Termination Interview — Lynne Murray

DEAD-END JOB

Everyone who knew Miranda Falk believed if she was honestly dead, it would be the first honest thing she'd ever done. And indeed, the much-loathed personnel director at a posh San Francisco law firm had plummeted from her office window to an honest-to-goodness death.

Murder or suicide? Aspiring photographer Ingrid Hunter had known Miranda in high school. She didn't like her then and didn't like her now--especially since Miranda was into some sordid business in which Ingrid is unwittingly involved.

Corruption, arson, blackmail and Ingrid's own dark past are left in the wake of Miranda's death as Ingrid races to bring a killer into focus--before she's too dead to do the job.

When photographer Ingrid Hunter takes a temporary word-processing job at a prestigious San Francisco law firm, she is surprised to find that the personnel director, Miranda Falk, is a high school acquaintance. A casual lunch date with Miranda convinces Ingrid that the title of personnel director is perfect for her former friend: Miranda's manipulation skills have improved a great deal, and she quickly interrogates Ingrid about all aspects of her personal and professional life.

Several hours later, Miranda's body is found on the sidewalk outside the offices of Bramwell, Stinson & Flint--and there are far too many unhappy employees who might have wanted her to disappear. Ingrid's long experience as a temp has made her the perfect confidante, and the disgruntled ranks at Bramwell begin to tell her more than they should. Ingrid's realization that Miranda kept secret files on just about everyone persuades her to dig deeper, leading her to the unsettling discovery that the personnel director's records cast suspicion on Ingrid's own complicated past.

Undaunted, Ingrid takes her camera into the twisted backstreets of San Francisco's underworld, where she conducted an investigation of her own, learning who really runs the city--and why Miranda's termination interview had to end in murder.

The spilled coffee and abandoned phone made her uneasy.
"Ingrid?" Pammy was holding Miranda's telephone receiver out and staring at it in puzzlement. "Listen to this."
"What is it?" Ingrid returned to Pammy's side. For some reason, she hesitated to touch the receiver, but as she cam close, she could hear the precise, ladylike monologue that issued from it: "The time is two thirteen exactly. Beep. The time is two thirteen and ten seconds. Beep. The time is two thirteen and twenty seconds. Beep."
The only other sound in the room was the rattle of the venetian blind in the wind. Ingrid shook her head at the time lady's voice and went to close the window.
She glanced down as she leaned gingerly out over the knee-level sill. A dozen floors down in Taft Alley something colorful rose up for a second in an updraft of wind. A speckling of rain made Ingrid blink. She saw the crumpled figure in the alley below the fire escape. That flutter must be her red designer scarf.