Read Online This Case Is Gonna Kill Me by Phillipa Bornikova - Free Book Online
Authors: Phillipa Bornikova
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whoa, what happened?”
“My boss was killed. I was there. I saw it.”
There was a long silence on the French end of the call, and my baby brother surprised me by saying in an astonishingly adult voice, “I think we should come home. I’ll tell Mom.”
I was touched, and despite our rivalry I realized I loved this kid. “No, you stay. Finish the trip. I got my European trip after high school. You shouldn’t lose out on yours.”
“All right, but if you change your mind…”
“Believe me, I’ll tell you.”
I toggled through the rest of the messages, erasing all the ones from the press. I listened to only two.
The first was from Shade. “Linnet, I hope you’re recovering. The police will want to talk to you again after the holiday, and you must not mention any of our cases. Gold is on the warpath, threatening to fire you and report you to the ethics committee. Don’t worry, I’ll handle this, but please don’t make any more waves.”
Don’t worry. Yeah, right. I was shaking again, chilled to my core.
The second message was from Pete. “Hey, Linnet … wow. When you said things had come up at work, I thought you meant, like … well, work. This is weird, no offense, but I don’t think I can deal with this kind of thing in my life right now.”
And now I really didn’t mind missing the date. I wondered if I might hear from Devon. If he was already in Dubai, he wouldn’t see the news unless someone sent a link to him. I wished he would call. I wished somebody who cared about me would call.
I headed back to the bath and hot water.
* * *
After this second, long bath, I realized I was hungry. I didn’t want to be alone, so I called Ray. Gregory answered.
“Hi, I was calling to see if you and Ray wanted to have late lunch or early dinner.”
“Linnet, my God, are you all right? It’s all over the papers. My God.”
“Papers?” I repeated dully.
“Oh, honey, you sound wasted. I wish we could, but Ray’s doing a matinee.”
“Oh,” I said, and felt my throat tighten again with unshed tears.
“I’d offer my poor self as a substitute, but I have a date with my old professor, and I’ve got to catch the train out to Long Island.” He hesitated. “I could cancel.”
“No, no. You go. I’ll be okay.”
“Well, I don’t know how. You get yourself onto a couch, sweetie. I can give you the name of my therapist if you don’t have one.”
“Thanks, Gregory, that’s really sweet. I’ll think about it.” And I hung up before I actually burst into tears. I tried Dad again. Again no answer.
Gregory’s mention of the papers sent me to my computer. I brought up both the New York Times and the New York Post . The Times had the headline below the fold on the front page, and it was an appropriately gray statement of fact. MURDER AT LAW FIRM . I noted that the name of the deceased had not been made public pending “notification of next of kin.”
The Post was less discreet. My picture was plastered across the front page. I was huddled against Ryan, and they had used a shot that showed a flash of bosom because my beautiful blouse had been pulled aside by Ryan’s arm, and the photographer was shooting from the side. The headline screamed SEXY ASSOCIATE SURVIVES BIZARRE DEATH RITUAL! I laid my head down on the table next to the laptop and moaned.
A knock at the door brought my head up like a gazelle that had heard a lion cough. Stiff legged, my gut shivering like Jell-O, I approached the door. I pictured ravening claws and slavering jaws.
Don’t be an idiot. Killers don’t normally knock.
My voice quavered as I called, “Who is it?”
“Linnet, dear heart, it’s all right.” Meredith Bainbridge’s reedy voice was muffled by the door, but unmistakable.
I threw it open and fell into his cold but welcome embrace. After the initial hug, he pushed an embroidered handkerchief into my hands and escorted me back inside the apartment. He removed his wraparound sunglasses and
“My boss was killed. I was there. I saw it.”
There was a long silence on the French end of the call, and my baby brother surprised me by saying in an astonishingly adult voice, “I think we should come home. I’ll tell Mom.”
I was touched, and despite our rivalry I realized I loved this kid. “No, you stay. Finish the trip. I got my European trip after high school. You shouldn’t lose out on yours.”
“All right, but if you change your mind…”
“Believe me, I’ll tell you.”
I toggled through the rest of the messages, erasing all the ones from the press. I listened to only two.
The first was from Shade. “Linnet, I hope you’re recovering. The police will want to talk to you again after the holiday, and you must not mention any of our cases. Gold is on the warpath, threatening to fire you and report you to the ethics committee. Don’t worry, I’ll handle this, but please don’t make any more waves.”
Don’t worry. Yeah, right. I was shaking again, chilled to my core.
The second message was from Pete. “Hey, Linnet … wow. When you said things had come up at work, I thought you meant, like … well, work. This is weird, no offense, but I don’t think I can deal with this kind of thing in my life right now.”
And now I really didn’t mind missing the date. I wondered if I might hear from Devon. If he was already in Dubai, he wouldn’t see the news unless someone sent a link to him. I wished he would call. I wished somebody who cared about me would call.
I headed back to the bath and hot water.
* * *
After this second, long bath, I realized I was hungry. I didn’t want to be alone, so I called Ray. Gregory answered.
“Hi, I was calling to see if you and Ray wanted to have late lunch or early dinner.”
“Linnet, my God, are you all right? It’s all over the papers. My God.”
“Papers?” I repeated dully.
“Oh, honey, you sound wasted. I wish we could, but Ray’s doing a matinee.”
“Oh,” I said, and felt my throat tighten again with unshed tears.
“I’d offer my poor self as a substitute, but I have a date with my old professor, and I’ve got to catch the train out to Long Island.” He hesitated. “I could cancel.”
“No, no. You go. I’ll be okay.”
“Well, I don’t know how. You get yourself onto a couch, sweetie. I can give you the name of my therapist if you don’t have one.”
“Thanks, Gregory, that’s really sweet. I’ll think about it.” And I hung up before I actually burst into tears. I tried Dad again. Again no answer.
Gregory’s mention of the papers sent me to my computer. I brought up both the New York Times and the New York Post . The Times had the headline below the fold on the front page, and it was an appropriately gray statement of fact. MURDER AT LAW FIRM . I noted that the name of the deceased had not been made public pending “notification of next of kin.”
The Post was less discreet. My picture was plastered across the front page. I was huddled against Ryan, and they had used a shot that showed a flash of bosom because my beautiful blouse had been pulled aside by Ryan’s arm, and the photographer was shooting from the side. The headline screamed SEXY ASSOCIATE SURVIVES BIZARRE DEATH RITUAL! I laid my head down on the table next to the laptop and moaned.
A knock at the door brought my head up like a gazelle that had heard a lion cough. Stiff legged, my gut shivering like Jell-O, I approached the door. I pictured ravening claws and slavering jaws.
Don’t be an idiot. Killers don’t normally knock.
My voice quavered as I called, “Who is it?”
“Linnet, dear heart, it’s all right.” Meredith Bainbridge’s reedy voice was muffled by the door, but unmistakable.
I threw it open and fell into his cold but welcome embrace. After the initial hug, he pushed an embroidered handkerchief into my hands and escorted me back inside the apartment. He removed his wraparound sunglasses and
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