Free Killer Cocktail by Sheryl J. Anderson Page A

clever.
    Besides, part of the point of writing the article about Teddy’s death had been to get away from Zeitgeist. Just because that hadn’t happened didn’t mean it couldn’t happen the next time. If there were a next time. As long as the next time wasn’t for Zeitgeist. I could attempt to explain that to Eileen, but she probably wouldn’t follow it and she certainly wouldn’t agree.
    “Did we get bought out yesterday afternoon?” I asked instead.
    Sold out was more like it. Eileen had come over from Bound, a lad mag where she’d gotten a lot of attention giving interviews explaining, with that little cat purr of hers, how she knew exactly what men want and how to give it to them. That was information the Publisher felt women needed, so he hired her to take Yvonne’s place. Since she’d come to Zeitgeist, Eileen had been searching for a way to get her fingerprints all over the DNA of the magazine. I guess this was a start.
    “The Publisher and I have already discussed ways we might add a few teeth to Zeitgeist. This story will fit nicely.”

    “Assuming there is a story”
    “You already suspect something or you wouldn’t be working so hard to deny it. Keep me posted.”
    The line went dead before I could even remember the zip code for pithy, much less fling a zinger her way. I folded my phone back up and spiked it into the pillow beside me. This was not the way I’d planned to start my morning.
    Someone knocked on the bedroom door. I considered crawling under the comforter and humming Aerosmith songs until it stopped, but then it occurred to me that the knocker might have coffee. I attempted to untangle myself from my grouchiness and the comforter, and made my way to the door. Everyone in the household, and half the local police force, had already seen me in my pajamas, so a robe seemed totally superfluous. Particularly because I wasn’t sure I’d packed one.
    It was Nelson, looking appallingly alert and well pressed for such an early hour. I had a quick vision of him lying in his room in a coffin, manicured hands folded on his chest, fully dressed in his knife-pleat chinos and oxford shirt, awaiting his mistress’s call. “Good morning, Nelson,” I said, not knowing how better to hide my disappointment that he wasn’t carrying a samovar.
    “Good morning, Ms. Forrester. There’s a gentleman to see you.”
    “How can he be a gentleman if he shows up at this hour of the morning?” I asked, not so much expecting Nelson to have an answer as wanting Nelson to know I had enough couth to know this was awkward.
    “He has been a model of deportment thus far and I detect signs of a rough-hewn charm,” Nelson reported.
    “Really? Is he cute, too?”
    “That, of course, would be in the eye of the beholder,”
Nelson demurred. He held out a business card. “He says you know him.”
    I spotted the seal on the card and almost didn’t take it. I squinted at Nelson. “Model of deportment, huh? So he’s not mad?”
    Nelson allowed himself a small smile. “He demonstrated no anger toward me. Not that he would have any reason to do so.”
    “Ah, but with me, he’s got what they call ‘just cause’ in his line of work.” I took Kyle’s card from him. “You can send him up.”
    Nelson’s brow only furrowed a millimeter, but his meaning was clear. So much for proving I had couth. Nelson ran a tight ship and I was violating crew rules. I did some fast math in my head. “Or you could tell him I’ll be down in twenty—make that fifteen—minutes.”
    Nelson’s brow relaxed and his smile crept a little farther up his face. “A gentleman never rushes a lady. Under any circumstances.” There was a touch of vibrato in the way he said it and I didn’t know whether to blush or to tell Tricia she was absolutely right about the range of Nelson’s household duties. “I’ll see to the gentleman. Take your time.”
    I pulled myself into quite presentable form in twenty-three minutes. It would have been