Do you know Where The Bodies Are Buried? Jeri is about to find out. Her client was murdered before he could tell her why he needed a private investigator. Jeri thinks the answer is at the company where he worked. So she polishes up her word processing skill, borrows a suit and goes undercover as a secretary.
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Excerpt:
The phone rang at one in the morning. At least that’s what the faintly glowing red digits on my clock radio said.
As the phone jangled, I struggled from the tangled embrace of sheets, dislodging my cat Abigail, who was curled up at the hollow of my back. As I groped for the switch on the bedside lamp, my other cat, Black Bart, jumped to the floor, as though to escape the hullabaloo. I picked up the telephone receiver, mercifully cutting the racket in mid-peal.
Before I had time to croak out a greeting, I heard my ex-husband’s voice. “You got a client named Rob Lawter?”
“And good morning to you, too.” I squinted at the clock readout and said what generally comes to mind in a situation such as this. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Never mind what time it is,” Sid growled. “Rob Lawter, male Caucasian, twenty-nine, brown hair, brown eyes. He lived in a fifth floor apartment in a building on Alice Street.”
I picked up on the past tense right away. You notice words like that, particularly when they’re used by a homicide detective.
“Yeah, he’s a client,” I said slowly. “What’s going on, Sid?”
“Was a client. He’s dead. He took a header out his living room window a couple of hours ago. Your business card was in his wallet.”