brush through her hair, she pulled it into a pony-tail. Regarding her reflection in the mirror, she mumbled,
"Stunning," then put her appearance out of her mind and focused on work.
14 Sandra Brown
ra ,~d_rrown
Over the years, she had cultivated numerous sourcesclerks, secretaries, illicit lovers, chambermaids, cops, a handful of people in key positions-who occasionally provided her with valuable information and reliable leads. One was a young woman named Anna Chen, who worked in the administration office of D.C. General Hospital. The juicy scuttlebutt Anna Chen picked up through the hospital grapevine frequently led to good stories. She was one of Barrie's most reliable sources.
Hoping it wasn't too late to catch her at the office, Barrie looked up her number in her home Rolodex and dialed. The hospital operator put her right through.
"Hi, Anna. This is Barrie Travis. Glad I caught you."
"I was on my way out. What's up?"
"What would be my chances of getting a copy of the Merritt baby's autopsy report?"
"Is this a joke?"
"That slim?"
"Nigh to impossible, Barrie. Sorry."
"I thought so, but it never hurts to ask."
"Why do you want it?"
She did some verbal acrobatics as to her reason, which seemed to pacify her source. "Thanks anyway, Anna."
Disappointed, Barrie hung up. An autopsy report would have been a good starting point, although she was still unclear as to exactly what she was starting.
"What do you want for dinner, Cronkite?" she asked as she loped downstairs to the kitchen. She opened the pantry and recited the menu selections.
"Tonight's specialties include Kibbles and Bits, Alpo chicken and liver, or Gravy Train." He whined with disappointment. Taking pity, she said,
"Luigi's?" Out came his long, pink tongue, and he began panting like a pervert at a peep show.
Her conscience told her to have a Lean Cuisine for din-EXCLUSIVE 15
ner, but what the hell? When you spent your evenings at home in a football jersey and gym socks, conversing with a mongrel and having nothing to look forward to except hours of research, what difference did a few hundred fat grams make?
While she was on the telephone ordering two pizzas, Cronkite began whining to go outside. She covered the telephone mouthpiece. "If it's that urgent, use your doggie door." Cronkite glanced disdainfully at the opening cut in the back door. It was large enough to accommodate Cronkite, but not so large that she worried about intruders. As she was reiterating her pizza order, she jabbed her index finger toward the doggie door. Looking humiliated, Cronkite crawled through it. She was off the phone by the time he was ready to come back inside, so she opened the back door for him.
"The pizzas are guaranteed in twenty-five minutes or we get them free."
While waiting for the delivery, she poured a glass of merlot and carried it up to the third floor, which she had converted into a home office. She had cashed in a trust fund to purchase the townhouse, located in the fashionable Dupont Circle district. The building was quaint and had character and was also convenient to everything in the city.
Initially she had leased out the top floor, which was a self-contained apartment. But when her renter moved to Europe with six months left on her lease, Barrie used the extra money to convert the three cramped rooms into one large studio/office.
One entire wall of the room was now devoted to videotape storage. She had shelves upon shelves of them. She saved all her own reports, newscasts of historical significance, and every news magazine show. The tapes were alphabetized according to subject. She went straight to the tape she wanted, loaded it into the VCR, and watched it while slowly sipping her wine.
16 Sandra Brown
The death and funeral of Robert Rushton Merritt had been thoroughly documented. The tragedy seemed doubly unfair since it had happened to the Merritts, whose marriage was considered the epitome of perfection.
President David Malcomb Merritt
"Stunning," then put her appearance out of her mind and focused on work.
14 Sandra Brown
ra ,~d_rrown
Over the years, she had cultivated numerous sourcesclerks, secretaries, illicit lovers, chambermaids, cops, a handful of people in key positions-who occasionally provided her with valuable information and reliable leads. One was a young woman named Anna Chen, who worked in the administration office of D.C. General Hospital. The juicy scuttlebutt Anna Chen picked up through the hospital grapevine frequently led to good stories. She was one of Barrie's most reliable sources.
Hoping it wasn't too late to catch her at the office, Barrie looked up her number in her home Rolodex and dialed. The hospital operator put her right through.
"Hi, Anna. This is Barrie Travis. Glad I caught you."
"I was on my way out. What's up?"
"What would be my chances of getting a copy of the Merritt baby's autopsy report?"
"Is this a joke?"
"That slim?"
"Nigh to impossible, Barrie. Sorry."
"I thought so, but it never hurts to ask."
"Why do you want it?"
She did some verbal acrobatics as to her reason, which seemed to pacify her source. "Thanks anyway, Anna."
Disappointed, Barrie hung up. An autopsy report would have been a good starting point, although she was still unclear as to exactly what she was starting.
"What do you want for dinner, Cronkite?" she asked as she loped downstairs to the kitchen. She opened the pantry and recited the menu selections.
"Tonight's specialties include Kibbles and Bits, Alpo chicken and liver, or Gravy Train." He whined with disappointment. Taking pity, she said,
"Luigi's?" Out came his long, pink tongue, and he began panting like a pervert at a peep show.
Her conscience told her to have a Lean Cuisine for din-EXCLUSIVE 15
ner, but what the hell? When you spent your evenings at home in a football jersey and gym socks, conversing with a mongrel and having nothing to look forward to except hours of research, what difference did a few hundred fat grams make?
While she was on the telephone ordering two pizzas, Cronkite began whining to go outside. She covered the telephone mouthpiece. "If it's that urgent, use your doggie door." Cronkite glanced disdainfully at the opening cut in the back door. It was large enough to accommodate Cronkite, but not so large that she worried about intruders. As she was reiterating her pizza order, she jabbed her index finger toward the doggie door. Looking humiliated, Cronkite crawled through it. She was off the phone by the time he was ready to come back inside, so she opened the back door for him.
"The pizzas are guaranteed in twenty-five minutes or we get them free."
While waiting for the delivery, she poured a glass of merlot and carried it up to the third floor, which she had converted into a home office. She had cashed in a trust fund to purchase the townhouse, located in the fashionable Dupont Circle district. The building was quaint and had character and was also convenient to everything in the city.
Initially she had leased out the top floor, which was a self-contained apartment. But when her renter moved to Europe with six months left on her lease, Barrie used the extra money to convert the three cramped rooms into one large studio/office.
One entire wall of the room was now devoted to videotape storage. She had shelves upon shelves of them. She saved all her own reports, newscasts of historical significance, and every news magazine show. The tapes were alphabetized according to subject. She went straight to the tape she wanted, loaded it into the VCR, and watched it while slowly sipping her wine.
16 Sandra Brown
The death and funeral of Robert Rushton Merritt had been thoroughly documented. The tragedy seemed doubly unfair since it had happened to the Merritts, whose marriage was considered the epitome of perfection.
President David Malcomb Merritt
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