Edited for Death Read Free Page A

from that number.” This experiment better go well. If Monroe has a major crime outbreak, I’ll be covering it myself.
    The intern handles two days of routine cop calls without blowup and even seems to enjoy herself.
    As Clarice blows back in, I hit her with “What did you find?”
    “Well, thanks Amy,” she says. “And how are you?”
    It might be abrupt, but I can’t spend time dancing with Clarice. I need to know if she has enough information to write about the senator’s history in this area.
    “I know you know that the Senator was born in the Marshalltown hotel, but did you know his parents sold it?” Her eyebrows are two commas as she drops her stuff.
    “What do you mean? The obit said his grandson owned it and was running it. Renovating it, as I remember.”
    “Yeah, the grandson, Royce, bought it back two years ago. The deal was handled by that real estate woman, don’t you know her, Janice Boxer?”
    I slue my chair around. “OK, Janice Boxer. I’ve met her. But is it being redone?”
    “That’s the talk of the town, to coin a phrase,” Clarice’s voice is tense. “I’ve heard there’s something strange going on at the hotel. People are mysteriously coming and going at night.”
    “Who’s telling you that?”
    “Oh, I’ve just gotten calls.” Clarice waves her hand airily. “Sources, just sources.”
    Maybe I’ve shot myself in the foot, letting Clarice go off on her own for a couple of days.
    “OK, what’s your story. Don’t think you’re going to write a ghost tale or something.”
    “It’s pretty straightforward,” she says, settling her face into an earnest story-telling mode. “Robert and his brother William were born at the Marshalltown Hotel. Their family owned it since late in the Gold Rush. William was older and the goodie-goodie. Robert was the one who acted out. Lots of teenage stuff, vandalism. There were people who thought he was going down a bad road. No record with the San Juan County Sheriff, who I met by the way. A little dishy. I may have to stay in touch.”
    I watch a flush start up Clarice’s neck. She sees my eyes widen and says, “I know, you’ve been there and all that crap. Cops reporters and their sources. I just think he’s nice looking.”
    “And that’s part of the story?”
    “Oh God. No. Don’t be so bitchy.”
    She’s right. I let my business and personal lives get mixed up when I fell in love with Vinnie. We kept secrets from each other because of our jobs, built tall fences with “No Trespassing” signs and were forever manning guard posts to keep the other out. It was a lousy way to live. I didn’t wish it on a young woman full of enthusiasm and promise so I subconsciously acted like some kind of keeper of morality.
    “Both William and Robert were in the war,” she rolls on. “Robert was a war hero. He got medals and a bunch of commendations from some incident in Germany. Whatever happened, it straightened him out. When he came back, he moved to the Bay Area, went to school, got involved in politics and the rest is history.”
    This is fine. It will make a nice Sunday package with some art of the town and the hotel, maybe an interview with the grandson who owns it now. I don’t think there can be anyone who remembers the senator as a boy. After all, he was in his 80s when he died.
    I’m startled when Clarice says, “I did find one woman, Sally Jacobs, who knew him.”
    “Really? Does she remember him?”
    “Oh, yeah, she remembers him.” Clarice gives a snort. “She was his high school sweetheart. She used to go joyriding with him. They even stole some older guy’s ID and drove to Monroe to get drunk.”
    My curiosity is piqued. A war hero? A U.S. Senator? Well, why not. Everybody is a kid once.
    “So did they get together when he came home?” I ask. I have no idea how this would fit in the story, but it’s sounding like a soap.
    “No, she married somebody else before he got home,” Clarice says. “She hadn’t seen or