Read Online Dead Write: A Forensic Handwriting Mystery by Sheila Lowe - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sheila Lowe
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she’s functionally illiterate, but I don’t believe that for a minute. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” She put her finger to her lips. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone, but I have seen it. I’ll dig out the sample for you.”
“I heard she’d been using another graphologist.” Claudia made an effort to sound casual, but she needn’t have worried about giving away confidential information.
Susan’s face scrunched into a grimace that made no bones about what she thought of her successor. “Andy Nicholson. That awful, awful man. I warned her. Told her he’s a first-class fraud, but she still hired him. He tells the most outrageous lies and he gets away with it, too.”
“I worked with an attorney who’s thinking of filing perjury charges against him for lying about his credentials,” Claudia said.
“Never stick. You know how experts get all kinds of immunity when they testify. Grusha was crazy to use him and I do believe she’s lived to regret it.”
“Then why didn’t she come back to you? Why call me, when I live on the other side of the country?”
“She knows I have no intention of going back to work,” Susan said. “I can afford to enjoy life. It’s about time I had some fun.” She reached for her purse and dug through it, getting out a compact and lipstick. Holding the tiny mirror with one hand, she squinted into it, applying coral pink gloss and blotting her lips on her paper napkin. “Nothing good can come of getting involved with the Andy Nicholsons of the world. Grusha should have listened to me.”
“Maybe she thought what you told her was out of professional jealousy,” Claudia said, remembering Grusha’s warning not to allow her own animosity toward Andy to interfere with her judgment. “She couldn’t have checked out his creds very well. Most people are willing to accept what’s on a Web site at face value without doing any research.”
“You know he’s a friggin’ hired gun. She used him because he’ll say anything the client wants to hear.”
“But how would that benefit Grusha? I mean, doesn’t she want to know the truth about the people she’s matching up?”
Susan reached over and patted her hand. “Yeah, dollface. Her truth.”
Claudia’s thoughts drifted to Grusha’s phone call voicing her concern that Andy had made errors in his reports. If what Susan had just said was true and Grusha had used Andy to make it appear she had screened potential club members, and she had kept negative information about their personalities out of their files, she was now backtracking to cover herself.
“I mean,” Susan was saying, “to hear her tell it, there’s nothing the least bit disturbing about two of her clients dying so close together. But you have to admit, it really is pretty strange . . .”
“Uh-huh,” said Claudia absently, her moment of introspection broken. Then, “ What did you just say?”
“Hel-lo!” Susan snapped her fingers in front of Claudia’s face. “Welcome back. I said, isn’t it strange that two of her clients have died so close together?”
Claudia frowned, sure that she must have heard incorrectly. “ Two of them? I didn’t know any of her clients had died.”
Susan gave her an odd look. “I guess it’s not something she’d want to broadcast, though it had nothing to do with her. They were both young, too.”
“What happened?”
“The second one was only a couple of months ago. She was one of the last clients I did for the baroness before I got sick and quit. It was kinda creepy. I just happened to see the article about it in the Times and made the connection. She was a young model—not so well known, but . . .”
“What was her name?” Claudia interrupted.
“Heather Lloyd. She was only—”
“Twenty-five,” Claudia finished for her, stunned. She sipped her coffee, not tasting it. “Grusha gave me Heather Lloyd’s handwriting to analyze. Why would she do that if she’s dead ? She must have given it to me by
“I heard she’d been using another graphologist.” Claudia made an effort to sound casual, but she needn’t have worried about giving away confidential information.
Susan’s face scrunched into a grimace that made no bones about what she thought of her successor. “Andy Nicholson. That awful, awful man. I warned her. Told her he’s a first-class fraud, but she still hired him. He tells the most outrageous lies and he gets away with it, too.”
“I worked with an attorney who’s thinking of filing perjury charges against him for lying about his credentials,” Claudia said.
“Never stick. You know how experts get all kinds of immunity when they testify. Grusha was crazy to use him and I do believe she’s lived to regret it.”
“Then why didn’t she come back to you? Why call me, when I live on the other side of the country?”
“She knows I have no intention of going back to work,” Susan said. “I can afford to enjoy life. It’s about time I had some fun.” She reached for her purse and dug through it, getting out a compact and lipstick. Holding the tiny mirror with one hand, she squinted into it, applying coral pink gloss and blotting her lips on her paper napkin. “Nothing good can come of getting involved with the Andy Nicholsons of the world. Grusha should have listened to me.”
“Maybe she thought what you told her was out of professional jealousy,” Claudia said, remembering Grusha’s warning not to allow her own animosity toward Andy to interfere with her judgment. “She couldn’t have checked out his creds very well. Most people are willing to accept what’s on a Web site at face value without doing any research.”
“You know he’s a friggin’ hired gun. She used him because he’ll say anything the client wants to hear.”
“But how would that benefit Grusha? I mean, doesn’t she want to know the truth about the people she’s matching up?”
Susan reached over and patted her hand. “Yeah, dollface. Her truth.”
Claudia’s thoughts drifted to Grusha’s phone call voicing her concern that Andy had made errors in his reports. If what Susan had just said was true and Grusha had used Andy to make it appear she had screened potential club members, and she had kept negative information about their personalities out of their files, she was now backtracking to cover herself.
“I mean,” Susan was saying, “to hear her tell it, there’s nothing the least bit disturbing about two of her clients dying so close together. But you have to admit, it really is pretty strange . . .”
“Uh-huh,” said Claudia absently, her moment of introspection broken. Then, “ What did you just say?”
“Hel-lo!” Susan snapped her fingers in front of Claudia’s face. “Welcome back. I said, isn’t it strange that two of her clients have died so close together?”
Claudia frowned, sure that she must have heard incorrectly. “ Two of them? I didn’t know any of her clients had died.”
Susan gave her an odd look. “I guess it’s not something she’d want to broadcast, though it had nothing to do with her. They were both young, too.”
“What happened?”
“The second one was only a couple of months ago. She was one of the last clients I did for the baroness before I got sick and quit. It was kinda creepy. I just happened to see the article about it in the Times and made the connection. She was a young model—not so well known, but . . .”
“What was her name?” Claudia interrupted.
“Heather Lloyd. She was only—”
“Twenty-five,” Claudia finished for her, stunned. She sipped her coffee, not tasting it. “Grusha gave me Heather Lloyd’s handwriting to analyze. Why would she do that if she’s dead ? She must have given it to me by
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