A Handy Death

Robert L. Fish A Handy Death

For my lovely granddaughter,

Carrie Lynn Stillson

Chapter 1

Molly Gilroy, telephone operator and receptionist for Hank Ross’s law firm, looked up from her switchboard. Her plump, freckled face broke into a happy smile.

“Hello, Mr. Ross. It’s good to see you back.”

“Thank you, Molly.”

“And how was the vacation?”

“Fine. How were things around here while I was gone?”

“Hectic.” Molly gave her usual impish grin. “But everyone coped.” Something occurred to her that had bothered her for years. “Mr. Ross, how come you always come back from your vacation on a Friday?”

“I always need a weekend to recuperate after a vacation.” Ross started through the small barrier that separated the reception room from the other offices, and then paused, smiling. “And how’s Arthur?”

“Arthur?” Molly looked puzzled.

“Your fiancé. His name is Arthur, isn’t it?”

“Oh, him. He turned out to be a terrible dancer,” Molly said. “I’ve got a new boyfriend. It’s been over a week now. We may get married,” she added archly.

Ross grinned at her, went through the barrier, down the hallway and into his private office. A shapely back was turned to him, its owner straightening some papers on his desk. Two perfect legs ended in small, neat ankles. Hank Ross watched in admiration a moment and then cleared his throat. The auburn-haired girl bending over the desk did not turn around.

“Welcome back, H. R. I’d recognize that throat clearing anywhere.” She turned with a bright smile showing even white teeth. “Well! You look nice and tanned. And rested. Did you catch many fish?”

Ross grinned. “Hello, Sharon. Who goes fishing to catch fish?”

“You mean you only go to get away from the office?” Sharon McCloud made a face at him. “And us?”

“Very definitely not to get away from you,” Ross said with a smile. “Just the clients.” He slipped out of his topcoat, hung it in place, and walked back of his desk. He leaned over, staring down at the mountainous pile of paper facing him. His eyes came up, mirroring his regret at being back at work. Fishing in Maine in the brisk October weather had been more fun. “Anything urgent?”

“Everything. But actually,” Sharon said honestly, “things are in pretty fair shape. The list of your phone calls is on top of the pile. I’ve handled the most urgent ones, those I could, and Steve managed postponements in both the Griffith and the Montgomery cases. I’ve started the probate proceedings in the Atkins death, so we can discuss whatever you want, whenever you want. Steve’s in court but he should be back sometime around noon.” She smiled. “Satisfactory?”

“Terrible!” Ross said, and shook his head humorously. “I’ll never be able to take another vacation. I can’t afford to. Whenever I do, you people in the office just use it as an excuse to prove I’m not needed around her any more. Even Molly—”

“Molly?”

“I mean, every time I go away, Molly changes future husbands.”

Sharon laughed. “She does that even when you don’t go away.”

“Who’s the latest?”

Sharon grinned wickedly.

“That was really funny! This man came in. I was in the outer office with Molly when he did. He was a rather nice-looking man, no boy — in his forties, in fact, I’d judge — but then Molly isn’t all that young either. He didn’t say anything to either of us, just sat down and started to leaf through a magazine. And Molly said to him, ‘Do you have an appointment with Mr. Ross?’ And he said, ‘Mr. Ross? I have an appointment with Dr. Ross — he’s a dentist, isn’t he?’ And I told him, ‘Not in this building, he isn’t.’ And the poor man looked so flustered I felt sorry for him. I guess Molly did too, because when I left the room she was looking up his dentist’s proper address for him.”

Ross laughed. “And that’s how they became engaged?”

“Well,” Sharon said, “when I went back out there he’d already left, but Molly told me they had a date for dinner, and after all, that was over a week ago. That’s a long time for Molly.”

“And now she says they’re thinking of marriage. It goes to prove how dangerous dentists can really be—”

The intercom interrupted him. Molly’s voice, distorted by the instrument as always, came to the two people in the private office.

“Mr. Ross? I forgot to tell you when you came in, because I didn’t really expect to see you until Monday even though you always get back from your vacation on Friday, but a Mr. Kuwoit was on the telephone to you most of yesterday afternoon up to five o’clock—”

“Mr. Kuwoit?”

“Yes, sir. His name is on Sharon’s list of phone calls to answer, but he said it was particularly urgent. I told him you were somewhere in Maine fishing, and he got mad when I couldn’t tell him exactly where he could reach you. Anyway, he called again this morning just before you came in. I thought you ought to know.”

“What company is he with, do you know?”