Dead Air: A Talk Radio Mystery Read Online Free PDF

for five minutes, it would be the high point of my life.” Lark is into all things New Age: pyramids, crystals, incense, tarot, I Ching , channeling, and chi.
    She sat back with a little sigh, her cornflower blue eyes wistful. Lark is slim and petite with a choppy blond bob that suits her pixieish face. Physically, we’re polar opposites. I tower over her at five-ten with straight auburn hair that can be sleek or frizzy depending on the famous Florida humidity.
    “Really? I should have remembered you’re into Eastern mystics,” I said ruefully. Or pretend mystics , I felt like saying. Deep in my bones, I knew that Guru Sanjay had as much in common with mysticism as I did with aboriginal tribes in New Guinea.
    The sun was beginning to dip in the western sky, and the last traces of sunlight spilled onto the round oak dining table. I’d finished my shift at WYME a couple of hours earlier and we were sharing a veggie pizza in the kitchen of our town house. It’s a cozy place with wide oak floors, exposed beams, and creamy walls dotted with colorful canvases that Lark picks up at local flea markets.
    Lark and I have been roommates for the past three months and are on our way to becoming best friends. When I rented the three-bedroom condo on a quiet street lined with bright pink hibiscus bushes and flaming bougainvillea, Lark was the first person who asked to be my roommate.
    Plus, she and Pugsley hit it off, and I knew it would be a good match. Pugsley is my three-year-old pug adopted from an animal shelter, and I’ve always subscribed to the adage “Love me, love my dog.”
    Lark is twenty-three but seems younger sometimes. Maybe it’s because of her perpetually sunny personality. She has a kind of “life hasn’t crushed me yet” optimism that’s a nice balance to my Manhattan-style pessimism. Her favorite movie is Forrest Gump , and mine is anything by Woody Allen. That about sums it up.
    Lark’s studying to be a paralegal, and I had no idea she was a fan of the guru. I could have invited her to sit in on the broadcast today, even though we don’t usually allow visitors in the booth.
    “He’s my idol. I can’t believe I missed the show,” she said plaintively. “Why didn’t you let me know it was on today? I would have called in with a question. I’ve read all his books!”
    I gave myself a mental head slap. “I’ll bring you a tape of the show—how’s that? And if you’re really interested in going to one of his workshops, I can give you a couple of press passes he left at the station. He’s doing a breakfast presentation in the morning, and there’s a big awards ceremony tomorrow night. I have tickets for some of the events.”
    “Oh, I couldn’t take your tickets!” Her eyes were shining with excitement. “How could you ever part with them?”
    “I’m not going to use them. Really.” I had to smile at her enthusiasm. “The dinner is right next door at the Seabreeze Inn, so the food should be good. The guru and his staff are staying there.”
    We live next to one of the town’s nicest small hotels, and Ted Rollins, the manager, is a friend of mine. Sometimes I think he’d like to be more than friends, but somehow the chemistry just isn’t there. Not for me, anyway.
    “The Seabreeze, huh?” She shook her head in wonderment. “Just think. Guru Sanjay is only a few yards away from me, this very minute. I wonder what he’s doing right now?” She peered out the window with her chin cupped in her hand, like Nicole Kidman staring out over the Paris rooftops in Moulin Rouge . “I bet he’s meditating,” she added in a dreamy voice.
    “Ommmmmm.”
    “What?”
    I grinned. “You said he was meditating.”
    “Oh, nobody says ‘om’ anymore. He’s probably sitting in the lotus position, chanting his mantra.” She sighed, as if the thrill of it all nearly sucked the air out of her chest.
    Not a good image. A picture of a half-naked guru with his gut hanging over his yoga pants drifted