Free Five O’Clock Shadow by Susan Slater

anger flood her voice.
    â€œRetired Air Force. Decorated. You figure it out.” Then his eyes narrowed as he leaned towards her. “You going to stand there and tell me your husband was squeaky clean? That there wasn’t someone out there who just might have wanted him dead?”
    She looked down. Had he seen the flicker of doubt? He was right. She couldn’t say…swear…to Randy’s being anything, not even honest.
    â€œListen.” The owner hesitated, but his voice had lost its edge. “I’m just upset. No reason to take it out on you. Your lawyer has been generous. Bob’s family won’t be hurting.”
    â€œMy lawyer?”
    â€œThat Mathers guy. We were covered, had pretty good insurance, but he sweetened the pot for all of us. And I don’t want to sound unappreciative.”
    Sam, of course. He would have taken care of things. She vaguely wondered where he’d gotten the money, what account was it that hadn’t required her signature for withdrawals. There was every indication that the sum was sizeable. She was tempted to ask how much, but it would seem a little gauche and too much like equating exchanging lives for payoffs. Maybe Randy had left some fund to be administered by his lawyer.… She really needed to take a more active part in managing her affairs.
    â€œWell, I’m glad the money end worked out.” She cleared her throat. “And please offer my condolences to your sister-in-law,” she offered lamely. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. She backed a couple steps towards the door. The owner nodded, then abruptly turned on his heel and walked back to the work area. She felt dismissed…somehow she seemed to be part of the problem, at least to the dead man’s brother-in-law, and certainly less than popular with him.
    She stepped out into the sunshine but couldn’t shake the depression that settled around her. The wind had died down and the air was crisp but not bone-chilling. Still, she felt cold. She sat for a moment before starting her car and tried to gather her confidence.

Chapter Four
    Archer and Tom hadn’t exactly welcomed her back with open arms, but after reviewing the prospectus, they’d backed off, decided that she meant to join them, become an active partner no matter what they threatened. So they’d conceded, at least for now. And it felt good to be doing something, giving her attention to something other than herself.
    Her office had been nicely equipped. Someone had been thoughtful enough to remove Randy’s furniture, desk, credenza, book cases, but it had his feel to it. She’d have to work at getting used to it. Maybe not get used to, but practice ignoring, that would be more like it. She had a private bathroom. And a cloak closet. Which struck her as archaic. Cloaks? But that’s what her secretary insisted on calling it.
    The fortyish woman seemed nervous as she pointed out the new desk, a little number in walnut with delicately carved legs. Apologetic for her choices, afraid that Pauly might not like her decisions in office trappings. But Noralee’s taste was perfect in furnishings, just markedly floozy in dress. Her blouses always dipped a little too low and looked out of place with her usual choices of straight-cut navy or black suits with short skirts. And the jewelry always jangled.
    Noralee was a fixture, and Pauly trusted she had stock in a company that specialized in pancake cover-up. The receiver of the white phone at her desk was permanently dyed orange from being nestled against a thickly layered cheek. By Noralee’s own admission “she had had everything tucked that could be.” And looked pretty good, Pauly admitted, tucks and makeup included, faintly reminiscent of a starlet of some sort. But it wasn’t an image that would wear well.
    â€œThe print is great.” Pauly indicated the three by four foot framed poster of the Bernalillo