Read Legwork for Free Online Page B

issuing a statement this afternoon and I still haven’t written it. The press is unbelievable.” She did not seem entirely displeased with the situation. I wasn’t surprised. What Mary Lee really craved was attention. She had it in spades now.
    I promised to check in later and rang off, resolving to track down good old Bradley Masters before I went any further.
    I dialed his office and wasted no time when some fresh- voiced Betty Boop soundalike answered and said, “Paradigm Investment Banking Inc.” She made “Paradigm” sound like “pair of dimes” which was about all Bradley had to rub together these days in the way of capital. He was not a financial success and only family connections kept him in business.
    “This is Susan Montooth from First Federal. I must speak to Mr. Masters immediately. It’s urgent,” I lied in my most officious voice.
    “Mr. Masters is out of the office this morning. He will be back by early afternoon.”
    “Where is he?” I demanded, hoping to sound as if I would repossess his home at any second. “This is extremely important.”
    The lady kept her cool. “He is returning from a business trip abroad, Miss Montooth. May I take a message?”
    I wasn’t going to get anything out of her. She sounded like she’d been fielding similar calls from media representatives all morning long.
    But I had an idea. If he was due in the office by early afternoon, he was coming back to town sometime late this morning. And if he’d truly been “abroad,” or, at least, far enough away to miss the news about his wife, he was damn sure coming in by plane. The murder had made headlines up and down the eastern seaboard and he’d have called in if he had seen it. Chances were good that he had been out of the states. There was only one airport in the Raleigh/Durham area and only one terminal for international arrivals. I’d find the jerk first. Unless some eager beaver newscaster beat me to it, of course.
    No one beat me to it. When Bradley Masters walked out through the double doors that marked the customs area at Raleigh/Durham Airport, I was the only one waiting for him. I watched him stride down the corridor and thought about what a shame it was that he was such a washout as a person, because he was truly a handsome man. If you go in for the Aryan type, that is. He was tall, his broad shoulders and flat stomach carefully sculpted through regular workouts at the most expensive gym in Raleigh. He still had plenty of blond hair, kept thick by a steady supply of Rogaine which he stored behind a stack of towels in the master bathroom. I knew. I searched the place regularly. His eyes were large and almond-shaped, tinted even bluer by the contacts he wore. And his straight nose and narrow mouth gave him a noble look he did not deserve, considering he had the personality of a weasel.
    He’d apparently had nothing to declare at customs, if you didn’t count the large duffel bag in one hand and the college coed in the other. She peeled off like a precision swimmer when she saw me headed toward them. I suspected she’d ducked for cover from a jealous wife many times before.
    “Meet a friend on the plane?” I asked Bradley, grabbing his bag like I was being polite. I really wanted to check the weight. Maybe I could catch him with a couple kilos of cocaine and send him away for decades, saving us all a whole lot of trouble. “Been gone long?”
    “What are you doing here?” he asked sourly. “God, I hope no one sees us together. What’s with those roots anyway? Can’t afford a bottle of Clairol? And what’s with those dresses you wear? You look like a sausage. Plus that heavy eyeliner went out with my grandmother.”
    “You don’t like the way I look?” I asked innocently.
    “No one I know thinks you look normal,” he answered.
    “Maybe that’s the point.”
    “What do you want?” he asked.
    “Where were you?” I stared at his tan. It was deeper than his normal studio tint. “Pretty