woman with exaggerated makeup, false eyelashes, heavy eye shadow, red lipstick, too much blush. A woman exuding blatant sexuality.
Kelly Blaine was none of that. Her makeup, if any, was light and natural. Her brown hair was cut short and stylish, conservatively so. But looks, Steve knew, could be deceiving. His own secretary, with sweater and blue jeans and long blonde hair falling in her face, looked more like a college student than a legal secretary. And he, in T-shirt, corduroy jacket and blue jeans, with shoulder-length dark hair, looked more like a refugee from the sixties than a lawyer.
Kelly Blaine looked up at him and their eyes met. He could see doubt in hers. Steve was used to that. He was
“Miss Blaine, is it?” Steve said.
“Yes.”
He motioned to Tracy Garvin, who drew up a chair and sat down. “My secretary tells me you were fired.”
“That’s right.”
“Is that what you want to see me about?”
“Partly.”
“That’s good, because I don’t do management/labor disputes.”
“This isn’t a dispute.”
Steve smiled. “It was an amicable firing?”
“Hardly.”
“Would you care to explain?”
Kelly Blaine took a breath. “All right. I was working for Milton Castleton.”
“Who is that?”
She frowned. “You’re an attorney and you’ve never heard of Milton Castleton?”
“I haven’t been an attorney long. And I have an unusual practice. Basically, I handle one client.”
She frowned. “But aren’t you the one? The one who got the Dawson boy off?”
“Occasionally I make exceptions. Jeremy Dawson was one of them.”
“Fine. Then I’m asking you to make one in my case.”
“I’m not promising anything, but I’m willing to listen. Now,” Steve said, “I’m who you thought I was-whatever that means. I’ve never heard of Milton Castleton-whoever he is. If that makes a difference to you, you should go see someone else. I don’t do corporate work. I don’t do management/labor. I don’t do domestic hassles. If I take on a case, it’s generally murder. If this case is the result of you being fired, it probably won’t interest me, and I tell you that in advance. If you want to tell me about it, I’m here and I’m willing to listen. But if you just want to get me on the defensive by making me feel inadequate for not knowing who Milton Castleton is, frankly you’re wasting your time and mine.”
Kelly Blaine drew herself up, stuck out her chin. “That’s not it. You’re who I want. You fight for the little guy. The rest doesn’t matter. I couldn’t go to another law office anyway. They’d laugh me out of there.”
“Why?”
She ran her hand over her face. “Because it’s bizarre. The whole situation’s bizarre.”
Steve shifted impatiently in his chair.
She held up her hand. “Okay, okay. But first off, you don’t know who Milton Castleton is. Well, he’s rich. Stinking rich. He’s a wealthy industrialist. Castleton Industries. That’s how you would have heard of him. Anyway, he’s retired now-he’s close to eighty-and his son runs the business.”
“Who’s his son?”
She waved it away. “Stanley Castleton. But that’s not important. Anyway, Milton’s an old man. He’s retired and he’s writing his memoirs.”
“His memoirs?”
“Yeah. Apparently in his day he was quite a character. Aside from being a cutthroat businessman-and he was certainly that- he was something of a rake hell. Women, booze, gambling. Lots of messy affairs involving court actions-paternity suits, breach of promise, named correspondent in half a dozen divorces.”
“And you worked for him,” Steve said, gently urging her to the point.
“That’s right. As I said, he was writing his memoirs. I was hired as a secretary to type them.”
“Oh, so you were working with him on the memoirs?”
“No. Actually, I never met the man.”
Steve frowned. “What?”
“I never met him. I was hired by his business associate. Or business manager, or personal manager, or whatever. That was never quite clear.”
“You’re saying you transcribed his notes but you never actually met him?”
“Not his notes. His dictation. He dictated onto microcassettes. I typed them up.”
“Where? At your apartment?”
“No. At his.”
Steve took a breath. “I’m sorry, but this is really not making any sense.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “That’s ’cause it
“And you were fired,” Steve prompted.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Today. This afternoon. Just now.”
“And you came straight here.”
“Yes. Well, I have to explain the situation. And it’s not easy. As I said, I never met Castleton, never knew when he was there. But I assume he was, because that was the whole idea.” She took a breath. “I had my own office. There, in his apartment. It was right next door to his office. But there was no connecting door. There were separate entrances-which is why I never saw him. His business associate, Phil Danby his name is, let me in in the morning. I’d go into my office. I’d close and lock the door. I’d be alone. The notes to be transcribed would already be on my desk. I’d take them and type them up. All straightforward and professional.”
She bit her lip, lowered her eyes. “Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I typed them nude.”
Steve blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was nude. When I came in to work, I’d take off my clothes, hang them in the closet, sit down and start typing.”
Steve found himself at a loss as to what to say next. He took a breath. “I see,” he said. Which was hopelessly inadequate on the one hand and not true on the other. “No, actually I don’t. What was the point? I mean, if you were alone, locked in this room … why were you supposed to do that?”
“There was a window. Between the two offices. You know, one-way glass. On my side it was a mirror. The other side, from his office, you could see through.”
“You mean-”
“Yes. He could sit at his desk and watch me type.”
“As well as anyone else who was in his office.”
“No. That was specified. There would not be business meetings with him saying, ‘Oh, have you seen my secretary,’ if that’s what you’re thinking. That was made very clear. It would be just him.”
“And you agreed to this arrangement?”
“Yes.”
“Had you done anything of the kind before? Posed as a nude model, for instance?”
“No.”
“Then why did you agree to this?”
“I resent the question.”
