BM03 - Crazy Little Thing Called Dead Read Online Free PDF

she came in the door, “I thought you were coming over to the house last night. You forget?” Meg threw her bag onto the shelf behind her desk. “We need to talk about next week’s front page.”
    “I’m working on it now. Headline: Identity of body found at Planet Hair , and then either still a mystery , or is revealed . With a photo of Claire in front of her salon. What do you think?”
    “You could put a picture of Claire naked on the cover for all I care. Just as long as it sells papers.”
    “Is circulation down?” I said.
    “No, but someone is telling our advertisers it is. Tireless Tractors and Steadfast Feeds are threatening to pull their ads. If they go, others will follow.”
    “That’s crap. Who told them our numbers were down?” My sixth sense was pointing straight at Lucy Howe.
    “Don’t know, and no one is talking.”
    “Maybe we should launch an Internet edition. Tell them that we’ll throw in online ads for free for the first month or so.”
    “I can’t see that doing anything for us. How’s it going to increase revenue? More to the point, how can we prove that people are seeing their ads?”
    “Run a coupon. Tag it so they can tell when people print it off the Internet and bring it in.”
    “I don’t know Bree, we already have a cash flow problem, how can I pay someone to oversee the online edition?”
    “I’ll do it for free until it gets off the ground.” Just what I needed, more work for the same pay.
    “I’ll think about it. But don’t push me, okay. You know how I feel about the Internet.” She went to her desk and dumped her purse.
    I did know. Meg resented the rate at which electronic data was supplanting print media. Paper was everything; it was tradition with a capital T.
    “Do you think I should take some night classes in investigative reporting?” As much as I didn’t want to be insecure about my reporting skills, I was.
    “I don’t think you need to, at least not for me, but if you want to then go for it. I’m all for self-improvement. In others. You won’t catch me going back to school.”
    “That’s kind of a non-answer: sure, but I wouldn’t?”
    “You’re doing a fine job for a small time paper. I don’t want to lose you, but if you see a future at a big city paper someday, then you probably should. It’s been eight years since you graduated, and I don’t know, did you take classes in journalism?” I guess I hadn’t talked much about school with Meg.
    “Yeah. A couple. Nothing hardcore.” And I hadn’t paid attention. What does a small town farm girl need with a degree in business and journalism? I don’t know what I thought I was going to do when I graduated.
    “Do what you need to do. But do it for yourself, not for me.” She focused her attention on her computer. “And make sure it doesn’t interfere with your day job.”
    I was getting hungry, and a glance out the window told me the fire department had fired up the big grill on the green. “Going to eat chicken at Old Home Days?”
    Old Home Days is a Vermont—or maybe a New England—thing. It’s basically an excuse to eat too much food, drink too much beer and watch little kids ride rinky-dink carnival rides. Like a county fair on the opposite of steroids.
    “I wish. I’m going to West Leb for office supplies this afternoon. You want to come?”
    “Sure, as long as we’re going to do lunch.”
    I wrote, and Meg talked to advertisers on the phone. Deirdre didn’t work on Thursdays. There wasn’t enough work for her to worry about being here. Besides she worked enough overtime on paste-up day that she could probably work a three-day work week and get more than enough hours.
    Meg shut me down at noon. “Lunch,” she said. “Let’s go.”
    I deserted my article for the promise of food and put a bowl of water out for Beagle Annie, who lifted her head and looked at me with her dark brown, black-lined eyes, to see if she was invited. She put her head back down when I didn’t