The Fine Art of Murder by Emily Barnes Page B

he keeps on his desk.”
    Everyone at the table groaned.
    “Get real,” Nathan said. “You’re the reason I had to start hiding the stuff.”
    “You shouldn’t even be eating sweets at your age,” E.T. told Nathan.
    Nathan ignored E.T.’s comment. “This guy’s our expert in nonlethal weaponry and martial arts. He installs alarms in private homes. He’s the best. In and out, without a trace.”
    “I’m impressed,” I said.
    The young woman next to E.T. spoke up. “Hi, I’m Polly. That’s not my real name, of course. I made this polygraph machine and brought it in to my interview with Nathan—”
    “—and blew me away,” Nathan said. “Never saw anything like it.”
    “So Polly it is.”
    She shrugged. Polly was the youngest in the group, twenty-something and cute. Through the long straight bangs that covered her forehead, I could see an eyebrow had been pierced. Dozens of thin bracelets were stacked along her arms and on each thumb she wore a silver ring.
    “Polly’s our electronics, computer, and surveillance expert. Her videos have gone viral; she’s exposed animal abuse carried on by some of the major food and cosmetics corporations in the country.”
    “Give me an animal or computer anytime,” she said. “People suck, ya know what I mean?”
    “I’m sorry to say I do.”
    “And last but not least is Rosie,” Nathan said and nodded to the woman sitting next to me.
    I turned to get a good look at her. “Hi.”
    “A pleasure.” She gave me a quick smile.
    Rosie looked just like the woman in the World War Two poster: Rosie the Riveter. This time I could see why Nathan had chosen her name. She gave off an aura of competence and strength. Fifty-something, she sported a short haircut. She’d rolled the sleeves of her plaid shirt up exposing tattoos on each arm. With no jewelry, no piercings, Rosie was obviously the no-nonsense type.
    “Rosie had to leave Chicago in a hurry and was looking for work,” Nathan said.
    “Got mixed up with some wise guys, my ex included.” She ran her large hands through the sides of her pompadour. “He was connected—know what I mean? On our honeymoon, getthis, he takes me out on my first job. Breaking into some McMansion on Lake Shore Drive. What an idiot.” She nudged me and laughed. “Him an’ his buddies didn’t know what the hell they was doin’. We got away with one thousand lousy bucks, split four ways. Can you believe it?”
    “Rosie’s a master locksmith and B and E expert,” Nathan said.
    “Almost makes me sound respectable, don’t he?” she asked and nudged me again.
    “He does have a way with words,” I told her.
    While a waitress took our order, I looked around the table. What a bunch, I thought, realizing I liked every one of them.
    Nathan continued when we alone again. “Before we go any further, I want to say something about Katherine . . . and her husband, Sully,” he told the group. I couldn’t imagine what was coming next. “No one was used to seeing a black face on the force, back in the day. You young folks can’t even imagine the racial slurs, the tension. More than once, I wanted to give up. But then Sully insisted we be partners and things started to change for me. I became more accepted on the job, and Kathy, Sully, my wife and I, we all became like family. They both always had my back. We started going to each other’s homes for dinner. Our kids played together . . .”
    “Come on, Nathan, you and Terry were always there for us, too. You make Sully and me sound like saints.”
    “No, Kathy, you guys went way beyond the definition of friends. And I’ll never forget your kindness . . . never.”
    I was overwhelmed; all I could do was pat his hand.
    After a short moment of uncomfortable silence, Brock spoke up. “If the boss says you’re okay, that’s good enough for us.”
    “Yeah, he laid everything out before you got here,” Rosie added. “We got you covered. Not to worry.”
    “Even though their