1 Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun Read Online Free Page A

snapped at Hugo. "I want to thank you from the bottom of my
heart, Dr. Frankenstein."
    Hugo grimaced. "I'll see if I can talk some sense into her"
    "And if you can't?"
    He cleared his throat, straightened his skewed tie, and pushed
away from the table. "I'll think of something."

     

AFTER HUGO LEFT THE meeting, we continued planning the July
issue, everyone ignoring Marlys's objection to denim and bandanas. Hugo never returned, but lunch arrived about half an hour
later. We continued to work as we nibbled on club sandwiches, a
monthly company perk that we all expected to lose once the bean
counters discovered that Naomi tapped into miscellaneous expenditures to pay the deli each month. The meeting finally broke up
shortly before two-thirty.
    Once back in my cubicle, my cell phone rang before I even had
a chance to flip on my computer. I didn't recognize the number on
the display. "Hello?"
    "Hello" Something about the way those two syllables rolled off
the guy's tongue sent a flooding warmth through me. Or maybe
I'd just experienced my first hot flash. Two plausible possibilities
(although I certainly hoped I was too young for the latter). Whichever the culprit, though, the thought of either sent a chill down my
spine that immediately readjusted my estrogen levels.

    "I'm calling about the apartment you have for rent," he continued.
    Aside from having to replace my semi-luxurious sedan with an
aging clunker, the second casualty of getting booted off Mount
Upper Middle-class was the realization that I'd need to supplement my income. Sharing a house with Lucille was bad enough.
Sharing a cardboard box with her and two teenage boys was far
worse. That meant giving up my home crafts studio over our detached garage.
    The end of last week I reluctantly placed an ad in the Star Ledger. Having missed the deadline for the weekend edition, the ad
appeared for the first time in this morning's issue.
    "Would you like to see the apartment this evening?" I asked.
    "Actually, I'd like to see it now. I'm scheduled to leave on a
seven-thirty flight tonight and won't be back for a few days. The
apartment sounds perfect. I'd hate to lose out to someone else."
    I glanced at my watch and did some quick mental gymnastics,
factoring travel time back and forth and the hours of work I still
needed to put in on the wedding spread scheduled for tomorrow's
photo shoot. Three dozen peach, pink, and white satin birdseed
roses sat in a vase on the corner of my counter, but I still had to
create several pairs of bridal and bridesmaid tennies for the second
part of the article.
    It was going to be tight, and I'd have to work late, but I couldn't
risk losing out on a possible tenant. Besides, if I timed things right,
he'd be gone before Lucille returned from her afternoon Kommie
Koffee Klatch. Thank God for the Daughters of the October Revolution, their weekly Lower East Side meetings, and Lucille's improved health, which enabled her to take the train into Manhattan.

    "I'm at work, but I can meet you at the apartment in an hour,"
I told him.
    "Great"
    I gave him directions.
    "Thanks. By the way, I'm Zachary Barnes"
    "Anastasia Pollack."
    "See you in an hour, Anastasia Pollack."
    After I hung up from Zachary Barnes, I noticed the flashing
message light on my office phone. I tapped in my code to retrieve
the message.
    "Given your recent widowhood, I'm cutting you a break. You
have until tomorrow. Don't make me regret my generosity. Don't
call the cops, and don't ever hang up on me again if you know
what's good for you, bitch. Capisce?"
    Maybe I'd watched too many episodes of The Sopranos, but
something told me this guy meant business. Might have been his
uber-mafia-like accent. Or the repeated click-click-click of what
sounded like a gun cocking. Not that I'd ever heard a gun cock except on TV or in the movies but what else would make that scarethe-living-wits-out-of-me sound?
    I capisced all right. This was no crank