Cover Shot (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

door, considering a plan for the day.
    Shower, gym, dead guy.
    My BlackBerry binged from its spot on my nightstand as I twisted the hot water handle. I frowned and scooted around the corner to the bedroom. Who was texting me at six thirty?
    Kyle.
    Sorry, been crazy here. Just got your message. Coffee this morning?
    Complicated. Why did everything have to be so damn complicated?
    I bit my lip, the uncertainty in Joey’s strong voice when he’d asked about Kyle the night before running around my thoughts. But Kyle was my friend—just my friend—and I wanted his help.
    Sure , I tapped back. Thompson’s at nine thirty?
    Bing. See you then.
    Sigh. Thanks.
    Bing. No problem.
    Somehow, I had a feeling coffee with Kyle could lead to a big problem for my new…whatever Joey and I were doing. But as much as I knew Aaron cared, he had a murder, which meant my creeper messages would get attention when he had some to spare. Kyle was more friend than colleague, therefore more likely to make my issue a priority. Surely, if Joey needed to know we’d seen each other, he’d understand that.
    Wouldn’t he?

4.
      
    Old flames, new friends

      
    Itook extra care with my outfit, the sundress, sweater and four-inch peep toe Louboutins a look I knew Kyle would appreciate. I just didn’t admit it to myself until I was running out of the gym for the morning news budget meeting.
    Tapping my foot through the sports rundown, I tried to pay attention when my boss moved on to Metro. Bob had inherited the section after the editor quit, and his “temporary” fill-in was going on two years. Not that anyone minded. Bob’s place among journalism’s elite was secure—and he had the Pulitzer on his wall to prove it.
    “Anything new on your dead guy this morning?” he asked, raising one bushy white eyebrow in my direction.
    “Not yet, but I’ll find something.” Even if I had to go back and bat my lashes at Jeff the doorman to do it.
    He nodded. “Of course you will. I’ll save a hole—just try to let me know if you think it’s page one or metro front, and how much space you need.”
    “I’ll call you by three.”
    My friend and favorite southern cook, Eunice Blakely, had a Sunday feature coming on a breast cancer survivor for awareness month. I smiled as she went over the story, my mom’s battle with the disease fresh in my thoughts even six years into remission.
    “Everyone said she was going to die,” Eunice finished. “And Kim talked to three doctors who said flat-out that she should have.” She held up a photo of a striking redhead with gorgeous skin and a smile to match. She didn’t look much older than me. “Her husband calls it a miracle. She credits willpower and a determination to see her kids grow up. Divine intervention or no, she’s been cancer-free for two years.”
    “TV doesn’t have this?” Bob tapped a pen on his desk. “She’s pretty. They should eat it up.”
    “She told Kimberley she’d never talked to a reporter. Their husbands work together. When I told them last month I wanted the breast cancer story to beat all breast cancer stories for October, she went to these folks. Took her weeks of begging to get them to sit for an interview, from what I understand.”
    Team coverage of the early flu epidemic was leading Metro, with a rural school district that had closed for two days to disinfect buildings and overcrowding at the local hospitals. “Do I need to ask again if everyone’s had their flu shot?” Bob’s dad-knows-best voice made me smile as I nodded.
    Half-listening to the business rundown, I scrolled through the emails in my BlackBerry with one eye on the clock. Three lawyers who wanted to plead their cases in the paper instead of a courtroom, and a patrolman who’d worked a DUI I’d written up the week before (I said it was slow). With the dead guy, the drunk driver would move to the back burner, and the attorneys could wait ’til I’d talked to Kyle and done some digging on the body