Read Online The Oxygen Murder by Camille Minichino - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Camille Minichino
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Mexican dish, probably from a small office microwave oven. I hoped Dee Dee wasn’t part of the gang. I couldn’t face her. With luck, it would be a busy afternoon, and a horde of clients would pass through the office before the messy file was noticed.
It could have been any one of twenty people,
I imagined Dee Dee saying, though not a single client had darkened the door in the whole time I was there.
The elevator to the street was crowded with workers I assumed were from the many law firms and CPA offices I’d seen listed on the menu-like lobby directory. My mind was in chaos, swirling with questions. What was Karla’s letter to Tina Miller about? I hoped it was a routine legal missive and my inadvertent theft was useless. Shameful, but not disastrous. Surely its loss wouldn’t be a problem for the Miller agency: I was positive twenty-first-century offices had multiple copies, hard and soft, of every piece of correspondence. Dee Dee wouldn’t be chastised and I wouldn’t be found out. It would be a close call, but no harm done. Most important, I would have nothing to explain to my husband or to my best friend, K. Sasso’s mother-in-law.
On the other hand, if there was something to the letter, something that was relevant to Amber’s murder investigation, then what?
By the way, what was the penalty for stealing a letter? Had I committed a felony? The envelope had been opened already, so it wasn’t like stealing from the U.S. mail, a federal offense. I pictured myself asking Matt the question.
Honey, suppose a person lifted an already-opened letter from a file organizer?
I made my way through the lobby, past a large Christmas tree with oversized, colorfully wrapped packages underneath. The boxes were empty, I figured. Deceiving. Like me. I imagined every pair of eyes looking at my purse, and a corps of NYPD waiting outside on West Fifty-seventh Street.
I exited the building—not a cop in sight—and picked up speed, nearly running away from Tina’s office, perspiring in spite of the low-forties temperature. I wrenched my scarf from under my coat and jammed it into my purse. On top of the letter.
I’d never done anything like this before. I tried to think of a word other than “theft” to characterize my rash behavior. Borrowing? Temporary custody? Obstruction of justice also came to mind. Not an improvement.
When I thought I’d walked far enough from Tina’s neighborhood, where Dee Dee might be picking up lunch, I ducked into a bookstore café and ordered the largest cappuccino on the menu.
I sat down and pulled the letter from my purse, keeping it low on my lap. The sheet was wrinkled from being crammed into my bag. I was relieved that it had no creases at the one-third points as an original might, from insertion into a business-sized envelope.
This means it’s a photocopy,
I thought,
or a scanned color copy to preserve the letterhead.
I breathed easier, by a nanohair.
I decided to keep it hidden on my lap until my drink was delivered.
I felt deceitful enough to start my own PI firm.
C HATER E IGHT
L ori walked from Coffee And to her building, crossing her fingers, saying every prayer she could remember from first grade, making promises to God to donate more to charity. Okay, to
start
donating to charity. Until now she’d considered
herself
a charity, but that would stop, she vowed.
She needed to get into her apartment.
The breakfast meeting with Gloria—she wondered if she was supposed to call her
Aunt
Gloria—was a disaster. The woman should have been a cop herself, the way she got Lori to say things without thinking. She had that soft, pleasant voice that misled you into thinking everything she asked was innocuous. Lori knew she’d blown it this morning, talking about Amber’s Midwest home and family. God, she’d even mentioned the crush she’d had on Amber’s brother, Billy Keenan.
She turned the corner on West Forty-eighth. Halfway down the street, Lori could see a cop on her
It could have been any one of twenty people,
I imagined Dee Dee saying, though not a single client had darkened the door in the whole time I was there.
The elevator to the street was crowded with workers I assumed were from the many law firms and CPA offices I’d seen listed on the menu-like lobby directory. My mind was in chaos, swirling with questions. What was Karla’s letter to Tina Miller about? I hoped it was a routine legal missive and my inadvertent theft was useless. Shameful, but not disastrous. Surely its loss wouldn’t be a problem for the Miller agency: I was positive twenty-first-century offices had multiple copies, hard and soft, of every piece of correspondence. Dee Dee wouldn’t be chastised and I wouldn’t be found out. It would be a close call, but no harm done. Most important, I would have nothing to explain to my husband or to my best friend, K. Sasso’s mother-in-law.
On the other hand, if there was something to the letter, something that was relevant to Amber’s murder investigation, then what?
By the way, what was the penalty for stealing a letter? Had I committed a felony? The envelope had been opened already, so it wasn’t like stealing from the U.S. mail, a federal offense. I pictured myself asking Matt the question.
Honey, suppose a person lifted an already-opened letter from a file organizer?
I made my way through the lobby, past a large Christmas tree with oversized, colorfully wrapped packages underneath. The boxes were empty, I figured. Deceiving. Like me. I imagined every pair of eyes looking at my purse, and a corps of NYPD waiting outside on West Fifty-seventh Street.
I exited the building—not a cop in sight—and picked up speed, nearly running away from Tina’s office, perspiring in spite of the low-forties temperature. I wrenched my scarf from under my coat and jammed it into my purse. On top of the letter.
I’d never done anything like this before. I tried to think of a word other than “theft” to characterize my rash behavior. Borrowing? Temporary custody? Obstruction of justice also came to mind. Not an improvement.
When I thought I’d walked far enough from Tina’s neighborhood, where Dee Dee might be picking up lunch, I ducked into a bookstore café and ordered the largest cappuccino on the menu.
I sat down and pulled the letter from my purse, keeping it low on my lap. The sheet was wrinkled from being crammed into my bag. I was relieved that it had no creases at the one-third points as an original might, from insertion into a business-sized envelope.
This means it’s a photocopy,
I thought,
or a scanned color copy to preserve the letterhead.
I breathed easier, by a nanohair.
I decided to keep it hidden on my lap until my drink was delivered.
I felt deceitful enough to start my own PI firm.
C HATER E IGHT
L ori walked from Coffee And to her building, crossing her fingers, saying every prayer she could remember from first grade, making promises to God to donate more to charity. Okay, to
start
donating to charity. Until now she’d considered
herself
a charity, but that would stop, she vowed.
She needed to get into her apartment.
The breakfast meeting with Gloria—she wondered if she was supposed to call her
Aunt
Gloria—was a disaster. The woman should have been a cop herself, the way she got Lori to say things without thinking. She had that soft, pleasant voice that misled you into thinking everything she asked was innocuous. Lori knew she’d blown it this morning, talking about Amber’s Midwest home and family. God, she’d even mentioned the crush she’d had on Amber’s brother, Billy Keenan.
She turned the corner on West Forty-eighth. Halfway down the street, Lori could see a cop on her
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