The Taxman Killeth (3 page)

“What a shame. You’d be cute in
an engineer’s cap.” Todd reached over and mussed her copper curls. Soft, he
thought, running his fingers down through a curl that fell against her jawline.
He pulled his hand back when the waiter brought the first course.

Amy’s sparkling eyes looked up
at the waiter, and Todd heard a quiet giggle before she went on to talk of her
family. She was fifteen years younger than her sister. A mid-life baby, as she
described herself.

He enjoyed listening to her
speak: the precision of her words and the breathy hint of laughter as she
described her early years. Again, the conversation was halted by the changing
of the plates.

The tuna looked fine. A steamy
mist rose from Amy’s salmon.

“Careful, looks hot,” he said.

Amy grinned and took a small
forkful, allowing a few seconds for the fish to cool before placing it in her
mouth.

“Mmmm. Scrumptious.”

Maybe the food wouldn’t be half bad,
he contemplated before cutting into the tuna. After taking a bite, Todd noted a
silkiness about the fish. The center was cool and squishy. He checked his plate
and found that the fish wasn’t cooked in the middle. Before he could call the
waiter, Amy commented on how good the tuna looked.

“It’s rare in the center.” He
turned the plate to show her the red center.

“That’s perfect. That’s just the
way seared tuna should be.”

Perhaps, but he wasn’t above
calling the waiter back to have the fish cooked well-done. Of course, when it
was returned, the entree was tasteless.

Todd was relieved when Amy was
too full for dessert. Once, when he had been in New Orleans at Antoine’s, he
had felt ridiculous when he had ordered a flaming desert for which they turned
off all the lights. Not able to see their own food in the dark, the other diners
sat and watched his dish being prepared at his table. Never again.

Todd took Amy home in his rental
car. He had to park a few blocks away from her house and they both had to climb
a steep hill.

“I’m sorry about this.”

“Are you kidding? I do this
everyday. It’s good exercise and a lot easier than using the Stairmaster at my
health club.”

Todd laughed and said, “I know
what you mean. I’ve built up some strong thigh muscles with that machine.”

He watched Amy’s eyes
instinctively gaze down and drift over his lower body. A smile lifted the
corners of his lips. Her head suddenly turned frontward and switched the topic
to the cool breeze of the night. Unable to resist, Todd’s arm reached across
her shoulders and pulled her into the heat of his body.

“Would you like my jacket?” he
asked.

“No, this is much more
comfortable,” she whispered.

At the door to her apartment,
Todd kissed her full on the mouth, tasting the sweetness of her lips until they
opened to him, allowing his tongue to test the wetness of her velvety palate.

This is a job, and you’re
getting paid well for it, he reminded himself. Todd pulled away. “Good-night,”
he whispered, running an index finger against her smooth cheek.

On the front steps of her
apartment building Todd took several deep breaths. If he had allowed the kiss
to last any longer, he would have been tempted to guide her into her apartment,
and that might have been too fast for Ms Amy Simpson. He didn’t want to run the
risk of alienating her before he had obtained her assistance. He decided he
would have to keep his healthy male lust in check. But it was going to be
difficult, he knew.

Wanting to walk off some of his
amorous agitation, Todd headed down the hill, bypassing his car for a walk down
by the pier a few blocks away. Hell, she was far more attractive than he had
expected an office manager to be. And young, too. She couldn’t be more than
twenty-eight, twenty-nine tops. These thoughts were doing nothing to alleviate
his body’s tension. Todd quickened his step. A game of basketball might help
right now, he thought. However, at this hour he wasn’t going to find any of
that kind of action.

The fog had set in, and visibility
was zero once he reached the beach. He slipped off his shoes and walked across
the sand until a light spray of water touched his face. When he stopped, his
heels buried deeper in the sand. Todd closed his eyes and listened to the waves
hitting the rocks in front of him. He’d stay here a while and let the damp
salty air settle into him while he cleared his head with meditation. Joey would
have to wait for his late-night briefing.

Chapter 3

Who?

Amy Simpson was in love. The
jostle on the commute to work couldn’t spoil her buoyant mood. Todd Coleman
would be waiting at her final destination with bulging pecs and Stairmaster
thighs. It was the best tax season ever.

It had taken her fifteen minutes
longer than usual to dress that morning, since she couldn’t decide between a
slim-fitting business tweed suit or a siren-red shirtwaist. She settled on a
back-to-nature green dress with a silken canary scarf for accent.

The lobby of the building
contained a few stragglers like herself, trying to run for the elevator doors
that they knew would not stay open for them. A high-pitched ping moved the
group to the next elevator with a green light.

She hoped Todd could overlook
how late she was, but who could sleep last night? she thought. Hopefully, he
couldn’t either. As the elevator neared her floor, she re-arranged her scarf
and fluffed her hair. Amy had always thought that gave her a wild, sexy look.
The man next to her stepped sideways, away from her and closer to the wall. She
felt like telling him she didn’t have nits. Instead she smiled and said, “Good
morning.”

Startled, the man reciprocated
her greeting. He even smiled when she exited and held the door for her.

“Thank you.”

The man nodded and looked as
though he were tempted to follow, but the elevator started to beep its demand
to move on. The doors whooshed closed behind her, and Amy strode across the
hall to open the glass-paneled doors before her.

Trudy was at her desk speaking
on the telephone. When she saw Amy she began to wave one arm. Amy waved back,
but from the corner of her eye she could see Trudy shaking her head. She’d have
to come back later and see what was troubling the receptionist; right now she
had better go to the conference room and let Todd know she had arrived.
Besides, she couldn’t wait to slip into the reflection of his shimmery blue
orbs.

Amy opened the door and thrust
her head in first.

“Hi, I’m sorry to be late, but
you’re partly to blame, you know.”

“Me!”

Pickle Pickens’ head shot up
from the ledgers he had been buried in for the past hour.

“Pick... Mr. Pickens!”

“I get here early this morning,
and there’s no one to help me. That half-brained receptionist shows up carrying
yogurt and a cheap romance, looking at me as if I were a dead man.”

“Retired.”

“What?”

“We thought you had retired to
engage in some of your hobbies, such as collecting model trains.”

“What are you talking about? The
only hobby I have is my job. Model trains. Do I look like a five-year-old?”

“Many adults enjoy playing with
model trains, Mr. Pickens. It’s not an insult, honestly. It keeps some people
young.”

“And brain-dead.”

“Do you need any coffee, Mr.
Pickens? Because I do.”

Pickens chased her away to
collect more material. He passed on the coffee and suggested she do the same,
because at this hour the long lines would keep her away from her work longer
than he would want.

“I see it now,” said Trudy. “The
start of battle fatigue. Your lips start to droop; next, your eyes will look
dull and your skin will tighten into worry lines.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Tried. I couldn’t very well
drop the phone and block your path.”

“I’m getting coffee.”

“There will be long lines at
this hour.”

Amy threw a not-another-word
glare at Trudy and proceeded to the elevator bank.

Waiting in line for fifteen
minutes for a sour cup of coffee did not improve her mood. Amy sailed into Stu’s
office, demanding the additional material that Pickens needed.

“It would be better if you asked
my secretary first,” Stu said, while shutting an open folder.

Flustered, Amy apologized.

“Sorry. I guess I still think of
you as one of us.”

“Most of the time I am, but not
when you may be intruding on business.”

“I didn’t think you had a
client. Sara wasn’t at her desk, and she usually guards you like a pit bull
when you’re closeted with a client.”

“Still, I prefer you knock.”

He was right. Yet Amy knew he
had always made it a point to be readily available. Not long ago he had chafed
at her sense of propriety. However, recently there had been talk of his being
made a junior partner.

“Should I go back outside and
knock?’

“Go back outside and stay there,”
he drawled precisely.

Amy backed out of the office and
caught Sara returning to her desk.

“What’s with Stu today?”

“I hadn’t noticed anything,” the
secretary said, returning her bag to the bottom drawer of her desk.

“It must be me. I was out of
line.”

“What did you do?”

“Barged into Stu’s office.”

Sara shook her head.

“Bet he came near to chopping
your head off. I suppose mine will be next for not guarding the door.”

“I’m sorry, Sara; I didn’t mean
to get you in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s been
quite intense about his work lately. He’s even been typing up some of his own
papers and running out to post them himself. That’s what being considered for
junior partner can do to you.”

“Yes. I just don’t want to see
anything happen to you because of my slip-up.”

Sara waved a hand.

“He’ll grunt about it for a
while, then he’ll be over it. I hear you’ve got a new guy doing the taxes.”

Amy frowned.

“You mean he’s worse than
Pickles?”

“He’s gone and Pickles is back.”

Sara giggled.

“And Trudy was so sure it was a
perfect match. You hardly had any time to get to know him.”

Too much time, thought Amy, as
she recalled the good-night kiss they had shared.

When Amy got back to the
conference room, she found Pickles tossing loose sheaves of paper around. Has
he gone mad? she wondered.

“I can’t work with this kind of
sorting.”

“That was the way Todd... Mr.
Coleman wanted it.”

“Who?”

“Your replacement yesterday.”

Pickles grumbled but quieted
down.

She wanted more information
about Todd. She didn’t even know how to contact him; not that she would, of
course. Unless she became desperate.

“You and he must have discussed
this firm quite a bit before he came here.”

“Me and who?”

“Mr. Todd Coleman, your
replacement.”

Pickles dropped his chin against
his chest so that he could read off the numbers in front of him.

“Had you?”

“What is wrong with you, Ms.
Simpson?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, then, get to work. I
asked you for Mr. Lester’s papers hours ago. I don’t see them.”

“He’s busy. His secretary will
bring them as soon as she can.”

“Here, sort this pile.”

Pickles handed her a three-inch
pile of paper that he had mussed up himself in his rage. She felt like tossing
them in the air. Instead, she took a seat as far away from Pickles as she could
and started making smaller piles. As she did, she occasionally would look up to
watch Pickles. His bulbous nose would wiggle with disapproval as he uttered
painful sighs. His glasses crept lower and lower, straddling the moon-shaped
tip of his nose. Once he even pulled a pocket watch out of his vest. All he
needs is long ears, she thought, as the sour Pickle’s nose vibrated quickly.

“What’s this?”

“Those are the notes that Mr.
Coleman made.”

“You mean he actually worked on
the books?”

“Why not?”

Pickles’ nose shivered a few
times before he tossed the paper in the waste basket.

“But, Mr. Pickens, we worked
very hard yesterday to get that work done.”

“No, no, no. He shouldn’t have
touched the ledgers.”

“Why not?”

Pickles was quiet again,
ignoring her question.

“Mr. Pickens, I’d like to know
why you can’t use those notes. After all, they can save everyone some time.”

Pickles ignored her. Furious,
Amy shoved the papers she was working on toward the accountant and rushed out
of the room.

“He’s impossible, Trudy.”

“Maybe you should see this,”
said Trudy, holding up the afternoon newspaper.

Amy reached out for the
newspaper as she read the headline.

“THIS MAN SOUGHT FOR MURDER OF
BUSINESS PARTNER, JOEY LANDIS”

Staring back at her from the
page was a black and white photograph of the man she had dined with the
previous evening.

“What the...” Amy fumbled for
words.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,
too, when I saw the photo. It’s definitely him, even though he does look more
luscious in those jeans and Western shirt.”

“Trudy! You’re talking about a
murderer. A man I dated. A man who knows where I live.”

“Really! No wonder you were late
this morning. I would have never gotten out of bed if...”

“He saw me home, Trudy. Was very
polite. Kissed me at the door, didn’t try to strong-arm me, just said ‘good-night.’”

“Guess he had other things to
take care of,” Trudy said, waving a hand at the newspaper that Amy’s sweaty
fingers were holding.

“It could have been me.”

“No. According to the article,
Landis and Coleman were good friends. Had served in the Marines together and
ran some sort of business. Though they’re kind of vague on that.”