Good Deed Bad Deed Marcia Morgan (life books to read .txt) 📖

to you, too, Mr. Brett,” she said, making a point of his lack of civility. “I’m sure you’re aware that I was out of the office last week. There’s bound to be a stack of correspondence and forms piled on my desk. I assure you I will go through it first thing.” She reached her door and turned to face him, putting on her best smile before turning back to unlock the door.

“Well, it’s imperative that we’re properly prepared to receive the containers,” he said, his tone condescending. “The contents are more valuable than anything in this museum. They’ve hired several twenty-four-hour guards for that specific display case.” Mr. Brett threw his shoulders back and pulled at the tie encircling his pencil-like neck. That adjustment made, he continued, “Please make this your top priority. If there’s a glitch, there will be hell to pay.”

Without further response Paris unlocked the door, making a quick escape inside. When he didn’t follow, she sighed with relief and scanned her desk to assess the day’s workload. There’s not enough money in the Bank of London to get me to stay late today, she thought. Ben was coming, and she had preparations to make for his favorite foods … and she must invite a few of his old school chums to dinner … make it a festive visit. It had been too long since she had wrapped her arms around her son. She wondered if Olivia would give up a couple of days of her overly-active social life to come home—so they all could be together, just like it used to be. She shook her head away from reverie and began to sort the mess on her desk.

A couple of hours later she was still opening assorted envelopes and trying to put everything into piles based on subject. The next small padded envelope she picked up had something inside. She tore it open and found a cassette tape labeled with her name. Rather old-fashioned, she thought. Shoved into the back of her desk drawer was a small cassette player she sometimes used for meetings. She had learned from experience that it was the best way to avoid confusion about who said what.

The tape was blank at the beginning, but soon there was a heavily accented male voice telling her to pay close attention. “We have your son. If you do not do exactly as you are told we will kill him. We do not want a ransom. Only you can save his life. You will be contacted about your task.” Then there was no further sound other than the static whirring of the tape.

Paris rolled her chair backward, seemingly in an effort to distance herself from the threat within her cassette player. Besides the sudden and extreme tightness in the pit of her stomach, she was confused. She wondered what power she had to do anything significant, and what in the world they could want. Her first instinct was to call Hugh, but thought better of that choice and decided to call Ben first, to hear his voice and know he was safe. His phone went straight to voicemail, causing Paris to feel panic rising in her chest. She then called Olivia to see if she had been in contact with her brother during the last twenty-four hours. “What good are these damn things? No one ever answers!” she said aloud. Paris fetched her coat and purse, ran out of her office and went across the hall, where she knocked loudly on Lyle Brett’s door.

“Enter!“ he called out in his usual haughty tone.

Paris burst into his office, her words flying. “I still haven’t come across the paperwork for the exhibit, but you know what’s coming, don’t you? What is it?”

“You seem in quite a tizzy,” he said, clasping his hands in front of his chest and seeming determined to make her wait.

“Please just answer the question. You mentioned the exhibit’s value, so you must know something about it.”

Lyle leaned back in his chair, casually put his hands behind his head and said, “I can’t be exact about the value until you unearth the paperwork on it. The rumor-mill has it that there’s even concern for the transport from the exhibit’s last location.” His tone carried a tinge of excitement at the thought.

Paris said nothing while she considered what to do next. The exhibit was of no consequence to her in light of what she had just heard on tape. Eventually she said, “I have to leave for a while. When I get back I really need you to help me finish sorting documents. Between the two of us we’ll find the paperwork faster.” Lyle frowned, and Paris could see that he was curious as to why she would dare to ask him a favor. Sensing his need for further explanation, she said, “And please don’t ask me a lot of questions right now. I know that we aren’t what you would call friends, only co-workers, but trust me when I tell you that this is important.” Lyle paused and stared straight at her. She could see the wheels turning, could read his face as he mulled over what he could get out of helping her. What a supercilious little prat, she thought. But she needed his help, so said nothing.

He stood and leaned forward, hands now on his desk. “I’ll help you ferret through the rest, but I may need a favor someday, and I’ll expect you to reciprocate.

Paris wanted so badly to take that opportunity to tell him why he had no friends at the museum. She suspected the same of his outside life. What she really wanted was to be able to call him a supercilious prat out loud and then proceed to tell him that his suit was too tight. Maybe someday, she thought, and walked swiftly down the hall to the exit. She was thankful for having worn flat shoes and all but ran to the curb, where fortune smiled and