This Doesn't Happen in the Movies Read Online Free

painted a light, creamy brown, with large windows east and west.  A mahogany desk the size of a compact car sat directly across from the door, taking up a sizable portion of the room.  On one side of it was a two-drawer file cabinet, on the other a computer printer sitting on a small stand.  Three-foot shelves spanned the entire wall behind the desk, and a huge painting of a sailboat on calm waters hung centered on the wall over the desk.  In the remainder of the room were a small table with a reading chair in one corner and a glass display case with a few model boats in the other corner.
    “This is where he works,” Amanda said.  “When he’s in town,” she said as an afterthought.
    I moved around the desk and sat in the leather executive chair.  Definitely more comfortable than the one in my office; it cushioned my underside like a pillow.  I ran my hands across the mahogany desktop, then checked out the computer monitor.  It was the very latest model, practically paper thin, taking up very little room on the desk.  I lightly tapped the keyboard, then switched on a small antique Tiffany desk lamp.  The room reeked of expensive taste.
    “He also has a laptop for travel,” Amanda said.  “It’s with him.”
    That made sense, since he was on a business trip, but I didn’t point out the obvious.  “I guess we have to start here.  Do you mind if I look at what he’s got on the computer?”
    “I could care less what’s on that thing.”  I glanced at her as I turned it on.  Did she despise the technology or the man who used it?
    “Let’s see what we have here.”  I waited for the computer to think its way through initial setup; when it finished, the desktop appeared with a variety of files on it.  I examined them, humming the catchy opening notes from a tune by The Smiths.  I double-clicked on one file after another.  Most of the files were documents related to Peter’s work, details of program modifications, suggestions for improvements, and a lot of computer lingo that I didn’t understand.  A few documents prompted me for a password, which raised my curiosity.  Not that they contained anything more than contracts or something he wouldn’t want just anybody, like me, to have access to, but a detective didn’t like not knowing.
    “Anything interesting?” Amanda asked after a bit of fidgeting from the reading chair.
    “Nope.”  I continued perusing files and humming The Smiths song.
    “Is that How Soon Is Now ?” she asked.
    I looked up in surprise.  “Sure is.”  Not too many people recognized that alternative '80s band, or one of their greatest hits.
    “I think we’re about the same age,” she said with a roll of her eyes.  “You’re what?  Thirty?  Thirty-five?”
    “Thirty-four,” I said.
    “Class of eighty-two.”  Amanda smiled.  “I like a lot of the groups from the eighties.”
    “The Smiths were great,” I said, feeling like the schoolboy again.  She likes the same music as I do!  Get a grip, Reed.  She’s a client.  But I kept humming.
    “Well, well.  What have we here?”
    Amanda bolted up from the chair and came around the desk.  “What?”
    I was checking Peter’s emails.  I couldn't believe he hadn't password protected them, but it made my job easier.  The Inbox contained only a few, but one of those was from a lady named Sheila.  The email was dated six months ago, and was brief but to the point.
    “Dear Peter,” it read.  “So glad to hear from you.  Call me when you get in and we can have dinner and then… :-)”.  Below that: “Love Sheila”.  Underneath that was an auto signature, standard with most company emails, and this conveniently listed her full name as Sheila Banks.  It also had the company address, phone and fax numbers, and web site address.  Sheila obviously had little concern about being caught.  Either that, or she was incredibly stupid.  I’d recently heard about a couple who had spent the night