Read Online The Oxygen Murder by Camille Minichino - Free Book Online

disappointment at not being able to help in the worthy effort of finding Amber’s killer. Tina’s file cabinets, in various wood grains, stood around the room, their gold metal handles tempting me, like an elusive password behind which was hidden data. “Maybe you have a few minutes to tell me in general what Amber did for you?” I spread my hands, a helpless gesture. “Or just what kind of things you do here?” I hated my dumb-little-girl voice, but I hated more the idea of leaving Tina’s office empty-handed.
    Tina picked up the pencil again and tapped it on her desk-blotter calendar. Her desk and bookshelves were noticeably free of photos or memorabilia. “Sure,” she said. “I don’t mind sharing a bit of the gossip, in an anonymous, hypothetical way, of course.”
    “Of course.”
    “Well, I just finished a premarital screening case. I’m trying to move away from those, but they pay the bills. Rich men never trust their fiancées. Which is fine with me. Keeps me in business. So we dig a little, and we find out the woman was a stripper in a past life.” Tina held up her hands. “I’m just saying hypothetically.”
    “Of course. But how fascinating. You must have a million of these stories.”
    She nodded expansively. “The sad ones are the missing persons, especially when it’s kids. But, okay, here’s a good one for you. There’s this guy who dresses up in a tux, goes to weddings—no one he knows—and robs the money basket. You know, where guests put the envelopes for the bride and groom. Everybody thinks he’s an usher or something. You’ll never believe how he got caught, how stupid he was. He—”
    Rrrring. Rrrring.
    Tina checked the caller ID box attached to her phone.
    Rrrring. Rrrring
.
    “I better take this. Dee Dee’s out to lunch. Are we almost done?” Tina looked hopeful as she lifted her telephone receiver.
    “Almost. But I want to hear the end of the wedding thief story.”
    Tina smiled, indulgent. “Sure. You can just have a seat outside. I won’t be too long.”
    The waiting room was still empty. I couldn’t help checking out Dee Dee’s small desk, which was practically on my way from Tina’s office to the square, understuffed chairs of the reception area.
    A metal file organizer with several horizontal trays, stacked like the floors of a skyscraper, took up one corner of the desk. Neatly printed labels sat in slots along the side of the frame; smaller labels were along the edges of the legal-size folders in each compartment. An organized woman, Dee Dee.
    I could hear Tina, though not clearly, on the phone in the inner room.
    “Okay . . . Saturdays or Sundays, got it . . . I’ll have to check . . . city hall.”
    I hovered around Dee Dee’s desk. The office was quiet except for Tina’s muffled voice and the sounds of footsteps from the corridoroutside. The steps were too rapid and not clicking enough to be from Dee Dee’s stiletto heels, rather like a rush of people on their way to the elevator for a trip to the street-level restaurants. I tilted my head down and craned my neck until the labels in the file organizer were in focus.
    ANDERSON, B.; NAZZARRO, L.; MILBANK, A. I read conscientiously, as if the folders held a clue as to what got Amber killed and what Lori was hiding from us. My digital camera was in my purse, but I doubted I had the dexterity to whip it out and capture images in the style of a genuine spy.
    “Keenan, Keenan,” I mumbled, half to myself, scanning the folders. In my new career as police consultant, I’d become good at reading sideways and upside down.
    “Listen, Charlie, there’s another thing
. . .”
    Tina’s voice. Not signing off yet.
    I read on. JANSING, L.; SASSO, K.
    K. Sasso? What a coincidence. Rose’s daughter-in-law—Robert Galigani’s wife—was Karla Sasso in her professional life. Rose and Frank had had breakfast with her parents yesterday on the Upper West Side.
    It couldn’t be the same person.
    I took a deep