Read Online Killer Kitchens (Murders by Design) by Jean Harrington - Free Book Online

snapped on the overheads.
    “I’ll be right back,” Rossi said as he left to get AudreyAnn and Chip.
    Gripping the oilskin packet, I sat down and looked around. There wasn’t much to see. A pelican print and beige walls was about all. The beige was that boring shade that passes for corporate solidity. Why people equated dull interiors with fiscal wisdom I didn’t understand. Never did. The room cried for something sunny and tropical—papaya, say, or tangerine. SunTrust Bank, right? Wouldn’t an orangey shade work great as a subliminal logo? Or...
    “Good morning. I’m Loren Miller, the branch manager. How may I help you?”
    Tall, thin and balding, Mr. Miller was one of the few men in southwest Florida unlucky enough to have to wear a suit, shirt and tie to work. My fingers cramping around the oilskin, I upped my chin at the door. “The gentleman who needs your help is coming in now.”
    Rossi closed the conference room door behind AudreyAnn and Chip and took care of the introductions before saying, “Deva, show Mr. Miller the packet.”
    I lifted the bag off my lap and dumped the contents onto the conference table.
    For a man used to handling money for a living, Mr. Miller jumped back as if I’d unloaded a live cobra. Initial shock over, he took a step forward and stretched out a hand. “May I?”
    Rossi nodded. “I wish you would. And can you authenticate these bills? At least one to start with?”
    “Certainly.” Mr. Miller turned a Grover Cleveland over in his hands, handling it carefully, almost tenderly. “In all my years in the banking business, I’ve never seen one of these.”
    “No kidding,” Chip said. “I just found them. All of them. They’ve been hidden away.”
    His eyes full of Grover, the manager nodded. “They’re so rare, they’re collectors’ items. Worth more than the face value.”
    “Wow!” Chip said.
    “Depending on condition, of course. But if they’re all as clean as this one, they could be worth several thousand each.”
    “Holy Toledo.” Chip turned to AudreyAnn sitting beside him. “Did you hear that, honey? We’re rich.”
    She flashed a triumphant, I-just-won-the-lottery smile around the table, though it dimmed a little when he added. “We’ll be able to help Tomas’s widow. She’s got to be hurting real bad. She and Tomas were crazy in love.”
    “I believe this is legal tender, but let me test it,” Mr. Miller said and hurried out with one of the bills.
    “You need an attorney, Chip,” Rossi said. “Do you have one?”
    Chip looked at me and we both nodded. Simon.
    “Simon Yaeger,” Chip replied. “He used to live at Surfside. He’s a tax man.”
    “Excellent choice. I know Mr. Yaeger.” Rossi pulled out his phone to hunt for Simon’s number.
    “It’s 555-8871,” I told him.
    “Instant recall?” Rossi frowned a little though he had no reason to.
    Simon had lived at Surfside for a while before purchasing a penthouse on Gulf Shore Boulevard North in the brand new Peninsula Building. Originally a sales model staged by a New York designer, his new condo was a gorgeous bachelor pad for a gorgeous, successful...divorced...available Simon. He was a nice guy, too, a very nice guy. We’d dated a few times, but in comparison to Rossi he was just a well-dressed suit.
    Rossi handed me his phone. “Yaeger’s number’s ringing. I think you’ll have the best shot at getting him here ASAP.”
    True, apparently. In a matter of minutes, from his office in nearby Northern Trust Towers, Simon strode into the conference room dressed impeccably as always. Today he wore an ivory silk shirt, hand-tailored slacks and custom-made loafers.
    Rossi, on the other hand, lit up the room in a purple hibiscus number. That was fine with me. The conference room needed a jolt of color.
    When Simon spotted Rossi, his face fell a bit, but ever the professional, he rallied and shook hands all around, secretly stroking my palm when he took my hand. Or maybe not so secretly,