Hidden Agenda. Kara LennoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
frown. “Good luck, sister. You’ll need it.”
Jillian saw no reason not to start her undercover work on the spot. Letitia could be a good resource, seeing as she knew everyone and saw them coming and going to and from the building. “He couldn’t be that bad.”
“If you’re still here by lunchtime, there’ll be a betting pool started. Everyone puts in a dollar and guesses the exact hour you’ll quit. I usually pick 10:00 a.m. the second day—so far, I’m up twenty bucks.”
“Really.” Was Letitia having a joke at Jillian’s expense? “What if I stay?”
“You think you’re made of pretty strong stuff?”
Jillian thrust out her chin. “Yes, I do. No one could be as bad as my old boss. Imagine the ruthlessness of Attila the Hun combined with the incompetence of Barney Fife.” She hoped Daniel never got wind of that description. He wasn’t at all incompetent, but he could be ruthless when he wanted something.
Letitia snorted, almost a laugh. “Maybe your old boss was bad, but was he a murderer?”
Jillian’s heart thudded so loudly she was sure Letitia could hear it. “Excuse me?”
“I guess you haven’t heard about Greg Tynes.”
“Oh, the man who was killed. Yes, I did hear something about that.” Jillian didn’t want to appear terminally ignorant.
Letitia nodded. “He worked in Mr. Blake’s department. We all think Mr. Blake did it.”
“Why?” Jillian didn’t have to fake her horror. She’d known someone at Mayall Lumber might be a killer, but she’d never imagined it might be her boss.
“Mr. Blake is mean, that’s why.”
“Does he have a temper?” She couldn’t recall Conner ever losing his temper, but he did have a devilish streak.
“Not a temper. It’s more like…a darkness,” Letitia said, warming to her topic. “There’s a reason that man can’t keep an assistant. They always just…” Letitia lowered her voice to a whisper “…disappear.”
Dear Lord.
Letitia clapped a hand over her mouth. “Now I’ve gone and said way more than I should. Never mind me. I’m sure you and Mr. Blake will work out just fine.”
“We will.” They had to.
As Jillian rode the elevator up to the third floor, she congratulated herself. With a little idle chitchat, she’d laid some groundwork for getting to know Letitia better, and she’d picked up some juicy gossip.
But she was also treading on dangerous territory. Her job was to observe and report, not ask questions, not snoop. In fact, Daniel had told her to talk as little as possible, and to keep to the truth as much as she could. She’d memorized a few pertinent facts about her fictionalized work background, and she was not supposed to elaborate.
But how was she going to learn anything important if she didn’t talk to people?
Just before stepping out of the elevator, she checked her appearance one more time. Following Celeste’s advice, she’d altered her wardrobe to look more like a working girl. She wasn’t chairman of the board, she was a secretary. She’d chosen a pair of wheat-colored linen trousers and a blouse in muted earth-tone stripes. Leaving all her good jewelry at home, she’d opted for inexpensive costume pieces.
But she hadn’t compromised with the shoes. She loved her high heels; they made her feel tall and invincible.
She was pleased to see she had beat Conner to work. His office was open and dark. Since no one was about—and since she was feeling brave—she fished the small, black disk out of her purse and peeled off the backing to expose the adhesive surface. Checking the hallway to make sure no one was coming, she dashed into Conner’s office, slapped the bug under the front ledge of his desk, then dashed out again.
If the grapevine said Conner was guilty, he was the one to target with her spy tricks.
She placed the recording device in the back of her credenza, placing a ream of paper in front of it.
Now, with that task settled, she could start on her own work space. She wandered down the hall until she located someone else who’d braved the early hour, another admin. Her name plate identified her as Iris Hardy.
“Excuse me,” Jillian began. “I’m Jillian Baxter, Mr. Blake’s new admin. I wonder if you could help me.”
Iris, a plain woman with a round face and the sort of dumpy clothes and hair that indicated she’d stopped caring about her image, smiled sadly. “He’s done something awful already?”
“Oh, gracious, no,” Jillian said, appalled by the other woman’s attitude. It was like her colleagues were setting her up for failure. “He’s not even in yet. I’m organizing my work space and I need some office supplies. Should I requisition them?”
“Only if there’s something special you want,” Iris said. “Otherwise, there’s a big storeroom right around that corner. It says Supplies on the door, you can’t miss it. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
“Thanks. Do you want to have lunch later? If you don’t already have plans, that is. I might need advice on what’s good in the cafeteria, and what’s to be avoided.”
Jillian had been trying for a note of humor, but it fell flat. Iris frowned.
“Honey, you won’t be here long enough for us to become friends. If you want to save yourself a lot of aggravation, quit now.” She turned her attention back to her computer.
Jillian wondered if she looked frail. Otherwise, why would everyone assume she couldn’t stand up to the rigors of a difficult boss? Conner couldn’t be that bad.
Then again, with that cruel streak he’d shown her in high school, maybe he made Simon Legree look like Mother Teresa. And if he really was the killer…
She located the supply closet easily enough and opened the door, nearly colliding with a man on his way out. The slight man with thin, wiry hair and a face like a weasel widened his eyes in surprise when he saw her. It took her a moment, but she recognized his face from the Mayall Lumber Annual Report. This was Isaac Cuddy, the budget director.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
“Jillian. Conner Blake’s new assistant. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cuddy.” She held out her hand, but he didn’t reciprocate. He was carrying a large box overflowing with legal pads, pens, packing tape, staples and packets of coffee. “Oh, sorry, guess your hands are full. Would you like some help carrying?”
“No, thank you,” he said tersely. “I’ve got it.”
She held the door open, and he sashayed out.
What an unpleasant little man, she thought. And how odd was it that he was down here fetching his own office supplies? Surely he had an assistant, maybe a whole staff, to handle such mundane tasks.
With a shrug, she returned to gathering up hanging folders, file boxes and trash bags, pens and sticky notes, an extra ream of paper for her printer. She hauled it all back to her office area and dug in.
She’d been hoping the mess of paperwork might offer some insight into what Greg Tynes had been involved in before he died. He’d been an overseas timber buyer, which meant he worked for Conner’s department. But beyond spotting his name on a couple of invoices, nothing she found was of interest. Most of these papers, as far as she could tell, ought to be shredded, as they were duplicates of documents already filed in the computer system.
The filing cabinet used by Jillian’s predecessor was almost empty. Jillian remedied that, quickly setting up hanging files with neatly printed labels for invoices, contracts, correspondence and market research.
After almost two hours of dedicated organizing, Jillian’s desk was clear,