Caught Redhanded by Gayle Roper Page A

painted stairwell with some anxiety. “You really like it? I’m afraid it’s going to show every bit of dirt and every fingerprint. That wonderful brown didn’t show anything.”
    “You might have more dirt to tackle, Mr. Weldon, but the light color’s much better for a dark old building. Take my word for it.”
    He bobbed his head at me. “I got carried away by this wonderful paint sale, Merry, and then after I bought it, I had to use it. No returns.” He sighed. “I can never pass up a good sale. That’s why Mother never lets me have any of the credit cards and only a few dollars at a time. I’m what they call a shopaholic.”
    I had to laugh at the image of Mr. Weldon elbowing his way to a sale table.
    “And never let me loose in the Home Depot or Lowe’s,” he continued. “I love those stores. I had so much fun buying the paint for the new lawyer’s office—he didn’t want the soft lavender that Ms. McGilpin had, surprise, surprise—and then I couldn’t resist the lure of the sale and got the beige, too.”
    “Well, it was a good purchase.”
    He eyed the walls again, then grinned happily. “Bright.” And he continued downstairs with his ladder as I continued up. At the landing I turned right toward the door that now read Grassley, Jordan and Compton, Attorneys at Law.
    I pulled the door open and walked into the reception area.
    “Yes?” asked a young thing who was actually wearing a skirt. Required professional attire? Maybe I ought to do an article on business dress in this era of casual business clothes. I hadn’t worn a skirt to work in years.
    “I have an appointment with Mr. Compton. I’m Merry Kramer of The News. ”
    She consulted her appointment book. “Of course, Ms. Kramer. Mr. Compton is due back from court at any minute. Won’t you take a seat?” She indicated a comfortable arrangement of deep stuffed chairs grouped around a coffee table covered with magazines.
    I took a seat, stuffing the decorator pillow behind my back. A tall man had picked these chairs, never thinking about a shorter person whose legs weren’t long enough to sit back in the chair. Then again, maybe that was why the decorator pillows were here. I checked the magazines, impressed not only with the selection but the current dates. I decided to take advantage of the enforced downtime and read without guilt. I was halfway through the second magazine when the door to the hall opened and a tall, dark-haired man in a navy pinstriped suit and crisp white shirt walked in.
    “Hello, Annie, my angel,” he said with a charming smile. “How’s it going?”
    “Fine, Mr. Compton, sir.” The receptionist fairly glowed at his attention.
    “I hope no emergencies have cropped up while I’ve been gone.” He paused by her desk and she turned bright red with pleasure.
    “No emergencies, Mr. Compton.”
    He nodded and smiled full wattage as he loosened his power tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Good. I’ll be in my office,” he said. “No calls, please.” He started toward a closed door where the opaque glass still read Trudy McGilpin. He stopped and frowned. “When is that man going to change the name?”
    His voice was mild, but he was clearly annoyed.
    Annie swallowed like it was her fault the door hadn’t been renamed. “He changed the main door.” She pointed.
    “So he did. Well, that’s a step in the right direction.” He grabbed the knob of the door to his office and opened it.
    As Annie’s eyes swiveled from the door back to the lawyer, she spotted me, forgotten under the spell of her boss. “Uh, Mr. Compton, your four-thirty appointment is here.”
    He stopped, spun and saw me for the first time. He gave me the same charming smile he’d bestowed on Annie. I could see why Valerie Gladstone, his late fiancée, had fallen for him. If receptionists and strangers got this wattage, imagine what someone he cared for got.
    Annie stood quickly and said, “This is Merry Kramer from The