Death on a High Floor Read Online Free Page A

jocular. “Will the Jenna-muffin cook and clean, too?”
    “The Jenna-muffin’s already cooked for you. Sit down and have some eggs. When you’re done, we need to talk seriously. Because you are seriously in a lot of trouble.”
    I took up her invitation and sat down at the table, but I wasn’t inclined to talk seriously about anything. The shower high was still with me. “Look, Jenna. I didn’t kill him. I don’t know who did kill him. And I hate to say it, but I don’t really care who killed him. I’m going to finish these eggs, walk out that door, get in my car, and go to work. I thank you for making the eggs.”
    Jenna just looked at me for a moment and then went back to reading the paper, which she had folded to an inner page. We ate our respective eggs in silence. Part of me wanted to reach over, grab the paper from her, and see exactly what was in it. The other part of me desperately craved a perfectly normal Tuesday, and I had the sense that looking at the newspaper would not be helpful to that desire. So I just finished my eggs. It was going to be a perfectly normal Tuesday. I was going to insist on it.
    I got up from the table and walked to the front door, ready to go to work. Then I opened the door. I have trouble even now describing what was out there. The word “blob” comes to mind. A large, pulsing blob of boom microphones, TV cameras and at least a dozen reporters screaming questions and leaping at me like I was prey.
    I shut the door.
    When I turned back around, Jenna was standing there, in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, sipping a cup of coffee. “Still going to work?”
    “Maybe not.” Normal Tuesday had vanished.
    “Just as well. Your car’s still in the garage downtown, remember? Surrounded by yellow tape? And even if it were here, it would be in the garage, not out front.”
    I continued to stand there, facing her, my back to the front door, frozen in place. I felt like an idiot.
    Finally, Jenna spoke. “So now do you want to see the L.A. Times ?”
    “I guess.”
    “It’s in the kitchen.”
     
     

CHAPTER 4
     
    When I got back to the kitchen, the paper was lying in the middle of the table, headline up. I saw instantly what Jenna meant for me to see—the right-hand lead: Prominent Lawyer Stabbed to Death .
    Below it was a color picture of Simon Rafer, dead on the carpet, with the dagger in his back.
    “How did they get that picture?”
    “Cell phone camera. One of the people who stepped off the elevator probably snapped it, sold it to the Times .”
    “Who?”
    “No clue. Check it out below the fold, too.”
    I flipped the paper over. There was my own picture, pink windbreaker and all. I leaned closer and read the first few sentences of the article:
     
Police confirm that Robert Tarza is a person of interest in the stabbing death of Simon Rafer. Rafer was the socially prominent managing partner of powerhouse law firm Marbury Marfan and was honorary chairman of the Los Angeles Opera. Tarza is a senior partner in the same firm.
     
    I collapsed into a chair. “Oh my God.”
    Jenna said nothing.
    “I need coffee,” I said.
    Jenna walked over to the coffee pot, poured the coffee, and brought it back to me. I raised the cup toward my lips, but couldn’t quite get it there.
    “Robert, your hand is shaking.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Do you want me to call Dr. Donald?”
    “No. I’ll be okay. And I’m really sorry.”
    “Well don’t be sorry. It’s normal in this kind of situation.”
    “This kind of situation isn’t normal for me.”
    “I know.”
    My hand started to shake even more violently. I tried to set the cup down without spilling. It didn’t work, and a large amount of coffee slopped onto the table.
    Jenna gazed at me across the table. A look that was somehow part caring and part cold appraisal. “Robert, do you get it now? The trouble you’re in?”
    “Yes. But I still think it will be straightened out.”
    She got up, took a sponge