Love Can Be Murder

three months ago, to obtain her broker's license with an eye toward commercial real estate. Unfortunately, it had coincided with Mr. Sanders' retirement, and suddenly, Jolie had found herself working for Sammy.
    Remarkably, the woman's personality seemed to change overnight. She'd been downright helpful to Jolie...and two weeks ago, Jolie had discovered why. In order to close a big deal, Sammy wanted Jolie to pass information to the buyer that would breach the company's confidentiality agreement with the seller. Gary had been missing for a few days, and Jolie was already stressed. In fact, she had a feeling that Sammy had purposefully targeted her during a vulnerable time, thinking she would cave. Jolie didn't, and Sammy threatened to fire her. Instead, Jolie had quit. Sammy said Jolie had lost her mind—no one left the Sanders Agency voluntarily.
    And now Jolie was selling shoes. Boy, she had really shown her .
    She sighed and scanned for the pair of shoes that cost more than her week's salary, then removed two boxes from the shelf. She carried them out to Sammy, who apparently had taken advantage of the opportunity to introduce herself to Beck Underwood. The oversize Barbie doll had extended her business card in his direction and he was accepting it, although somewhat reluctantly, Jolie noted.
    "We only have a size six and a half and a size seven and a half," Jolie said to Sammy, holding up the boxes. "Would you like to try them?"
    Sammy made a face and waved her hand. "No, that's okay. I really was only killing time until my big closing."
    Jolie nodded. "It must be a really big closing, since you've already mentioned it twice."
    Sammy's eyes narrowed. "Happy shoeing , Jolie."
    Jolie watched Sammy sashay away, her stomach churning over the way she'd handled the situation. This was a bad time to be starting her own brokerage company, and she had very few resources to fall back on. Considering how many agencies were struggling, if she couldn't get enough business going in the next few months, she might have to go crawling back to Sammy or start at square one somewhere else.
    She glanced down at the boxes in her hands. She didn't seem to have much of a future in shoes.
    "I sense history between the two of you."
    Jolie glanced at Beck Underwood, who sat patiently with his new shoes on his lap. He had put his old tennis shoes back on, and Jolie wondered about the ground those battered shoes had covered, places she hoped to see someday.
    "Former boss," Jolie murmured, then reached for his new shoes. "I'm sorry you had to wait. Do you need anything else?"
    "Yeah." Then he smiled. "But it'll give me an excuse to come back—this is the most excitement I've had since I returned to Atlanta."
    She managed a shaky smile, thinking she didn't know how much more excitement she could take today. She just wanted to go home and soak her feet, and maybe call her friend Leann to report on what had to be the world's worst first day on the job.
    She set aside the shoes Sammy had passed on and carried Beck's loafers to the counter to ring up his sale.
    A willowy black woman wearing chinos and a dark jacket walked up to the counter.
    "I'll be right with you," Jolie said.
    "Jolie Goodman?"
    Jolie tensed. "Yes."
    The woman opened her coat to reveal a silver badge. "I'm Detective Salyers with the Atlanta PD. I need to speak with you."

Chapter Two

    JOLIE STARED AT THE DETECTIVE and her stomach caved. "Is something wrong?"
    "I just need to talk with you, ma'am."
    "Is this about Gary?"
    "Yes." The woman's expression gave away nothing.
    Jolie's mind reeled. She looked up and saw that Beck Underwood had overheard everything and was watching her carefully. Across the sales floor, Michael Lane stared curiously in her direction. She glanced at her watch, then looked back to the detective. "My shift ends in fifteen minutes. Can you wait?"
    The woman nodded. "How about meeting me at the Coffee Shack in the food court?"
    Jolie swallowed hard. "Okay." She watched the policewoman walk away and wanted desperately to run after her. Her heart slammed against her breastbone, and her hands were shaking so badly, she could barely finish ringing up the sale.
    She looked up and tried to fix her face in a natural expression. "Will you be using your Neiman Marcus card?"
    Beck was staring at her. Slowly, he reached for his wallet and flipped through before removing cash. "There isn't a Neiman Marcus where I've been living."
    She tried to smile and counted back