Free Grave Designs by Michael A. Kahn Page A

quick-draw artists.”
    â€œI’m afraid to ask.”
    â€œPremature ejaculators.”
    I laughed.
    â€œRachel, I’m serious. You name the law school, I’ll tell you their quirks. I’ve seen it all.”
    â€œYou should write a book.”
    â€œNo, thanks. What about you? You have any lovers who are lawyers?”
    â€œNot since law school.”
    â€œProbably a good idea not to.”
    â€œDo you do anything during the day?” I asked.
    â€œI read some. And I still do some modeling. Boobs are in again these days. Which reminds me. I gotta kick you out of here. I have an appointment at a modeling agency in an hour. They’re interviewing for a swimsuit layout. Sorry.”
    We both stood up. “Thanks, Cindi. I appreciate your taking the time.”
    â€œNo problem, Rachel.” She handed me my legal pad. “Was I any help?”
    â€œSure. Anything I can find out about Marshall might help.” I snapped my briefcase shut and followed her to the door.
    â€œWell, give me a buzz if you need any more help.” She smiled and opened the door. “I enjoyed it. I really did.”
    â€œSo did I. Take care, Cindi.”
    â€œYou too, Rachel.”

Chapter Seven
    My next stop was Abbott & Windsor. I called my secretary from the telephone in the reception area.
    â€œI just got here,” I told Mary. “Any messages?”
    â€œA few. Most can wait. But that Maggie Sullivan called twice. She sounds upset.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œShe wouldn’t say. I told her she might be able to reach you at A and W.”
    â€œOkay. I should be back in an hour.”
    Helen Marston was waiting for me at her desk with a manila folder in her hand.
    â€œAny luck?” I asked.
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I believe so,” she answered. I followed her into Marshall’s office.
    â€œWhat turned up?” I asked.
    â€œThe filing department ran my request on the computer. Nothing under Maggie Sullivan. But this”—she held out the manila folder—“apparently was filed under Canaan. I don’t know what to make of it.”
    I opened the folder and lifted out a single page of lime and white striped computer paper. Centered at the top of the page in block letters were the words Canaan log. Below that heading, in a single column of computer print, was the following:
    3-20-CN-17-3
7-28-CHT-4-3
9-12-CP-23-6
11-30-CHT-4-2
    â€œThis is all?” I asked.
    â€œI’m afraid it is. I’ve already had them doublecheck the files.”
    â€œSome sort of code, I guess. Helen, could you make me a copy of this?”
    â€œCertainly.” She took the page. “I’ll be right back.”
    After she left, I remembered the dictionary. I opened the box I had placed it in last night. It wasn’t there. I looked around the room. No dictionary. I checked the other six boxes. No dictionary.
    â€œHere, Rachel.” Helen handed me a photocopy of the computer printout.
    I looked at it again, still baffled.
    So was Helen. She nodded at the printout. “I’ve never seen that before.” She paused. “But even after all those years of working for him, that man was still a mystery to me.”
    â€œI wish I knew what this means,” I said, studying the printout. “By the way, did you take the dictionary out of this office? The one that was here yesterday?”
    â€œNo. It isn’t there?”
    â€œI don’t see it anywhere in here. I checked each of these boxes.”
    â€œHmmm, I can’t imagine what happened. Perhaps someone borrowed it. Does it matter?”
    â€œI don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe I’m starting to get paranoid. There was something odd about that dictionary. It had three definitions for Canaan and mine has only two.”
    â€œIsn’t that peculiar? Let’s check mine.” She walked out to her desk and returned with her dictionary.