Buck Fever Read Free Page B

number-one newspaper in the Midwest. I’m going to give you first crack at solving a possible murder mystery; you’re chance to shine.”
    Porter made a slight effort to adjust his tie and tuck in his rumpled pinstriped shirt. He called me ‘boy ,’ he thought, becoming self-conscious.
    “Who else is on the floor that can assist?”
    “There’s Kottle, sir. I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to cover a homicide with me. We were just talking about how she loves the newspaper business.” Porter’s eyes twinkled as his confidence returned.
    “You’re not dipping into company ink, are you?”
    “No, sir, absolutely not, she’s seeing some guy in Ann Arbor.”
    “Aren’t you from Ann Arbor? Anyway, she has no time for romance if she wants to move up the ranks in this business.” Pillbock stood up and walked to the office door. “Kottle, I need you in here, now!” he shouted. Several mocking voices arose from other cubes as Katie Kottle walked her tight dress toward the office door. “You other cubs better have a damn-good draft of the Mayor’s campaign on Canadian drug smugglers on my desk by eight AM Friday, or you can all go work for the Eccentric.”
    Groans replaced mocking voices.
    ~ ~ ~
    “Okay, Porter, Kottle, here’s your opportunity to make a big splash on page one.” Pillbock returned to his oversized leather desk chair, as Porter and Kottle sat on separate leather sofas. “It’s hunting season and it’s the biggest sporting event in Michigan. I mean, each year thousands of yahoos go traipsing through the woods throughout the state and kill more than their share of sixty-thousand deer.” Pillbock pushed several file folders apart to reveal a photo on a computer tablet. “Well...” he said.
    Porter looked at Kottle who squeezed her nose at the thought of hunting.
    “It’s an utterly disgusting sport: grown men with bows and arrows and guns killing poor defenseless animals,” she said.
    Porter pretended to hold up a rifle and mocked a shot at Pillbock who kept his head down for the moment.
    “It’s not football, but hunting is a sport, right? Do I, er we, get a sports byline?” Porter said, his eyes beaming.
    “No, this is not a sports matter. It’s a mystery: a murder of sorts. I’ve got to ask you two for assurance you won’t go spouting off about what I’m going to show you,” Pillbock said, looking unnaturally serious.
    “No problem here. I can’t imagine you telling me anything I’d die to share with anyone else,” Porter said.
    “I’m a locked box,” Kottle said. Her mind raced at the thought of getting involved in a crime story. Maybe she would get background for a good murder novel.
    “Cut the BS, I’m dead serious. We have a kick-ass Michigan-local scoop here. No other paper has plugged this into their Internet site yet. What do you think?” Pillbock pushed his computer tablet, showing an image of a clothed male body lying on a pile of leaves, across his desk. The two reporters leaned forward.
    “Eesh. What happened? Looks like this guy got taken out by a machine gun,” Kottle said, searching for detail.
    “I count eight perforations into his chest, spaced in a symmetrical pattern, four to a side. Can’t be bullets; his shirt is stuffed into the holes as well. Bullets would rip through the shirt leaving ripped holes and a bloodstain. I’d say this guy’s been impaled by a set of blunt objects, maybe arrows, but they’d have to be a half-inch in diameter,” Porter said.
    “Well done,” Pillbock said. “You can see through the bokeh . Kottle, don’t just sit there gawking, take notes.”
    “He can see through the ‘bow- kah ’.” Kottle repeated, slowly fingering text into a cellphone.
    “ Bokeh …b-o-k-e-h. The out-of-focus part of a photographic image. Get with it, girl, Porter knows what it means, right, Porter? And, use this notepad. You’re not going anywhere texting into a phone—it’s not professional.”
    Girl? Kottle frowned as she