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TWENTY-NINE

The date with Tom did a good job of distracting her, almost eclipsing all of the office drama. But as soon as the elevator doors seal shut behind her on Tuesday morning, it returns. All of her anxiety rushes back as she steps into the office. Howard and his disgusting advances on her poor assistant, the threatening letter, and then, of course, humming ominously in the background, Francis Keen’s murder. Alex isn’t sure she can keep her head down and continue working, given what she now knows about Howard.

Alex stops dead in her tracks when she sees the woman standing in front of Jonathan’s desk. She takes in the haughty straightness of her spine, the flowy white pants that hang elegantly from a thin snakeskin belt about her thin hips. Her white-blond hair is as thick and straight as one of Alex’s childhood Barbie dolls. The Chanel slingbacks on her narrow feet tap impatiently. Beyond her, standing rigidly at the reception desk, Jonathan’s face pales.

“Regina! It’s so good to see you,” he says with terror in his eyes.

“Oh, is it, Jonathan?” Regina responds, her tone terrifyingly cold.

“What can I help you with?” he asks primly. His eyes fall on Alex now. For the first time he doesn’t look disappointed to see her there. He looks almost relieved.

“I’m here to see my husband,” she says, taking her jacket off. More Chanel from the look of it, Alex thinks. Jonathan looks confused. Why is Regina at the office asking after her own husband?

“He hasn’t been in yet today. I can let him know you stopped by—”

Regina ignores him. Alex watches as she steps past the desk toward the newsroom.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll just go wait in his office for him to return,” she says. Her voice remains light, but there is an underlying threat that is impossible to ignore.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable waiting out here, or maybe in the café across the street?” Jonathan asks hopefully.

Regina continues her march around the front desk toward the newsroom. “Oh, and I’ll have a coffee,” she calls over her shoulder. “A latte, with oat milk.”

Jonathan turns to Alex panicked. “I have no idea where Howard is,” he hisses at her. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” His eyes focus on Alex, and she sees it is all about to become her problem too.

“I’ll make her a coffee,” Alex offers, seizing this serendipitous opportunity to get on Jonathan’s good side.

“You’d really do that?” he says. He looks like he might start to cry. “I need to go look for him. He’ll hate that I’ve let her go back to his office while he isn’t there.”

“Of course I’ll do it. Whatever you need,” Alex says. Ingratiating herself with Jonathan in his time of need could have its perks, she realizes. Who else has access to Howard Demetri’s planner? Who else could tell her where he goes and when? And, most importantly, with whom .

“Thank you, Alex. I owe you.”

Yes, you do, Alex thinks, giving him a smile and turning toward the office kitchen.