Too Easy Read Online Free Page B

about him, she thinks, is the two d’s.
    â€œOh, sure, Edd. I’m having a rough morning with Smithers, Inc.”
    â€œOh, well,” Edd says casually, “just throw the IRS a VP, they’ll be happy.”
    Anne frowns. Not exactly the way she sees her job.
    She shuts the door to her office, and they walk down to the elevators.
    â€œThe IRS usually wants money,” she says. “Or does the VP trick work for you?”
    â€œJust kidding,” he says with no smile. “But, hey, the books are a mess, maybe somebody’s been cooking.”
    â€œI hope not. I think it’s just a case of people finding more tax gimmicks than a corporate body can digest.”
    â€œAh, the Nineties. I miss ’em.”
    They go up to 12, where the firm has a swank little cafeteria. The idea being to keep the drudges in the building. Anne takes the fish and salad. Edd takes the burger, fries, red jello, and chocolate mousse cake. As they’re sitting down, Anne says, “You in training?”
    Edd doesn’t see the joke, or won’t acknowledge it. “They make a good burger here.” He’s lean, almost stiff in his movements, wearing a navy-blue suit and white shirt. Close to her age, Anne thinks.
    â€œRight.” She smiles briefly. “So what’s new with you?”
    Edd shrugs. “Well, I keep getting more master points. You don’t play bridge, do you?”
    â€œNot well.”
    â€œI remember. Scrabble’s your game.”
    â€œUsed to play it all the time. Robert’s a managing editor now and, in practical terms, that means he doesn’t have time for things like Scrabble.”
    â€œThere’s no way out,” Edd says.
    â€œWell, you play bridge.”
    â€œMy wife left me for that very reason.”
    Anne smiles. An odd, no-nonsense man. One could well imagine a wife leaving him. Still, he doesn’t seem to have any pretensions. Or he has the secret kind that are more fun because nobody knows about them.
    A group of young lawyers, all men, come in. Only one has a jacket on. They all wear wide suspenders. They’re high spirited and settle noisily at a nearby table, three facing three. Edd glances at them without interest. Anne looks more closely. They make her appreciate Robert. They’re all around thirty, but still boys. Nobody wants to grow up these days. They’re vital, attractive; but Anne feels something almost maternal toward them.
    They trade jokes in low voices, laugh a lot, then start comparing cases and tactics. “All right,” one says loudly, “listen to this. The burglar gets the window open, gets his leg in. The guy in the house, he comes running. Says stop or get out or something. The guy in the window has a tool or makes a move or something. The homeowner shoots him. The guy falls back on the lawn. Wounded bad but he lives. What happens?”
    â€œWitnesses say what?”
    â€œOnly one. A house away, in the dark. He can’t say how far the guy was in the window. If he was. Or what was said. If anything.”
    â€œI’ll take it.” A slim one with slicked-back hair pauses for effect. Anne thinks his name is Stan. He raises his hands, about to paint a picture. “This guy’s drunk, says he is. Alright, go with me. He thinks it’s his house. Lost his key. He went around back, tries to get in through a window.”
    â€œCome on,” another says, “the houses have to look alike.”
    â€œHe’s real drunk. Any medical evidence to the contrary?”
    â€œNope. ER treated for gunshot. Why check blood alcohol?”
    â€œThere you go. Guy’s really drunk. He’s lost. Or maybe it’sa friend’s house, guy he knows always leaves a window open. Never mind. He’s no burglar. Last thing on his mind.”
    â€œBingo,” says the guy giving the case. “What else?”
    â€œNow it’s a piece of cake,” another says.