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us."
    "Please don't tell me that we'll
be seeing more of Kitty."
    "I can't promise you that. But
we're putting an end to our revolving front door policy. I'm done
entertaining. You free tomorrow?"
    "I am. What do you have in
mind?"
    "Tomorrow is going to be Bring My
Girlfriend To Work Day. If we play our cards right, we should have
a meeting to attend together in the afternoon."
    "Smashing."

CHAPTER NINE
     
    I met with the CFO and CEO of one of our portfolio
companies called POP the following day. POP was a great idea. It
was one of the largest music-sharing companies in the world. There
was nothing like it. You could follow what music your friends were
listening to from anywhere on any device, anytime anyone was
listening. In addition, you could instantly listen along with your
friends to their playlists or to whatever music you were in the
mood for, along with a whole host of other goodies. No need to
actively post anything, although you could. It all happened in real
time. The ultimate music-sharing and discovery service amongst real
friends.
    My firm had contributed the
entirety of POP's first round of funding to the tune of $10 million
about three years ago. My firm and I owned a very large percentage
of POP, so we stood to gain a lot when POP was sold or went public.
Since then they'd raised another $100 million, and they were going
to raise a whole bunch more. It was all causing a bit of frenzy in
the tech world. That was never a bad thing.
    I told the assembled POP crew that there was still a
lot of work to be done and that we would need at least three or
four other firms to come in with a lot of capital in order to meet
the $248 million goal, but that meant issuing some more stock. The
trick would be to make an offer attractive enough to an investor
without diluting the shares that both my firm and the other two
investors owned.
    Imogen was a trooper. I had
allowed her to sit in on my meetings and to offer any valuable
insight that she might feel the need to convey. While Imogen was
technically retired, and apparently now a reluctant private
investigator on a murder case, once upon a time she had been an
investment banker. So high finance was something Imogen was
familiar with. In fact, I'd hire her to work for me, but she joked
that she would only work with me. I didn't think I could afford her coming in
at the "with" level.
    After my discussion with Detective
Carrington yesterday afternoon, I was somewhat concerned. He had
clearly not ruled me out of the possible suspect pool. Even though
his question about me owning a handgun seemed off the cuff, it most
certainly was not. He wanted to know. Maybe if I had said yes, he'd
have gotten a warrant, found the gun, and wrapped this whole thing
up. But, as it stood, he was grasping at straws.
    I formulated a plan to get in to
meet with Mike Miller. I figured that I might be able to get a
little information out of Mike myself. Do a little digging on my
own. We were in this real-life novel now, for better or worse. Part
of what had drawn Ginny and I into this mess was the fact that we
both enjoyed a good mystery. We loved reading mystery novels. Good
practice, we had both agreed last night. I also had another motive.
The one where I convinced the police that I didn't kill Ted. Junior
Detective Max Slade, or, as I liked to think of myself, Private
Dick Slade, called Mike's office and was able to set up a three
o'clock appointment with him to discuss POP.
    A quick lunch and a quickie later,
Imogen and I were on our way to the offices of Baxter, Miller &
Clarke. When we arrived via taxi, we made our way through security
and then up to Mike's office on the thirty-second floor. A
statuesque, brown-eyed and -haired model of a woman dressed in a
navy skirt and jacket met us at the elevator and then escorted us
through reception into Mike's office. As we walked, I admired her
perfect body. This was how clothes were supposed to fit a woman.
She must have been Mike's personal