had to. She wouldn’t settle for seconds. She must reclaim her
life.

Dade stuck his head in the doorway of her office around three
o’clock.

“How did it go,” she asked.

“The Arbitrator wouldn’t let on to what he thought. We’ll have
to wait for his Decision. You know what that means. It’ll be at
least a month to find out.”

“You’ve got to win. You gave it your best and you’re good. I
predict a victory.”

“If so, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His smile of appreciation warmed her heart.

Dee’s voice cut in over the intercom. “There’s an officer on
the phone and he’s asking for Dade or Julie. He won’t say what
it’s about. There’s also a call for Dade. Sounds like a new
case.”

“I’ll talk to the officer. You get the case,” Julie said,
heading to her own office. She grabbed the phone before sitting down.
What she heard made her blood freeze. She sank into the chair. When
the officer finished speaking, she hung up the receiver slowly.

A few seconds later, Dade stepped in. “What’s the word?”

“It’s Nora.”

“They found her? What did she say?”

“They found her all right. I can’t believe this. She killed
herself. The police called her apartment over the weekend. They even
knocked on her door, but no one answered. They finally got her sister
on the phone this morning. She went over to Nora’s apartment. The
poor thing found her own sister hanging from a rope in the closet,
with the chair kicked out from under her.”

“My God, that’s terrible. So she really did snap. I had no clue
she had mental problems, at least not until Saturday. Still, I can’t
believe she’d resort to suicide. If only she’d asked for help.”

“I feel awful. I never really liked her. Maybe I should have been
nicer to her. She had no friends at the office. I wonder if she felt
alone.”

Dade put his arm around Julie’s waist. “It’s not your fault if
she had a condition. That explains her weird note and what she did to
the office. Hell, she must have offed herself right after she trashed
our stuff.”

Julie shuddered. “It’s unbelievable. How could life be so bad
she’d want to end it all? It all seems like a movie or a novel.
Things like this don’t happen in real life.”

“Oh, yeah, they do, more often than you think. Still, when it hits
so close, it’s hard to take in. Hell, she was intelligent,
attractive, had her whole life ahead of her. I guess we’ll never
know why she snapped.”

Julie sighed. “No matter what trouble she caused, now that I hear
she took her own life, I feel sorry for her.”

Dade nodded. “I’ll see if I can get the sister’s number, find
out the arrangements, send some flowers.”

Julie’s stomach turned. Thoughts of funerals still brought up
painful memories. Some things a person could never get over.

Chapter Nine

No phone calls kept Julie from missing the next Saturday’s
workshop. Wondering what valuable writing tips she’d pick up, Julie
eagerly took her seat at the glass table. The great mystery writer
entered. Casting a glance in her direction, he nodded, as if to
confirm this time she’d made it. She flashed him a tentative smile.
She should have called to explain why she’d missed a session, but
had forgotten in all the turbulence. She’d have to explain later.
The man was gracious enough to make himself available, and she didn’t
want to appear ungrateful.

“Put yourself into each book,” Jensen said. “Douglas, what’s
your greatest fear or weakness?”

“Being hit by a car. When I was ten, I saw my little brother die
that way.”

“That’s a tragedy, but let some good come of it. You’ve got
firsthand experience as a reference. Use what you know for a murder
scene.”

“Helen, yours?”

“Cancer.”

“That’s easy. A protagonist racing against a clock of doom. Very
compelling.”

“And you, Julie? What’s your biggest fear?” Jensen said,
staring at her intently.

“I’m afraid of closed-in places.”

“Why is that?”

It was too scary to think about. Her heart skittered at the reminder.
She’d started to tell, so she’d have to continue.

“When I was four, I rushed into an elevator at the Downtown
Observatory. The doors shut before my parents could get in.”

Julie’s throat went dry as once again the walls of the tiny cell
closed in on her. She was all by herself and scared.

After so many years, the incident still shook her. To steady her
nerves, she reached for the glass of water beside her on the table.

“Then what happened?” Jensen said, daring her to continue.

“I was too short to reach the panel. I couldn’t get the doors
open. Someone upstairs pushed a button. The elevator climbed to the
fiftieth floor and got stuck.”

Her voice and body shook as she relived the experience. “I was
alone and trapped. No one was around to save me. I’d never see my
parents again. I knew I would die in that awful box. An hour later,
when the firemen finally opened the door to rescue me, they found me
huddled in the corner. I couldn’t move. They had to pick me up and
carry me out. They said I’d suffered emotional trauma. It happened
so long ago, yet it’s as clear to me as yesterday.”

Jensen smiled, as if she’d handed him a marvelous present. “What
you’ve described is magnificent fodder. The heroine is stuck in the
elevator and must devise an escape before the villain cuts the cable.
An elevator such as the one in my penthouse, with the controls on the
top floor, would be ideal. Of course, the story’s been done in
countless variations, but with your firsthand experience, you can
bring it to life.”

“I won’t do it.” The words flew out of her mouth before she
could stop them.

“Are you a coward,” he asked, flashing a derisive smile.

“Not usually, but in this case, yes. Whenever I think of the
incident, I’m petrified. It never gets better.”

“Then you must include it. You have to face your demons and conquer
them.”

She felt lightheaded at the thought. “I have a hard enough time
riding elevators at work each day. That’s enough of facing demons
for me.”

“You won’t know unless you try.”

If only it were that simple. He thought he was helping her, but he
could never relate to her situation. He had no idea how emotions
could turn physical, paralyzing your ability to think or behave. Or
did he?

She looked at him speculatively. “And what about you,” she asked.
“What’s your greatest weakness?”

His eyebrows shot up and his lips curved. “Ah, a little table
turning. I could lie and say I have no chinks in my armor, but I
won’t. Let’s see. You may not believe this, considering the
content of my books, but I do have a weak stomach. There, now you
know. I’m also human.”

“That’s all? What are you most afraid of?”

“You are a persistent gnat.” His eyes glinted as he stared back
at her. Had she gone too far?

He cleared his throat as if stalling for time, then answered, “All
right. If you must know, I’m afraid of writer’s block.
Fortunately, to date, I haven’t shown any proclivity toward it.”

The participants hooted, Julie amongst them. He was obviously
humoring her. Judging from the number of books he’d had published,
Jensen would never suffer from that curse.

“Now let’s review some fundamentals.”

As Jensen described how to insert back story into a manuscript, Julie
couldn’t forget the scary challenge he’d thrown at her.

Was she strong enough to dissect her fear and put it into words?
Could she lay open her raw feelings for everyone to see? If she did,
would she conquer her fear or make it worse? She’d lived with the
handicap for so long she’d learned to accept it. It would be
wonderful if she could be like other people and do things like ride
elevators in peace.

She half listened as Jensen said, “That will be all for today. Next
Saturday’s assignment is to bring a newspaper article which can be
adapted into a mystery novel.”

Julie waited for the few waiting participants to finish their
discussions with Jensen and then approached him.

“Yes,” he said, turning to her.

“I just wanted to thank you for the suggestion. I’ll take your
advice and include my claustrophobia in a story. Maybe it will help.”

He looked pleased, as if she were his star pupil and had won a Nobel
Prize. “It will. You’ll see. Keep me apprised of the results.”

Julie nodded, knowing that by the time she’d finished her book, the
workshops would be long done. Jensen couldn’t really care what
happened to her. He was merely being polite.

Chapter Ten

He parked in the public garage five blocks from her home and traveled
on foot the rest of the way. The early afternoon sun shone brightly,
warming his face and arms. The day was crystal clear. A dense privet
hedge obstructed his view making him almost miss the red brick ranch
set back in the quiet suburban street.

No one would notice him if he followed the bushes to the back of the
house.

She should know better. For her own safety, the area surrounding her
home should be open for view. Anyone could hide in the foliage, jump
out and attack her.

He frowned and continued, flattening himself against the bushes,
following them to the rear of the house. He’d almost made it, when
a threatening growl startled him. A mutt of indiscriminate origins
barked and raced back and forth at the other side of the bushes,
glaring at him with baleful eyes. Though indirect, apparently Julie
did own protection.

“Jimbo, stop chasing the squirrels and get in here,” a woman’s
wavering voice said.

After a whimper of protest, the dog loped away.

The coast seemed clear. Though he suspected even youthful eyes
couldn’t discern anything through the dense bushes, he’d wait to
make sure the old biddy wasn’t watching from the window.

After a few minutes, it seemed safe enough. He proceeded to the back
door. The worn lock yielded easily, making his frown deepen. Anyone
could get in. She took way too many chances.

He passed the plump armchair and sofa in the living room as he
followed the enticing floral scent. Its source was a good-sized
bedroom where he discovered an unmade four-poster bed. Though the
tell-tale smell of sex was absent, the thought she may have rushed
out after making love made him frown.

A pair of crumpled jeans lay in a corner. A tee shirt hung on a
doorknob. He swore as he almost tripped over a pair of weights marked
thirty on the handles. She should find a better place for them. He
gritted
his teeth. It was obvious her
life was out of control. The law firm and her partner took priority
over her own needs.

At the dresser, he stooped to breathe in the source of the
tantalizing floral scent: a miniature perfume bottle. He stood still,
picturing her standing in front of the mirror and dabbing the scent
onto places hidden by her clothes. His pulse throbbed, as did his
impatience.

He wanted her now, yet reason told him not to hurry. Timing was
everything.

Lace peaked out of a hastily closed dresser drawer. His fingers
itched as he fought the urge to feel the cloth’s smooth surface.
He’d leave no clues to reveal his presence. His purpose was to
fulfill a mission, which, judging from what he could see, would be
simpler than he’d anticipated.

The office was somewhat more organized than the bedroom, but not by
much. Since she was obviously obsessed with work, this would be the
best place to leave the plant. The objective was to find a spot above
suspicion, yet noticeable.

Ah, there it was. Smiling, he positioned the object.

* * *

The next Saturday Julie found herself once again seated at the glass
table in Jensen’s penthouse. The past week had been exceptionally
hectic, with two trials a day, a real estate closing, tons of new
clients, along with prospective homeowners insisting she review their
contracts. In a way it was good Nora’s funeral had been kept
private or she’d have had to juggle that in the mix as well. As
soon as the thought popped into her head, she felt guilty. Maybe it
would have made a difference if she’d been nicer to Nora. She’d
never know. It was best not to dwell on it.

She’d been doing her best to get her side of the partnership in
order, but it hadn’t been easy, especially since she still felt the
urge to write.

She’d forced herself to get up an hour early each day to work on
her manuscript, yet it wasn’t enough. As soon as she got into the
story, she was yanked away and had to quit. On the train, she seethed
with frustration, but made herself focus on the job and not writing.

She’d been so tied up she’d almost neglected today’s
assignment. Fortunately this time her haphazard housekeeping had come
in handy. Last night, when she’d sat down at her desktop computer
in her cozy home office, she’d unearthed an old newspaper clipping
in the most unlikely of places, sticking out from the edge of her
mouse pad.