Читать книгу Death By Email - Carol Hadley - Страница 14

I washed my shirt the best I could, then wandered across the studio in search of a clean smock to cover the revealing outline of my black lace bra through the wet tee. Smith wasn’t around so I ducked into Twitchell’s office. I could sneak a look at my email while borrowing the smock I knew the Twitch kept on a hook behind the door.

With the Twerp in the hospital, who’d mind if I used the computer in his office? It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Did you know that you could access your email from any computer? I was beginning to see the big attraction for these gizmos!

He had a password.

That impossible man actually had a password and he’d locked me out of his computer. I dropped into his chair and tried to think like a Twitwit and guess the secret word. Before long, I snorted and pawed through the untidy stack of files balanced precariously on the corner of the desk and on half-open drawers. It takes a special talent to think like a Twit. I decided I’d rather be deficient in that department.

A dark blue file at the bottom of a stack literally screamed for my attention; all the others were a uniform pale manila. I carefully pulled it out. A quick glance showed computer printouts, receipts and handwritten notes among other documents.

Smith suddenly slammed the office door open, catching me flatfooted. He didn’t look very happy with me.

I jumped up, dropping the file on the floor at my feet. “Uh, I guess you want to know what I’m doing in Twit-uh-chells office.” I gulped, taking his silence to mean I was on target. “Um, well, you see — I was looking for a smock.” I indicated my wet tee shirt rendered transparent and revealing my matronly shape in black lace.

“This file fell off the desk — and I picked it up.” In my haste to pick up the file, I bumped the stack teetering on the corner of the desk and sent them all cascading to the floor. I picked up a folder advertising some space age lipstick. It was the wrong one, but by then I was so flustered that I shoved it into his hand anyway.

“Then I had to look at it to be sure the pages were in order,” I babbled. “You have no idea how upset that kid gets when things are out of order — I was just saving him from having a coronary — because I brushed up against the desk — really, it was an accident —”

I didn’t think Smith was buying my tale, but you know what my husband always used to say. “If you can’t dazzle them with your brilliance, then baffle them with your bull.”

I was in so much trouble by then I chose to interpret his continued silence as permission to don the smock. When I flapped my hand at him and started pulling the wet shirt over my head, he turned his back to allow me some remnant of my tattered modesty.

I kept up the senseless monologue. “I certainly hope Conrad recovers so he can continue to make my life miserable.” I said a silent prayer that my cracking voice covered the other noises I made.

The folder I was stealing slipped repeatedly from my haste-numbed fingers. I don’t know how he failed to hear the rustle of fumbled papers. To me they sounded like a combination of exploding bombs and crashing surf. After several attempts, I stuffed the file into the waistband of my jeans and when Smith turned back to face me, I was casually buttoning the front of the smock.

“Anyhow, I need to put this in my locker.” I concluded, winding down the chatter and twirled the soggy shirt on the end of my finger. “Are you going to escort me to the women’s locker room?” I challenged, with an inviting simper. He refused so I hurried to stow the folder and shirt before he changed his mind.

My efforts at the drafting board were a complete waste of time after that. Smith must have told Twitchell’s assistant about my bedside vigil because Sheryl hovered nearby, watching me lose my muse. She moved closer as I discarded one idea after another.

“I can’t watch this anymore,” she finally declared. “Go home, Mia. You’re in no shape to work today. Get some sleep so you can do a decent job tomorrow.”

I protested, but my heart wasn’t in it, so when she nudged me from my stool and ordered, “Go!” I got.

By then Smith had returned to the station, so I retrieved my shirt and the file and slunk out to my truck.