Free Dead File by Kelly Lange Page A

what she could do with this pot of scalding tea.

16
    M axi needed to ease the chitchat with Carter Rose into conversation about last night’s attack on Sandie Schaeffer. She had a slug for a cameraman waiting for her twenty-six floors below, and the police would be holding a briefing for the assembled media down there that she couldn’t miss—there was no trusting Lemke to shoot it properly without her, and besides, she needed to ask questions. Meantime, she wanted a statement on camera from Carter Rose on Gillian’s assistant. Something. Anything he would deign to say. She’d have another exclusive; she was sure nobody else would get this far with him. And that might save her from the wrath of Capra for not getting the ambulance shots.
    The door from the outer office opened and Rose’s willowy, sloe-eyed assistant came in with the drinks. She put the tray down on the coffee table in front of Carter and Maxi, then set out cups, sugars, a pitcher of cream, and cutlery. Then, picking up the steaming pot of tea, she held a cup and the teapot, precariously, Maxi thought, directly over Maxi’s lap. “Shall I pour?” she asked sweetly.
    “No,” Maxi said with an audible gulp. “Let it steep for a few minutes.” She didn’t trust this woman.
    Kendyl set the teapot back down on the table with a prim little shrug, and poured coffee for Carter. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she addressed them both.
    “Yes,” Maxi spoke up. “Can you give me a comment on Sandie Schaeffer? You two work closely together, and as I understand it, both of you were here from the company’s inception. You must be devastated by what’s happened to her.” Maxi took a pen and her reporter’s notebook out of her purse, opened both, and poised to write.
    Kendyl straightened, and her face visibly sobered. “Sandie is wonderful,” she said. “And she’s a trouper. I’m sure she’s going to get through this and be back with us very soon. And I’m certain that I speak for all of her colleagues when I say that we’ll do everything we can to help her get back on her feet, and back on the job with her family here at the Rose company.”
    Maxi watched her. Pretty speech. But lying eyes, her intuition told her. Ice cream wouldn’t melt in this woman’s mouth. “Thank you, Kendyl,” she said quietly, and equally as sincerely.
    When Kendyl Scott left the office and closed the door behind her, Maxi poured herself a cup of tea, added a packet of sugar substitute and a squeeze of lemon, stirred the brew, and took a sip, then looked squarely at Carter Rose. “Well,” she breathed, “I have a job to do. May I ask what
your
feelings are about this attack on Sandie?”
    “Yes. Obviously it was the same person who killed Gillian,” he responded with conviction.
    “Why obviously?”
    “Well, look at it. It happened in the same office. Four days apart. And Gillian and Sandie were joined at the hip.”
    “So you still think Gillian was murdered—”
    “Of course she was murdered. And anybody who didn’t think so before should certainly be convinced of it now, with Sandie almost killed.”
    “Who would do this?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Then why?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe Gillian and Sandie did something. Or knew something. Whatever the reason, I’m sure it involved both of them—those two used to finish each other’s sentences.”
    “And what about the attempted attack on you?” Maxi asked. Carter Rose looked perplexed. “The break-in you told the press about at your house,” she pressed.
    “Oh, that. So much has happened that I actually forgot about that for a minute. . . .”
    “You got a good look at the person, right?”
    “Yes. In my bedroom.”
    On Wednesday Rose had refused to answer questions about the intruder. Maxi hoped to get something out of him now. “Was it someone you know?” she asked.
    “I told you I couldn’t talk about it,” he said.
    “Well, at least tell me if it was a man or