Read Online Death by the Riverside by J. M. Redmann; Jean M. Redmann - Free Book Online Page B

proper bow to show her that I knew that they were karate pants and I threw the jacket down. I almost threw it in the water, but I figured the kid might need something dry to wear.
    “Don’t be too impressed,” she said as we transferred the kitten, “I’ve only been doing it about four months.”
    “What style?” I asked.
    “Gogu. You?”
    “Shotokan.”
    “How long?” she asked.
    “Eight years. We should spar sometime.”
    “Haven’t we already?” she said in a manner that Jane Austen would have described as arch.
    “Touché. Speaking of which, how’s Karen?”
    “Spitting nails. At small children.” I laughed, because it was something that I could see Karen doing. “Can I carry the kitten for a while?” she asked.
    I handed him over. He let out a breathy mew at being moved, but he didn’t seem to mind too much. Cordelia pulled her jacket around him. He was a little marmalade cat with big green eyes.
    “Do you want her?” she asked.
    “No, I’ve already got one cat too many.”
    “How many do you have?”
    “One.”
    “Oh. Good. I’d like to keep her. I’ve been thinking about getting a cat. Maybe I should name her ‘Fountain,’ since that’s how I got her.”
    “How about ‘Drowned Cat’? That seems more appropriate.”
    “I’ll work on it.”
    We walked on, a companionable silence marked by purring from the unnamed kitten.
    “Who are you?” she suddenly said. I looked at her. Damn, she was a little taller than I was. “First I thought you were one of those hustlers that Karen plays with. But you weren’t after money. Now I find you saving kittens from wanton boys, dressed like a professional. Explain.”
    “Twenty-five words or less?”
    “Thirty or even more, if you need. To start with, what about the standard boring question, what do you do?”
    “As little as possible.” That was my standard answer.
    “In a gray suit and black heels?”
    “Temp work.”
    “Temp work?” She sounded disappointed. “Somehow, I never pictured you as an office temp. Aren’t you in the wrong city if you want to be an actress?”
    “I don’t want to be an actress. I want to be what I am,” I countered.
    “Which is?” Cordelia had a manner that was more no-nonsense than blunt. I actually liked it; I just didn’t like all her questions. I’m used to being the one doing the asking. For some reason it nagged me to let her think that I was a lowly office temp. Usually, the more misinformed people are about me, the more I like it. Once, for six months, I let Aunt Greta think that I was on welfare. I pulled out my license and showed it to Cordelia.
    “A private investigator?” She still didn’t sound very impressed. “Do you earn any money at it?”
    “Of course,” I answered, incredulous that she could doubt it.
    “So why are you working as an office temp?” So that was what she thought. As this was the one time my word processing skills were actually connected to my work as a private investigator, I didn’t want her to think otherwise.
    “I’m investigating the company,” I answered.
    “Investigating for what?”
    “That’s confidential.” She looked dubious. And I had run out of impressive things to tell her about myself. I suppose if I had been her I would have been dubious too.
    “Isn’t it kind of…tawdry?” she asked. “Snooping around for dirt on one person to be used by another person.”
    “Sometimes, yes.” I couldn’t deny it. “But I try to pick and choose my cases.”
    “Try to?”
    “Yes, try to. There’s rent to pay, cat food to buy.”
    “Slave to money,” she muttered.
    “Some of us weren’t born rich,” I countered. “I have to work for a living,” I added with emphasis on have to.
    “Funny, someone just said that exact same thing to me. She was a prostitute.”
    “Meaning?”
    “If we want to, we can find an excuse for anything. You do what you want to do, so you justify it by ‘trying to pick’ your cases.”
    “Look, one of the