Bad Business Read Online Free Page B

said.
    â€œThat’s it?” Rita said. “No ‘hello you sexy thing, who does Cone, Oakes use?’ ”
    â€œWho do they use?” I said.
    â€œI use you.”
    â€œI know, but who, for divorce work, say, or corporate crime?”
    â€œI do criminal litigation, for crissake. I don’t know who the white collar doo doos use.”
    â€œYou could ask.”
    â€œAnd call you back?”
    â€œExactly,” I said. “You sexy thing.”
    Rita hung up. I put in my CD of Benny Goodman’s 1938 Carnegie Hall Jazz Concert. We were halfway through Avalon when Rita called back.
    â€œLawton Associates,” she said. “Big firm on Broad Street. I’m told they’re very discreet.”
    â€œUnlike yourself,” I said.
    Rita laughed and hung up. She had a great laugh. I thought about things for a little while. Whoever had hired the Templeton Group probably hadn’t done it through Cone, Oakes. Didn’t mean it wasn’t somebody at Kinergy. But it didn’t mean it was. I always hated clues that didn’t tell you anything. I thought about things some more. After a while, I got sick of that, and decided to do something instead of doing nothing, so I got out of my car and walked back to the maroon Chevy. It was a warm day. The driver had his window open.
    â€œFind out who I am yet?” I said.
    â€œThey’re calling me back,” the driver said.
    I took a business card from my shirt pocket and handed it to him. He read it and nodded, and handed it back to me.
    â€œYou know who I am?” he said.
    â€œI know you work for the Templeton Group,” I said.
    â€œYou got a quicker trace than I did.”
    â€œBetter contacts,” I said. “You want to talk.”
    â€œMay as well,” he said and nodded toward the passenger door. I went around and got in.
    â€œName’s Francis,” he said. “Jerry Francis.”
    He was a square-faced, square-shouldered guy wearing Oakley wraparounds, and a straw fedora with a wide brim and a blue silk hatband.
    â€œWho you tailing?” he said.
    â€œYou first,” I said.
    He shook his head.
    â€œIt’s against company policy,” he said, “to discuss any aspect of a case with any unauthorized person.”
    â€œAnd I’m about as unauthorized as it gets,” I said. “On the other hand, you showed up a few hundred yards behind Marlene Rowley. That might be a clue.”
    Francis shrugged.
    â€œI’ve been tailing Trent Rowley,” I said.
    Francis grinned.
    â€œAh, divorce work,” he said.
    â€œWho can catch who first,” I said.
    â€œAnd the winner gets most of the assets. You working for her?”
    â€œYes,” I said, “following him.”
    Francis laughed briefly.
    â€œAnd you know who I’m working for,” he said.
    â€œHim,” I said, “following her. You catch her?”
    â€œIt’s against company policy,” Francis said, “to discuss any aspect of a case with unauthorized personnel.”
    â€œOf course,” I said.
    â€œSo far the only person I caught her with was him.”
    â€œHer husband?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Francis was watching the Rowley house. Through the trees, across the lawn, I could see Marlene Rowley come out of her house. I got out of the car.
    Francis started the car.
    â€œTime to go to work,” he said.
    I closed the door.
    Through the window, I said, “Have a nice evening.”
    â€œYou bet,” he said and put the car in drive and moved slowly down toward the corner of the street where Marlene would pull out of her driveway. In a while she did and turned right and after a suitable pause, Francis drove on after her.
    I stood on the empty suburban street for a time. I felt left out. I had no one to follow. There was a summer hum of insects, which made everything seem quieter. I listened to the quiet for a bit, then went to my car and started it