Free A Clean Kill by Mike Stewart

you.” She motioned at Sheri with a nod. “It’s about Ms. Baneberry. He says his name is Jonathan Cort.”
    I glanced at Sheri, who suddenly looked like a teenage girl caught buying a personal massage device.But, in this case, I had a feeling that I was the forbidden prick.
    “Who’s Jonathan Cort?”
    Sheri met my eyes. “He’s my father’s business partner.”
    Great
. I headed for the waiting room. When I got there, I found an angry Bobbi Mactans and an even angrier fifty-year-old man who looked like a construction foreman. Jonathan Cort was about my size. He had dark hair, black eyes, and a leathery face that had been creased and hardened by decades of wind and sun.
    I asked, “Can I help you?”
    Cort looked over my shoulder. “Sheri! Come on. We’re leaving.”
    I turned to look at Sheri, who had stopped in the hallway three feet behind me. She seemed to be frozen in place—except that I noticed the front of her silk blouse, where it draped between her breasts, was vibrating. My client was trembling with fear.
    Cort walked toward me. The big man reached across his chest and put his hand on my shoulder with the intention of sweeping me aside.
    “Move!”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Cort locked eyes with me, and his stare reminded me of someone else who had recently tried to bore holes through my eyes. He said, “Move, or I’ll move you.” But he was already tugging at my shoulder, and I didn’t think he had a lot more in him.
    Without looking away from Cort’s eyes, I said, “Kelly, call the cops.”
    From the hallway, I heard her say, “I already have.”
    Cort stopped tugging, but he continued to grip myshoulder. “What? You’re gonna call the cops ’cause I want Sheri to leave with me?” He shook his head and grinned. “What’re you gonna tell ’em? You gonna tell ’em I scared you?”
    “No. I’m going to tell them you barged in here and committed assault and battery.”
    Now his expression changed, and I could tell he was thinking about something other than grabbing Sheri, which was what I wanted. “You’re full of it. I didn’t batter anybody.”
    “As soon as you tried to shove me out of the way, you committed legal battery. And I’ve got three witnesses who can testify that I didn’t aggravate you or fight back. But, if you try to get past me to Ms. Baneberry, I’ll be forced to stop you …”
    “You think you can?”
    “… and press charges on her behalf and mine.” I paused. “Now, get your fucking hand off me.”
    Jonathan Cort dropped his gaze to my chest and paused while logic overtook anger; then he spun and walked to the door. As he snatched at the knob, he snapped over his shoulder, “This isn’t over.”
    I said, “Good exit line.”
    He slammed the door. And, for the first time since Cort had stepped in front of me, I noticed Bobbi, my client’s choleric companion, standing in front of the big double window. She was red-faced, breathing heavily, and bowed up like the toughest kid on the playground.
    I turned and walked into the hallway, where I stood very close to Sheri with my back to the waiting room and Bobbi Mactans. I spoke softly. “You know Bobbi probably called him?”
    She nodded.
    “What do you want to do? Do you want me to keep going on the investigation?”
    When she spoke, she whispered. “Keep going.”
    “Okay. But I have to ask. Somebody has already tried to put me out of commission for looking into your mother’s death. Are we going to have any more problems keeping my investigation,
and
our discussions, private?”
    Sheri Baneberry shook her blonde head no and repeated, “Just keep going.”
    I convinced a purple-faced Bobbi that Sheri needed to remain in my office for an indeterminate period. I suggested to Bobbi that she might not want to wait, and she glared at me. I told her I’d make sure Sheri got back to work, and she glared at me. Finally, I just told her to leave.
    Bobbi stormed out. A few minutes later, I escorted Sheri