BM03 - Crazy Little Thing Called Dead Read Free Page A

I guess that was asking a little too much.
    Next I called Randy to warn him that Lucy might show up, but I was too late there too, he’d given her a flash drive and I was willing to bet she wasn’t bringing that flash drive to me. I’d be surprised if they didn’t show up in tomorrow’s big daily paper.
    “Then get it back! Those are my pictures.”
    “But Lucy said…”
    “Lucy didn’t hire you, I did!”
    I slammed down the phone. “Fuck!” I put all the suppressed rage I could muster into the word.
    Deirdre walked into the office while I was swearing.
    “Sorry, Deirdre.”
    “I take it things aren’t going well.”
    “I’ve got it handled.” I hope .
    I got back on the phone to the Barracks and started nagging Steve Leftsky for information on the Murder.
    “Didn’t I just talk to you? I’ve got work to do.” I thought he was kidding around, but he could have been truly exasperated with me. I couldn’t tell over the phone.
    “It’s been at least twenty-four hours. I’m working on the murder, now. Different article, different legal pad, different phone call. Even a different pen in my mouth. And I was giving you a break, so spill.” I was trying to train myself to keep my pen out of my mouth when I was on the phone, but it wasn’t working out for me.
    “Bree, I just don’t know anything.”
    “Was there ID?” I asked, wondering if Tom had asked the guys to keep their mouths closed.
    “Look. There was nothing. We’ve got a dead John Doe dressed in mismatched clothes with a hole in his chest. That’s it. Nothing else.”
    “But he wasn’t killed at the salon, was he?” That was pretty clear from the lack of blood but I wanted to hear him say it. I’d read Investigative Reporting for Dummies .
    “You were there, what did you see?”
    “No blood.” I thought of the soggy red diaper and shuddered.
    “You can deduce something from that can’t you?
    I hung up and wrote the piece, which didn’t take long because there wasn’t anything to say except Hey everybody, there was a dead guy at Planet Hair ! I zapped it over to Deirdre for her to set and started thinking about next week’s article before coming to my senses. “We’d better get the paper put together.”
     
     

 
    Chapter Two
     
    The paper went together easily, so while I liked to help, I wasn’t really necessary. I’d been the paste-up tech from the beginning of the paper until Meg promoted me to reporter, but I’d never been as good at it as Deirdre. She was the queen. Consequently, we were done way before our midnight deadline, and I was driving home in time to feed my animals. I was still fuming over Lucy Howe. I wanted to break this story. Not the tiny piece that would appear in our paper tomorrow, but the whole shebang. An article like that, done right, could get me noticed, give me options. I’m not saying I would leave my little town to work at a big city daily, but it would be nice to have the choice.
    My truck made interesting noises all the way home and blew out black smoke when I pulled into the drive and turned it off. Damn. I was going to have to take a second job again. I sighed and let Beagle Annie out. The rest of my gaggle of dogs ran around the house to meet me. Annabelle Cat was stretched out on the porch railing, pretending it wasn’t taking every ounce of her considerable concentration to keep her from falling off. I was up to five dogs, including Beans. Technically, Beans was not my dog. He belonged to my last boyfriend, Beau. The conversation we’d had when we broke up went something like this:
    Me: “You can’t expect me to continue to take care of Beans when you go out of town. He’s your responsibility.” Damn it!
    Beau: “I only took that dog because you wanted him.”
    Me: “I didn’t ask you to take in Beans.”
    Beau: “But I knew you wanted him.”
    Me: “I already have four dogs. I did not need another one. I told you that. Beans is your dog and you need to take care of