Free Draw (The Jake Samson & Rosie Vicente Detective Series Book 2) by Shelley Singer Page B

the phone. Listen, I’ve got a meeting in just a few minutes. I wonder if I could get you started by taking you over to our sales chief. He knows just about everything there is to know about this place.” Armand flashed a smile that was too good to be true. Were those really his teeth?
    I was beginning to feel like a marker in a Monopoly game. If the sales vice president shook the dice again, who knew where I’d end up?

11
    “Howard Morton is one of the most knowledgeable people we have,” Armand was saying as he walked me briskly toward the end of the hallway. “All aspects of the business. Amazing guy. Absolutely amazing. Joined the company just a couple of years ago, and he’s done wonders.”
    We passed a door marked “Controller.” I stopped. “I’ll want to meet him, too,” I said, pointing toward the closed door.
    “I’m afraid you can’t,” Armand said sadly. “He died.”
    I swallowed hard. Another one? “When was that?”
    “Last year.” The vice president looked at me coldly. “He was eighty-two years old. He had a heart attack. I’ve taken over that end of things for the time being.” He touched my elbow and got me moving again.
    “Did most of your people come out from Chicago?” I asked. I wondered how far back Smith went with the company and how far back the other executives went with Smith.
    “Well, let’s see…” he wrinkled his handsome forehead as if he actually had to think to answer my question. “Bowen, of course, is the founder. I joined him out there in 1970. Then of course there’s our communications manager. She first joined the company back in Chicago. Chloe.”
    “And what about James Smith?”
    He shook his head, sad again. This guy was a total phony. “Oh, yes. He went all the way back with Bowen, back to the fifties. So does old Ed, the man who runs our shipping department.” I thought it was interesting that only presidents and vice presidents had last names. “Old Ed,” presumably, was a mere manager. Like Chloe.
    Armand was smiling at the sales vice president’s secretary, who was young, pretty, and a little flashy. “Tell Mr. Morton we’re here to see him, Sandra.” She buzzed her boss.
    Howard Morton came bouncing out of the inner office and grabbed my hand. Armand left me with him.
    “Come right on in, Samson,” Morton said, his arm around my shoulder. “Always happy to tell the Bright Future story. Always. Happy to. Sit down. Can I have my secretary get you anything? Coffee? Or do you press guys only go for the hard stuff?” I was tempted to tell him I was a teetotaler, but I wanted him to think I was just one of the guys.
    “Nothing, thanks,” I said heartily. “Had a little more than I needed last night.” He liked that. Morton had a conversation grouping just like the president, only in white plastic. That’s where we sat, leaning back against upholstery etched with some fictitious animal’s skin wrinkles.
    Morton looked like he should be fat but managed, by sheer strength of will, to keep his belly flat. He looked like he’d just shaved. His light brown hair was carefully styled and I was pretty sure there was spray on it. It looked solid, like it wasn’t made up of individual hairs at all. He was wearing a double-knit suit that showed the contours of his bulging thighs and biceps. He looked like a cop wearing a wig.
    “Bill says you want to do a little magazine piece on us. Great idea. Tell me more about it.” He had small eyes and he kept them well covered with lid. I explained that the story wasn’t just about Bright Future, it was about home study generally, and how it stacked up against in-class education. His eyes got even smaller.
    “Uh huh. You starting with some kind of premise or are you really open to the true story?”
    “Open. Totally open, Mr. Morton.”
    “Howard.”
    “Jake.”
    “Great. Really great. Because you know home study just doesn’t have the snob appeal of, say, your trade school or college. But