Free Partners in Crime by Anne Stuart

great lawyers. He got me out on bail before they even locked me up.” Not strictly true, Sandy thought. The real Jimmy the Stoolie had spent an uncomfortable night in custody before he’d managed to spring him on his own recognizance.
    “I still think you were taking too great a risk.” Jane sat up and tucked her feet underneath her. “I didn’t find anything I didn’t already know. Richard’s personnel records have been deleted from the files.”
    “Everybody’s personnel records have been deleted, thanks to you.”
    “Don’t be pedantic. Before my little mishap I went through all the employees. They had everyone listed who’d ever worked there, from Stephen Tremaine on down, and no mention of Dick whatsoever.”
    “Dick?” Sandy echoed, momentarily diverted. “As in Dick and Jane?”
    “Our parents weren’t very imaginative.” Her narrow shoulders were hunched defensively.
    “I don’t suppose you have a younger sister named Sally?” He knew he shouldn’t push it but he couldn’t resist.
    “Living in Dubuque with her second husband and three children,” she said gloomily. “Could we get back to the subject?”
    “Not yet. Where is sister Sally during the grand quest for your brother’s legacy?”
    “They never got along. Dick wasn’t that easy a person to be around. People with such high principles seldom are. He didn’t have much patience for compromise, or for people he considered his intellectual inferiors. Which included just about everybody.”
    “Did it include you?”
    “Oh, me most of all,” she said with unfeigned cheerfulness. “I was anathema to him. The little peacemaker, with no more conviction than a willow tree, swaying with each strong breeze. He was right, I’m afraid.”
    Sandy had a sudden swift desire to punch Dick Dexter in the teeth. “Your brother sounds like an intolerant, pompous idiot.”
    If he expected an argument he wasn’t about to get one. “I’m afraid he was,” she admitted. “But I loved him anyway. And I mourn his death, though not as much as I should. I suppose that’s why I feel so guilty. I just...can’t really comprehend that he’s gone. I don’t believe it.” She sighed. “I suppose that’s a fairly common reaction to untimely death. Sooner or later it’ll sink in. In the meantime, I have to do what I can to preserve his memory.”
    “Ummpphh.” Sandy knew the sound from his throat was uncompromising, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t motivated by any great liking for Richard Dexter. His motivations were pure and simple—keep Jane out of trouble. And have the undisputed pleasure of moonlighting as a con artist while he was doing it.
    “We’re not making much progress,” she added. “I’ve been thinking—Uncle Stephen has to sell the process because Technocracies is in such big trouble. If we burn the place it would render the situation obsolete. Either he’d be out of business entirely and we won’t have to bother, or he’ll get so much from insurance it’ll solve his cash flow problems. You can do that, can’t you? Torch an entire building?”
    “Don’t look so eager,” he growled. “Yes, I can, and no, I won’t. You’re not thinking clearly again. If the place is destroyed and Tremaine is out of business he’ll cut his losses and sell anything negotiable to the highest bidder. We’ve already ascertained that we don’t know where the process is.”
    “Oh,” said Jane, disappointed.
    “And I beg to differ with you. We’re making more progress than you realize. I spent an inordinate amount of time in the executive washroom trying to clean computer grease from my hands. Ceramic tile is excellent for carrying sound. Your godfather put off his trip to Europe, and for a very good reason.”
    “Which is?”
    “He can’t sell the process if he doesn’t have the process,” Sandy said triumphantly.
    “He doesn’t have it?” Jane shrieked. “Who does?”
    “No one. At least, no one has all of it. Your brother