Dead in the Dirt [antikvár]

OneAmanda Hazard, CPA, nearly leaped out of her skin when the blare of the phone reverberated off the metal file cabinets and concrete block walls of her office. The abrupt sound caused her to poke her fmger against the wrong key of her calculator. Rather than subtracting a debit from Thatcher's Oil and Gas accounts she had accidentally added it. Before Amanda could correct the error, the phone shrieked at her again."Alright akeady," Amanda muttered, snatching up the phone.It had not been a productive week^too many interruptions to keep Amanda's analytical mind clicking at its customary competent pace. First thing Monday morning her secretary, Jenny Long, had called to say that her young son had come down with chicken pox. Amanda, who had grown accustomed to having a secretary field incoming calls and file tax forms, found herself up to her eyebrows in bookwork.Irritable did not adequately describe Amanda's disposition. She was as cross and cranky as a junkyard dog."Hazard Accoimting Agency," Amanda said crisply."Hi, doll, it's Mother."Amanda gnashed her teeth. "Hello, Mother."