Dead Write: A Forensic Handwriting Mystery Read Online Free Page B

trees in clay pots were spaced a few feet apart in front of the plate glass windows. Claudia entered the modernized lobby and found Elite Introductions on the touch screen directory. The dating club was located on the building’s top floor. Loft 14.
    She got on the elevator with a couple of men with briefcases and two women who chatted loudly to each other as if they were alone. By the fourteenth floor, Claudia was glad to be the only one left on board. Exiting, she navigated the silent corridor, arriving at a door with Elite Introductions engraved on a brass nameplate.
    A disembodied voice sounded over the intercom when she rang the bell. Claudia gave her name, heard a subtle click, and the door cracked open.
    She entered, stopping for a moment at the wrought-iron entry table to admire a bouquet of three dozen perfect yellow roses artfully arranged in a silver champagne bucket. The soft glow of a Murano glass chandelier bathed them in a romantic light.
    As she glanced around, the large space appeared empty, but a voice drifted across the room. Someone knew she was here; they’d given her entry. She moved around the table and called out a hello.
    A young woman stuck her head out from what Claudia recognized as a glass-enclosed conference room. Petite, attractive, mid-twenties, dark hair that covered her shoulders, bangs low on her eyebrows and blunt cut. She gestured at a telephone headset hooked over her ear, holding up one finger, asking Claudia to wait.
    So Claudia waited, taking advantage of the opportunity to absorb the understated grandeur of the place. It was easy to imagine wealthy clients feeling comfortable in these surroundings as they waited to discuss a prospective love match with Baroness Grusha Olinetsky. Whitewashed walls and eleven-foot ceilings in a rectangular open plan. Spectacular views of Madison Square Garden and the Empire State Building through windows that ran the length of the space. Beautifully embroidered Oriental screens that offered the illusion of privacy.
    The young woman ended her call and left the conference room. Pencil-thin in a dove gray sweater and black ruffled miniskirt, she wore gray tights that matched the sweater and ended in suede ankle boots. “Sonya Marsi,” she said, extending a hand with nails painted bloodred and decorated with tiny silver rings. Her nasal twang—which, despite her alabaster skin, dispelled any notion of delicacy—reminded Claudia of the actress Fran Drescher’s whiny TV nanny. “I’m the baroness’ executive assistant,” Sonya Marsi said. “I’ll be coordinating with you while you’re here.”
    Claudia quickly released the limp fingers. “Claudia Rose. Is the baroness ready to see me?”
    “She’s finishing up with a VIP client. She’ll be with you in a few minutes.” Sonya started to walk back the way she’d come, beckoning Claudia to follow her to a sofa. “Have a seat, Ms. Rose. How was the flight over from L.A.? Everything okay at your hotel? How about coffee?” She tossed the questions over her shoulder one after the other, already walking away as she made the offer.
    “Don’t trouble yourself,” Claudia said with a thin smile, recognizing that Sonya Marsi’s attention had already drifted to something else. Her handwriting would be large in the middle zone, short in the upper and lower zones—short attention span.
    It was nearly twenty minutes later that a pair of French doors at the rear of the loft swung open and a woman swept through, accompanied by a hunk in his mid-thirties.
    Even if Claudia had not looked up Olinetsky’s Web site or found a couple of videos about Elite Introductions on YouTube, she would have immediately recognized her new client. Tall at five-eleven and slender, the matchmaker’s chic silk dress swayed as she walked. As tall as she was, she wore high-heeled pumps that put an emphasis on muscular calves. Sensual lips liberally daubed with a deep crimson gloss drew the eye upward. Hair the color of jet