Caught Dead Handed Read Free Page B

voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ”And it gets you into the station. Of course, it’s not as much money as the field reporter job, but it’s not as many hours, either.”
    â€œMiss Valen,” I said. “Thanks, anyway. . . .”
    â€œJanice. Call me Janice.”
    â€œAll right then. Janice. Mr. Doan has seen my tapes, and he’s already turned me down once today. Besides, I’ve never even seen Nightshades. ”
    â€œLook at it this way, Lee. You don’t have to sign a contract if you don’t want to. And if a better position opens up, or if the Palmer guy falls on his face, why, there you’ll be!”
    She had a point there. “True. But I’m not sure I can pull off the psychic thing.”
    â€œOh, it’s not that difficult. It’s mostly just introducing old movies and reading a few commercials. I’ll give you a couple of DVDs of Ariel’s old shows, and you can see how she handled the callers. It won’t take too long to watch it. No movies, just the calls and a few commercials.”
    â€œGive me a couple of hours to think it over,” I said. “I’ll get back to you this afternoon.”
    â€œGood. Thanks. I appreciate this.” There was relief in her voice. “By the way, were you able to help the cops out any?”
    â€œI doubt it. The detective just asked me to describe what I saw.”
    â€œSorry you had to be the one who found her. Must have been a shock. I’m going to call downstairs. Get one of the uniforms to escort you to your car, keep the vultures away from you.”
    â€œThanks.”
    Within a few minutes I was behind the wheel of the Buick, driving carefully away from the yellow tape, the gray harbor, and the gawking strangers.
    The yellow cat still sat under the tree. He stretched and yawned as I passed, then trotted to the curb. Head cocked to one side, he seemed to watch with interest as I turned onto Derby Street and headed for home.

CHAPTER 3
    I rolled the Buick carefully into the garage behind Aunt Ibby’s house, dutifully waiting for the tennis ball suspended from the ceiling to tap the windshield. Opening a black iron gate, I cut through the garden, where late season marigolds and winter geraniums still nodded, defying the chill autumn air. I hurried up the back steps and pushed my key into the center of the brass doorknob.
    â€œI’m in the den, Maralee,” my aunt called. “Come tell me all about the job.” The den in the Winter Street house was my aunt’s favorite room. The furnishings were appropriate to the style and age of the fine old home, but the giant TV, the computers, printers, speakers, fax machine and other communication devices were strictly state of the art.
    â€œIt didn’t turn out exactly the way I’d thought it might,” I said. “But they did offer me one.”
    â€œGood,” she said. “Sit right down. You must tell me all about it. But first, let’s watch the noon news. Seems they’ve found a body in the harbor!”
    I wasn’t surprised by the response. My aunt Isobel Russell, a youthful sixty-five-year-old, semiretired research librarian, voracious reader, and computer whiz, is a true TV addict. To her, the invention of the remote control ranks right up there with the wheel and the safety pin.
    I sat and felt some of the tension of the morning slipping away.
    â€œI know.” My voice sounded shaky. “I . . . sort of . . . found the body. It was a woman who worked at the station.”
    She dropped the control and faced me. “My dear! How horrible! And look at your poor knees. And your hands. What on earth happened to you?”
    â€œOh, that. I’m all right. Just tripped over a cat. Anyway, I’d parked down by the seawall. I was about to leave when I heard something that made me look down into the water. There was a body floating there. They say it’s one of the show hosts. A