Free Some Like It Lethal by Nancy Martin Page A

get angry with me. I'm your friend, and I can take it. But you're tilting at the same old windmill."
    "It's not a windmill," I insisted.
    "Let's be constructive. Do you have a lawyer yet?" She held me away so that she could see my face.
    "Yes, one of Michael's."
    "Well, it doesn't get any better than that, I'm sure, so— Oh, sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean—"
    "I know. Listen, Lex, I need to find out about Rush Strawcutter. If I can figure out what was going on in his life, maybe I can piece together what happened."
    "Was Emma seeing him? I mean, were they lovers?"
    "I don't know," I said honestly. "I'm trying not to think that way. I'm hoping to find out about Rush."
    Lexie bit her lip. "Does client-broker privilege exist after death?"
    "Is there such a thing?"
    "Of course. Look, I can't give you dollar amounts, but I can tell you that Rush was not given free access to the Strawcutter fortune."
    "What does that mean?"
    "He received a small allowance. Very small. I'm not revealing any long-kept secrets if I say all the Strawcutters are Scrooges. They have that huge, ugly house in Bryn Mawr, but it hasn't been redecorated since 1953, I swear. And Gussie has held the purse strings just as tightly as her forefathers. You know that old station wagon Rush drove?"
    "He always said he used it so he could carry his dogs around."
    "That was bullshit. It was all he could afford. I'm surprised he had enough money for gas. I'm telling you, Gussie hardly let the man have five dollars to buy his lunch every day. That's why he was starting that business of his."
    "Laundro-Mutt."
    Lexie smiled grimly. "Don't let the name fool you. He had a sound business plan. He thought he was inventing the Starbucks of the pet world."
    "How did he get the start-up money for such a venture? Did Gussie help?"
    "Lord, no. Their prenup forbade that kind of thing. He had to go elsewhere."
    "A bank? Lex, please, I don't want you to betray a professional confidence, but—"
    ("Emma's in trouble. I know you'll be discreet, Nora. And I wouldn't say a word if Rush were still alive. Anyway, with accusations flying around the world of finance like confetti these last few days, I'm probably the last to start blabbing. Rush borrowed the money from Tottie Boarman."
    Immediately, I remembered the furious expression on Tottie's face as he'd dismounted his horse and stormed past me at the hunt breakfast.
    "I know Tottie's already in the handbasket to hell, and the amount of dough he loaned to Rush is substantial—at least seven zeroes."
    More than enough money to kill for, I thought.
    "But listen, Nora. You can't just barge into offices all over town and start asking questions. These are very high stakes."
    "My stakes are high, too."
    "I know. I know how you feel about Emma. Just promise you'll be careful."
    "Don't worry. I'll find a backdoor. In fact, I know just which latch to jiggle first."
    Chapter 5
    The best place to dig up juicy gossip about anyone was The Philadelphia Intelligencer, the city's sensational rag that printed equal amounts of news and innuendo. It was a far-from-hallowed institution that employed journalists either too young, too old, too encumbered with young children or too attached to their addiction of choice to work for a real newspaper, and the printed results were not the pinnacle of journalistic excellence.
    It was, of course, the only paper that hired such unqualified amateurs as myself.
    I'd been signed by the newspaper's owner to help cover the social beat with the understanding that I work under the experienced battle-ax who'd held most of Philadelphia's society hostage for years through her column and weekly social page. Using techniques that would make a master extortionist proud, Kitty Keough was the self-appointed high priestess of high society.
    Kitty hated my guts for having been to the manor born while she'd grown up in a dilapidated Allentown double-wide that was foreclosed upon when her father ran off with the collected union dues