Read Online The Morgue and Me by John C. Ford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John C. Ford
Ads: Link
high.
“So. You were asking about a Mitchell Blaylock, is that right?”
Her husky voice was the one touch of grit that hadn’t been buffed clean like the rest of her. Suddenly I could see her eating macaroni and cheese in front of a wrestling broadcast, and I liked her more.
“Yes—” Tina started.
“I can’t help you very much on that—don’t know him. He may have been calling for Lawrence.”
“Is he a lawyer here?” Tina said.
“Formerly,” Kate Warne said. “May I ask what this is about?”
For a split second, I could almost see the wheels spinning in Tina’s brain before her face settled into a theatric grimace. “It’s a bit of a sad story,” she said, and crossed her hands on her lap. “He died a couple of days ago. Very young.”
Kate Warne’s face softened, the frosty veneer gone in an instant. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. Actually, I didn’t know him very well. I’m just a reporter. Mitch grew up in Petoskey and played professional football, you see. The Courier may do a little piece on his career. And Christopher”—Tina threw sympathetic eyes on me and tilted her head, isn’t-he-cute style—“he’s an intern with us. And he was Mitch’s greatest fan.” Tina was making out the article like some kind of Make-a-Wish project for my benefit, which was making me feel slimy. But Warne was gobbling it up.
“We think that Mitch may have been in contact with someone at your firm before his death,” Tina said.
“Yes, I see,” she said, now giving me the too-cute look as well. “Unfortunately, I think Lawrence is probably the only one who can help you with that. Lawrence Lovell.”
“Nobody else here who might have talked to him?” Tina asked.
“I doubt it. We have a small staff. Lawrence and I are the only lawyers.” She stopped and took a sorrowful breath. “ Were the only lawyers. He just resigned.”
“Does he have a contact number?” I said.
Kate Warne picked up a fountain pen and marked the back of a business card. She handed it over to me. “His cell. Mine’s on the front, just in case.”
“Thank you,” Tina said, shaking her hand. Kate Warne gave me a buck-up nod as we departed. My eyes swept across the modern office one last time before leaving, and stopped halfway.
In one of her black-and-white pictures, Kate Warne stood next to the sheriff, smiling brightly.
9
T ina had seen the picture, too.
She whipped out her cell as soon as we left the office. “Friend of mine at the paper,” she explained to me, cupping the receiver. “She wrote those stories about the dirty judge. She knows everything.” Her friend must have come on the line then, because Tina started asking about a connection between the sheriff and Kate Warne.
We hopped into the Trans Am and I shut off Tina’s stereo before it could blow out her friend’s eardrums. Tina listened eagerly.
“You rock,” she said into the phone, then clapped it shut.
“What’s the deal?”
“They’re brother and sister,” Tina said. “How about that?”
The sheriff’s fingerprints were turning up everywhere. He’d called the story in to Art Bradford at the paper, which Tina said was unusual. He’d been there for the bogus autopsy. And now, it turned out Mitch Blaylock had been calling his sister’s law firm.
“He’s got to be the key to all this,” I said. “But it doesn’t mean anything yet.”
If Kate Warne had told us the truth, Mitch wasn’t even calling for her. We needed to talk to her partner. From him we could find out Mitch’s real link to Warne & Lovell, and whether it would lead back to the sheriff like everything else.
“Get what’s-his-face on the horn,” Tina said.
She was talking about Lawrence Lovell, and I wondered if the fact that I knew it meant we were soul mates.
I fished Warne’s card out of my pocket and called the number on the back. It rang four times before a honey-glazed voice told me I had reached Lawrence Lovell and that he regretted
“So. You were asking about a Mitchell Blaylock, is that right?”
Her husky voice was the one touch of grit that hadn’t been buffed clean like the rest of her. Suddenly I could see her eating macaroni and cheese in front of a wrestling broadcast, and I liked her more.
“Yes—” Tina started.
“I can’t help you very much on that—don’t know him. He may have been calling for Lawrence.”
“Is he a lawyer here?” Tina said.
“Formerly,” Kate Warne said. “May I ask what this is about?”
For a split second, I could almost see the wheels spinning in Tina’s brain before her face settled into a theatric grimace. “It’s a bit of a sad story,” she said, and crossed her hands on her lap. “He died a couple of days ago. Very young.”
Kate Warne’s face softened, the frosty veneer gone in an instant. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. Actually, I didn’t know him very well. I’m just a reporter. Mitch grew up in Petoskey and played professional football, you see. The Courier may do a little piece on his career. And Christopher”—Tina threw sympathetic eyes on me and tilted her head, isn’t-he-cute style—“he’s an intern with us. And he was Mitch’s greatest fan.” Tina was making out the article like some kind of Make-a-Wish project for my benefit, which was making me feel slimy. But Warne was gobbling it up.
“We think that Mitch may have been in contact with someone at your firm before his death,” Tina said.
“Yes, I see,” she said, now giving me the too-cute look as well. “Unfortunately, I think Lawrence is probably the only one who can help you with that. Lawrence Lovell.”
“Nobody else here who might have talked to him?” Tina asked.
“I doubt it. We have a small staff. Lawrence and I are the only lawyers.” She stopped and took a sorrowful breath. “ Were the only lawyers. He just resigned.”
“Does he have a contact number?” I said.
Kate Warne picked up a fountain pen and marked the back of a business card. She handed it over to me. “His cell. Mine’s on the front, just in case.”
“Thank you,” Tina said, shaking her hand. Kate Warne gave me a buck-up nod as we departed. My eyes swept across the modern office one last time before leaving, and stopped halfway.
In one of her black-and-white pictures, Kate Warne stood next to the sheriff, smiling brightly.
9
T ina had seen the picture, too.
She whipped out her cell as soon as we left the office. “Friend of mine at the paper,” she explained to me, cupping the receiver. “She wrote those stories about the dirty judge. She knows everything.” Her friend must have come on the line then, because Tina started asking about a connection between the sheriff and Kate Warne.
We hopped into the Trans Am and I shut off Tina’s stereo before it could blow out her friend’s eardrums. Tina listened eagerly.
“You rock,” she said into the phone, then clapped it shut.
“What’s the deal?”
“They’re brother and sister,” Tina said. “How about that?”
The sheriff’s fingerprints were turning up everywhere. He’d called the story in to Art Bradford at the paper, which Tina said was unusual. He’d been there for the bogus autopsy. And now, it turned out Mitch Blaylock had been calling his sister’s law firm.
“He’s got to be the key to all this,” I said. “But it doesn’t mean anything yet.”
If Kate Warne had told us the truth, Mitch wasn’t even calling for her. We needed to talk to her partner. From him we could find out Mitch’s real link to Warne & Lovell, and whether it would lead back to the sheriff like everything else.
“Get what’s-his-face on the horn,” Tina said.
She was talking about Lawrence Lovell, and I wondered if the fact that I knew it meant we were soul mates.
I fished Warne’s card out of my pocket and called the number on the back. It rang four times before a honey-glazed voice told me I had reached Lawrence Lovell and that he regretted
Similar Books
