Dead Body Language Read Online Free Page B

you get it?”
    In the corner of my eye, I caught flashes of light coming from the hallway. I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door.
    “Meningitis,” I said, and sprinted for my office.

L unging for my office door, I saw the bright light of the TTY, a teletypewriter device for the deaf, flashing urgently through the translucent glass pane.
    I dug through my backpack and located my keys at the bottom of the abyss. Jamming them into the lock, I pushed open the door, and dove for the phone. But by the time I set the phone receiver on the TTY, the flashing white light had been replaced by the small red wink of the answering machine. “Damn phone,” I said out loud.
    I plopped my overloaded bag onto the paper-stacked desk and sank into my padded swivel chair for a quick stress-releasing spin, which only made me dizzy. I had a deadline to deal with—I would have to leave the Boone Joslin/Dan Smith puzzle alone for a few moments and get back to my own mystery puzzle. Hoping for some fresh inspiration in the office environment, I dug out the embellished napkin and spread it out on top of a frog-leg recipe I was preparing for Saturday’s edition.
    “Ho-hum,” I said as I scanned the office for clues that would help me find a solution to my locked-room puzzle. But I got no assistance from my color poster of thecherried up ’57 Chevy I hoped my “needs-work” car would one day be, nor the reproduction of Wayne Thiebaud’s “Lipstick”—the one that makes a routine cosmetic look like a menacing bullet.
    In my office, the walls not papered with “Far Side” cartoons, MAD Magazine art, and comic book covers are lined with books on subjects like women who’ve cycled cross-country, hitchhikers who’ve traveled the universe, and desktop publishing manuals for the computer-addicted. Nothing led me to a brilliant revelation. Even my
Little Lulu
and
Heckle And Jeckle
collection let me down.
    The blinking red light of the answering machine kept distracting me from my murderous thoughts. Wondering who had called always drove me crazy. Damn. When were those brilliant telephone scientists going to create a printout answering machine for the deaf that I could afford? I would be in the dark until Miah decided to get his cute little butt to work. According to my watch, he was long overdue.
    At that moment, Lacy Penzance stuck her head in the door. In the confusion of seeing Boone’s office amok, meeting Dan Smith, working on the mystery puzzle, and missing the telephone call, I’d forgotten our appointment. I got up and tried to cover.
    “Ms. Penzance, I was just—” I puffed up my cheeks and shook out my hair, then searched my desk for an ending. I was having problems with closure today.
    Lacy Penzance didn’t seem to notice. I checked my watch again. Where was Miah? I really needed an interpreter for this tight-lipped woman.
    She sat down in the padded folding chair across from my desk and removed her sunglasses. I reached for my tape recorder. She looked at it, then squarely at me.
    “No recording, please. What I have to say is personal.”
    I tried to explain my need for a backup listener but she shook her head. I let it go.
    “I want to place an ad in your newspaper—an anonymous ad. I’m … trying to locate my sister. We were … separated at a young age, and I’ve just learned she may beliving in the Mother Lode area somewhere. I understand your newspaper is distributed all along the gold chain, so there’s a chance she might see my message—or perhaps someone who knows her might see it. I’ve written everything here.”
    I may have missed a few words but that was the gist of it. She pulled an envelope from her purse, opened it, and passed me a folded sheet of lavender paper. Her finely lined hands, trimmed with gaudy gold rings, trembled slightly. I unfolded the paper and read the neat, curlicue printing. She had probably practiced those circles and swirls a lot in junior high school.
    “Anyone