Some Like It Lethal by Nancy Martin

cash-flow problems started, thanks to his original bailout. He doubled his investment before the companies went bad.
    "Nice guy," Mary Jude commented.
    A basic biography told us that Tottie had never married and had no children. But I remembered hearing my father and his pals chuckling over brandy and cigars one night, making remarks about Tottie's "tarts." At the time, I remember wondering if he liked desserts.
    We searched through other sections of the paper next. I was surprised to see several of Kitty Keough's social columns pop up in front of us.
    "Look at this." Mary Jude stabbed the point of a cookie Christmas tree at the screen. "For a man who spends most of his time making money, this Boarman character sure gets a lot of space in Kitty's columns."
    "He goes to a lot of charitable events."
    "But only lately, see?"
    I read the dates on the columns. "You're right. Now that I think of it, I haven't seen Tottie at many functions over the years. He must be trying to win back public approval by showing what a philanthropist he is."
    "That's how it works, huh?"
    "Oh, yes. Now and then somebody uses the social scene to score points. Remember Stewart Kane Archer? The canned-pea magnate who built the church in Germantown?"
    "He was around in the twenties? Sure. My cousin was married at that church."
    "Well, Archer was one of those few captains of industry who didn't lose his shirt during the crash of '29, and he managed to do it by ruining a lot of his friends—including a couple of great-uncles of mine. So he built the church to show what a nice guy he was. Except my grandfather started calling it Archer's Fire Escape. Archer eventually moved to New York to get away from the ridicule."
    Mary Jude laughed. "Cute. I never heard that." She spun her chair sideways to look up at me critically. "You're perfect for this job, Nora. You don't even know what you know until you need it. Too bad we're stuck with Kitty. I can see why she's jealous of you."
    "Kitty is loved by readers. I don't have the poison pen that sells papers."
    "Hm. I see your point."
    Spike reappeared and growled. Mary Jude tossed him another cookie, and he snapped it out of the air with raptorlike accuracy.
    "Anyway, I try to mind my manners around Kitty," I said. "She's looking for any way possible to get me fired."
    Mary Jude shrugged. "I think you're safe. Unless she's got a plan for her troll."
    "Her troll?"
    With a grin, Mary Jude jerked her head toward the row of offices that lined the open area where all the reporters worked. "They're all in Stan's lair right now. Why don't you have a look? Just don't trip over the little guy."
    Curiosity won over my distaste for Kitty. I gave Spike another cookie to keep him busy, and went across the features department floor to the office of Stan Rosenstatz, the department editor. Stan had stopped popping antacids and was slugging directly from a Maalox bottle when I tapped on his door. Kitty stood in front of him, decked out in a Mae West-style silver lame dress with a boa draped around her shoulders. The feather kind. Her fur coat lay over a chair like a fleabitten bear that had passed out after too many cocktails.
    Kitty was saying, "My assistant must come with me tonight, Stan. I need him to take my phone calls."
    Stan put his Maalox in a desk drawer. "Nora is your assistant, Kitty. We're not paying anyone else to tag along with you."
    "Andrew doesn't tag," Kitty said. "He's a vital cog in the wheel of my working machine. Plus he can take pictures, so I won't need a staff photographer."
    "Staff photographers are on staff because we pay for their skilled services. We don't use amateur stuff."
    I stepped into the office and nearly stumbled over a young man built like a tree stump. He didn't hear me coming because he had a cell phone in each hand, and the respective earpieces were fitted into his right and left ears. A large camera hung on a strap around his neck.
    Stan looked startled. "Nora!"
    Kitty turned and looked as