Leather Maiden Read Free

even cheap. But here I was. I had screwed things up so I could arrive at just this spot. I was deep into having myself a pity party when Oswald, the testy asshole, came over. I had hoped me and him were through for the day. But no such luck.
    â€œTimpson just called me,” he said. “She wants me to help you get your feet wet.”
    â€œGo ahead, dampen me.”
    â€œWell, Francine, the previous columnist, had a bunch of ideas she was working on, and Timpson thought you might want to look over those, see if you could get a running start before you had to come up with your own. You’re not obligated to use any of them, but she told me to tell you to take a look…You know, I thought I was going to get this job.”
    â€œI was beginning to suspect that,” I said.
    â€œBut no, she wanted a certain cachet. She thought it would be nice PR having someone who had been nominated for the Pulitzer.”
    â€œIf it’s any consolation, a nomination eats your heart out.”
    â€œNo. No consolation. I’m used to getting screwed.”
    â€œI hope you don’t think this is some kind of racial thing, because if you do, I just want you to know, sincerely, and I say this pleasantly and from the bottom of my heart, you are full of shit.”
    Oswald sat on the edge of my desk. “I don’t. I’m just one of those people born to be screwed and to be bitter about it, but with a slight and engaging sense of humor, of course.”
    â€œYou really believe that?”
    Oswald nodded. “I believe some of us are born with a target on our butt, and dead center of it is a slot with a sign above it that says: Insert dick here.”
    â€œDo you look both ways when you cross the street?”
    â€œI see this coming,” Oswald said.
    â€œThat’s what you can say if you look both ways…Do you?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œThen you believe your destiny is at least partly up to you, otherwise you wouldn’t be worried about being a hood ornament. It would be pre-ordained. So I suggest you remove the target from your ass.” Oswald gave me an irritated look. I said, “Let’s change the subject. What happened to Francine?”
    â€œShe was either fired, or she died. I don’t quite remember. Does it matter?”
    â€œSuppose not. Where do I find those ideas of Francine’s?”
    Oswald patted my computer. “In yon machine. Francine’s codes and information are on a pad in the desk drawer. So now my duty is done, and I go back to work.”
    The testy asshole went back to his desk. For all his talk, I had a feeling Oswald really felt more entitled than ambitious. I figured, you got right down to it, his greatest ambition was teaching his dog to lick peanut butter off his balls.
    I looked in the drawer and found the little notebook with the information I needed, went to work. Most of the stuff I found in Francine’s computer notes was about as exciting as counting the hairs in an armpit. There were terse investigations into the ingredients for Snickers Bar Pie, the major ingredients being the Snickers themselves and lots of butter. I was surprised the recipe didn’t come with a funeral plan. There were bits on flower arranging and how to get stains out of damn near anything. Nothing that really grabbed me by the lapels, but I persevered.
    And then I came across it. A six-month-old mystery.
    Caroline Allison. A university student. History major. Age twenty-three. She disappeared on a late-night run to a fast-food place, Taco Bell. A week later her car was found just outside of town, near the old rail station, not far downhill from the Siegel home. It was a creepy place to disappear.
    The Siegel home had been a kind of legend for years. It had belonged to two sisters. Story was they had been high-tone in the 1920s. They were in their teens at the time. Then came the Great Depression, and their family lost money when the stock