Молли Фитц - Kitty Confidential

“No thanks,” she answered, trying to close the door again.

I stuck my foot into the door’s path just in time. “Please, just give me two minutes,” I begged.

“Fine.” She retreated back to the safety of her desk and stared daggers at me.

I closed the door behind me and slowly approached.

“Time’s a ticking,” she reminded me, pointing at her wrist even though she’d never worn a watch as long as I’d known her.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Mr. Fulton, but I’m worried about you,” I started.

She let out a sigh so big, it ruffled some of the papers on her desk. “Not this again.”

“Bethany, listen to me. I have reason to believe he’s dangerous.”

She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Mr. Fulton is one of the most legitimately kind people I know.”

“He’s leaving the office for several days,” I blurted out. It was definitely unusual behavior. Normally, he worked straight through the weekends, and I wanted to know what had changed about this week. “Do you know why?”

“I don’t know… Maybe mourning? Why can’t you just leave the poor man alone? And leave me alone, too, for that matter. Time’s up, by the way.”

“What? But we hardly even said anything at all,” I protested.

“This is my office,” she said as she rose from her seat and marched toward the door. “I decide who is and isn’t welcome. And right now, you most definitely aren’t.”

Defeated, I trailed after her. “Just be careful, okay?” I said once I’d made it into the hall.

“Sure, whatever,” she said with a grimace, hesitating with her hand on the door knob. She hadn’t closed me out, not yet.

Bethany bit her lip and studied me for a moment before suggesting, “I think you should talk to Brad about that bra you mentioned yesterday. I overheard him bragging to Derek about some after-hours conquest, and well… I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to tell you the rest.”

She shut the door in my face—a bit gentler this time, so at least we were making progress. Opting to take her advice, I headed to Brad’s office next.

I hated that we didn’t have Derek as a buffer today. He was usually the only one who could keep Brad even close to in control. Still, I needed answers, and I needed them much sooner than later.

“What’s up, doll face?” he asked when I clicked his door shut behind me.

“Doll face? Really?” I shuddered. First of all, that pet term was from at least eight decades ago, and second, it wasn’t at all appropriate for work.

“What? You prefer sweet cheeks?” He glanced pointedly toward my rear and widened his eyes in what I assumed was appreciation. Gross.

“What I want is for you to call me my name and only my name,” I ground out, taking great care not to slap him across the face—at least not before getting the info I’d come for. “It’s Angie, by the way,” I reminded him.

“Okay, Angie,” he said pointedly, smirking up at me. “What can I do you for?”

I decided to just spit it out so that I could spend as little time alone with this walking lawsuit as possible. “What do you know about the purple silk bra I found in Mr. Fulton’s office yesterday?”

His smile widened to a sickening degree. “Heard about that, did you?”

“I saw it,” I said, shuddering again.

He chuckled. “Aww, don’t be jealous. There’s plenty of Brad to go around.”

“So, it was yours,” I spat.

“Not mine, but…” He shot me a creepy smile as he thought of how to put it. “A friend’s,” he finally settled on.

“If it was your friend’s, then what was it doing in Mr. Fulton’s office?” I demanded.

He shrugged casually. “My friend may have thought I was the junior partner here.”

“And why would she think that?”

He sighed and shook his head. “C’mon, Angie. Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

Ick, ick, ick. “Does Mr. Fulton know?”

He cleared his throat. “Of course not. You think I want to be put on suspension?”

“No, but you deserve it. Worse, even,” I hissed, giving him one last withering look before charging out of his office.

Finally, the firm had enough reason to send Brad packing. I didn’t care how influential and well respected his father was. Brad was, hands down, the biggest creep I’d ever met. He should have been fired months ago for sexual harassment, but then again, it was possible that neither Thompson nor Fulton knew since Bethany and I tended to let his disgusting behavior carry on unchecked.

Well, no more.

I barged straight to Fulton’s office, forgetting to knock.

I found him on the phone, speaking in a raspy whisper. “I don’t care what it takes,” he growled. “Keep it buried. At least until the divorce is final.”

Our eyes locked, and his face contorted in momentary rage before he wiped his expression clean once again. I should have turned on my heel and run away but was too startled to move a muscle. Stupid deer in headlights effect.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he whispered into the phone, then turned his full attention to me and plastered on the most inauthentic smile I’d ever seen in all my life. “Angie, do you have my petition ready?”

“Yeah, let me just go get it,” I lied, then I booked it out of there as fast as my legs could carry me.

Brad’s dismissal would have to wait for another day. Right now, I had to make sure that I wasn’t next on the chopping block. I’d happily give up my job, however, if it meant keeping my head.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Luckily, Mr. Fulton left shortly after I summoned the courier, which meant I was safe for the time being. I’d definitely be looking over my shoulder extra until he was behind bars, though.

When I told Octo-Cat about the call I’d overhead, even he had to agree that no one but Mr. Fulton could be to blame for Ethel’s murder.

“And if he’s killed before, it’ll be easier for him to do it again,” he added.

I shivered in fear. “You’re right, and I’m pretty sure he knows that I know.”

“Based on what you’ve told me, you’re probably right.” Octo-Cat rubbed his head against my arm affectionately, but it wasn’t enough to put my mind at ease. Suddenly, every lingering shadow, every unexpected sound transformed into a warning that my boss was coming to kill me for what basically amounted to being too good at my job. Then again, I was supposed to be researching legal precedents, not clues in a murder mystery.

“We need to get out of here,” I said, panic rising in my chest.

Octo-Cat looked up at me with large, amber eyes and an understanding nod. “Where to? Ethel’s house?”

“Heck no!” I practically shouted. “We’re going to Nan’s.”

I packed up his Fancy Feast, Evian, and freshly cleaned litter box in a hurry, feeling far too exposed in my own home.

“Don’t forget my iPad,” he reminded me as he pawed at the bedroom door. He seemed far less frightened than I did. Was this because he had nine lives to draw on? Whatever the case, he hadn’t seen the livid expression on Mr. Fulton’s face when he caught me eavesdropping on his call. If looks could kill…

No, if I focused too much on my fear, I wouldn’t be able to act to keep myself safe. Right now, I just needed to focus on getting us out of there. Once we were out of there, we could brainstorm the best way to present our case to local law enforcement. Maybe Nan would have some good ideas about how to repackage our evidence in such a way that excluded the fact our primary informant was a talking cat.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Octo-Cat and I turned up at Nan’s door with our overnight bags. Thank goodness for small towns and short drives.