Death on a High Floor Read Online Free

thing.”
    “Jenna, I don’t think I need a lawyer. Once the cops really get into this, it will blow over. In the meantime, I can just lie low.”
    “Well, when you get out of bed and go look out your front door, you may feel differently about it.”
    “What’s outside my front door?”
    “A couple of reporters. But you should check it out for yourself.”
    “Okay, I will.”
    “Oh, and you might also want to know that Simon’s murder is the right-hand lead in today’s L.A. Times . You’re mentioned.”
    “Mentioned how?”
    “I think it would be better if you read it yourself.”
    I needed to see what Jenna was talking about. I started to swing my feet over the edge of the bed when I remembered I was naked. Jenna was still looking at me, with a smile on her face. I slid my feet back under the duvet.
    “Jenna, how did I get to be naked?”
    “Your doctor undressed you and put you in bed.”
    “Somehow, I don’t believe you. But let’s not go there.” She continued to smile, but she hadn’t budged. Was she planning to just stand there like that, while I got out of bed, buck naked? I tried to recapture my dignity.
    “Jenna, please leave. I need to get dressed.” As I listened to my voice echo inside my own head, it didn’t sound all that authoritative really. But it seemed to work. Jenna flashed me one more smile that was somewhere between a dazzle and a smirk, turned and left.
    I got out of bed, walked into the master bath, and turned on the shower. The newspaper could wait.
    The shower stall was oversized, resplendent in turquoise tile with a motif of leaping dolphins. I’d had it built to mimic one I’d seen in some palazzo in Sicily. Stupid, really. I got in and the water flowed out on me in its usual thin, unsatisfying stream. I do hate low-flow showerheads. I’ve thought about sneaking in a real showerhead from some water-flush place like Ohio. Still, the hot water felt terrific. Showers invigorate you. Every man feels like a king in his shower.
    As I soaped up, I began to think about the whole dumb thing. Why should I give a shit that some asshole detective thought I killed Simon? I didn’t. Why did I give a shit that there were a couple reporters outside my door? Didn’t. Why did I give a shit what the L.A. Times thought? Didn’t care about that, either. Anyway, the Times was now owned by people in Chicago.
    I emerged from the shower determined just to ignore the whole thing. It would blow over.
    I dried off, padded over to the walk-in closet in the bedroom and stopped dead in my tracks. It was Tuesday. A business day. Every business day for the last thirty-six years, unless I was on vacation or sick, I had showered, walked to that closet, taken fresh underwear from the wooden drawers to the side, unhooked a nice blue pinstripe suit from the rack, picked out a crisp white shirt, selected whatever color tie was de rigueur that year, put it all on and gone off to work. It was a uniform that made me feel like I was officially part of a big important world, all governed from the tops of tall buildings.
    Now it was a business Tuesday and I wasn’t sure whether it was going to be a business day or something else. Screw it. I was going to make it a business day like any other. I was going to have some coffee and go to work. I got dressed. Maroon tie.
    When I got to the kitchen, Jenna was sitting at the small round table in the breakfast nook, reading the newspaper. I stood in the doorway and looked at her. She seemed not to notice I was there. She was wearing a different T-shirt than an hour earlier. This one said MARBURY MARFAN SOFTBALL .
    “You changed your T-shirt.”
    She still didn’t look up. “Yeah. I went home while Dr. Donald was here last night. Brought some stuff back and moved it into one of the spare bedrooms. The one that looks out over the fishpond.”
    “You moved in? Just like that?”
    “Yeah, just like that.”
    “For how long?”
    “Just for a few days.”
    I was feeling