The Return of Jonah Gray Read Online Free Page B

been that long?”
    â€œShe’ll be twenty-eight come December.”
    â€œTime sure flies,” Mitzi clucked, then turned to look at me. “How old are you?”
    I saw Don Ritter roll his eyes.
    â€œIs that rude?” Mitzi asked. “It’s only because you look so young.”
    â€œYou think everyone looks young,” Don said.
    â€œI’m thirty-one,” I told them.
    â€œSo young,” Mitzi said.
    â€œSo listen, Mr. and Mrs. Ritter. I mean, Mitzi. I imagine you weren’t exactly thrilled to receive my notice of your audit.”
    Mitzi looked at her husband, who frowned, sitting a little higher in his chair and pulling his golf shirt down over his belly. Mitzi tried a smile. “There was a bit of language. I won’t repeat it here.”
    â€œI know how you feel,” I said.
    â€œHave you been audited, too?” she asked, eyes wide. “They do that?”
    â€œActually, no. Yes, they do audit auditors. I haven’t been tagged yet though.”
    â€œThen you don’t know what it’s like,” Don said.
    â€œWell, my father’s a certified public accountant, and my mother is a busybody. I kind of view my childhood as a series of unwelcome investigations.”
    â€œI suppose it could have been worse,” Don Ritter said. “At least we’ve still got our health.”
    â€œThat’s a blessing,” Mitzi agreed. “Can’t take that for granted.”
    â€œNo, you can’t,” I said. Indeed, it was a subject I could have spoken about at length. Deep down, I knew it was the reason behind my current distraction. But other audits were waiting, piled high upon my table. I smiled at the Ritters. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Chapter Three
    THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR, I COULD HEAR MY phone ringing. I was just getting home, jacket and book in one hand and mail tucked under my arm, digging through my purse to find my keys. I hated that. A ringing phone and my response was practically Pavlovian. My heartbeat would quicken, and I’d bolt into over-drive, rushing, trying to shove my key in the lock, tripping over my purse, skittering across the room, and what were the chances it would actually be someone I wanted to talk to? Nine times out of ten, my desperate lunge got me to the phone in time for a sales call. Or, as on that day, my mother. And I’d been in such a fine mood leaving work.
    â€œYou sound like you’re out of breath,” she said. “You’re not getting enough exercise, are you?”
    â€œI just got home,” I told her, picking up my purse, my mail, my jacket, my accounting book. Disappointed for some reason. Who did I expect that elusive tenth caller to be? Who would be worth the lunge and the scattered mail and the bent book jacket? No one sprang to mind.
    â€œYou work too hard,” my mother said.
    â€œIt’s not even six yet.”
    â€œLong and hard aren’t the same thing.” My mother had held a part-time job for about six months, twenty-six years earlier. Apparently, it had given her a lifetime of insight.
    â€œWere you calling about something in particular?”
    She sighed. “I was just thinking about you and Gene.”
    I looked at my mail and frowned. “What about Gene?”
    â€œI want you to be happy, sweetheart. Are you happy?”
    I had been before I’d answered the phone, I thought. There had been no more blistering phone calls, and the Ritters’ audit had gone well. In my analysis, I’d discovered that they hadn’t taken the full deduction on the appreciation of their former house (at issue was an upgraded bathroom), so I had sent them away with a refund. They were so surprised and relieved that they had invited me to a barbecue at their house that coming Labor Day. Of course, I wouldn’t go. Auditors never got involved with current or past auditees, not outside the office. It was important to remain