CHAPTER ELEVEN
Harold Frischeen had felt himself come alive for the first time in a long time, and he was intelligent enough to realize Priscilla was the reason. She was just a girl, yet in many ways she was better for him than any woman. And she had been good for his trust account, too. With sole power of attorney, she had, in a short month, increased the value of his holdings five percent. She was terrific.
That Friday, instead of waiting for her to go home, shower, change, then come to him, Frischeen decided he would pick Pris up at her office. When he got to her office, he was told she had just left, and so he got into his Lincoln Continental and headed for the bus stop where he was told she waited for the bus. A block from the bus-stop, he had seen her walking into a side street, an
