Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon by Donna Andrews Page A

mean.“
    „No, I don't expect he will,“ the chief agreed. „What do you think?“
    „I think he's already blabbing down in the parking lot.“
    „I meant what do you think about this nude program having something to do with the murder?“
    „Since we don't know who programmed Nude Lawyers from Hell or what, if any, connection there is between it and Ted – who knows?“
    „Someone thinks he's going to get fired – that could be a reason to kill in this job market.“
    „Yeah, except that anyone who really knows Rob knows better,“ I said.
    „Knows better how?“
    „I doubt if Rob wants to fire whoever programmed the nude version,“ I said. „He thinks it's a hoot. He could sit there for hours watching it and giggling.“
    „Might change his mind if it starts hurting his company,“ the chief said.
    „Maybe,“ I said. „Then again, Rob's not too practical.“
    „So let 'em all blab about the naked cartoon characters having something to do with the murder,“ the chief said. „If it's true, maybe our killer will get scared and do something stupid. If it's not true, maybe he'll think he's gotten away with it and get careless.“
    He stared at the screen on which the Lawyers from Hell demo was still running. After about a minute, he shook his head and roused himself.
    „How the hell do you stop this fool thing, anyway?“
    I reached over and pressed the escape key to exit the demo.
    „Thanks,“ he said. „Why don't you come down with me to the parking lot?“
    I suspected that meant he was through picking my brains for now and wanted to deposit me safely with all the other suspects, witnesses, and seemingly innocent bystanders.
    Down in the parking lot, chaos reigned.
    August isn't a month when you want to spend much time outdoors in Virginia. The temperature and humidity were both hovering in the high nineties, and would probably stay thatway until the daily thunderstorm hit in the late afternoon. Walking out the door was like entering a steam bath when you already had a high fever. I could feel my feet sinking slightly into the liquefying asphalt, not to mention the first breath of almost liquid air starting to leach away my wits and my temper.
    An ambulance was parked in the handicapped space right beside the building entrance, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to it. I could see a dozen programmers or therapists talking on their cell phones, most with their heads cocked toward their phones, backs to the crowd and their free hands over their unoccupied ears. Several others were playing Frisbee with the eight or nine dogs who'd come to work today. Or trying to play. The dogs were mostly lying in the shade, panting, and watching the crazy humans leaping, about on the hot asphalt.
    The rest of the staff was attacking the pizza and beer.
    I noted, with a sigh, that a vegetable rebellion was brewing among some of the younger programmers clustered at one side of the parking lot.
    They were all standing about, eating slices of pizza, but they didn't look happy. Some were chewing, stoically, as if half expecting to be poisoned at any moment. Others were prodding their slices with cautious fingers, perhaps hoping to find that the broccoli and green peppers on top were actually a strange new species of sausage. Others had picked up the green pepper strips between thumb and forefinger and were holding mem up at eye level, inspecting them with the same expression of outrage and disgust that I'd be wearing if I'd found an earthworm perched on my sausage and mushroom with extra cheese.
    „You'd think they'd never seen vegetables before,“ I muttered. And for that matter, I suspected some of them hadn'tsince whenever they'd last lived at home with their mothers cooking for them. That was the reason I always added broccoli and green peppers to the toppings of any pizza I ordered for the office. I suspected the broccoli and green peppers Rob ate on pizza might be the only green vegetables he saw from one