my cheeks one last time and faced him, vaguely remembering a couple of the sports guys bantering about Parker banging a brunette from copy a while back.
“Well, thank you. And I know. About Shelby, I mean. It took me forever to figure out what she had up her ass when I first came here, but I finally caught on. I’ve read some of her stuff in the archives. Her writing is solid. Given a chance, she might be good at this—if she could handle the crap and jump through the hoops. But I’d like for her to keep those skills at the copy desk for now.” I tapped the bottle on the countertop and smiled. “Keeps me on my A game.”
He nodded. “So, just the one dead guy? Is he an interesting dead guy, at least?”
“Yeah, there’s something,” I said, deciding to skirt the details of the deal I’d made with Aaron just in case Parker and Shelby still had a thing going. It didn’t really sound like it, but better safe than sorry. “I’m not exactly sure how interesting it is, but I can do a little digging.”
Parker’s eyes narrowed as he listened to a synopsis of what I had on the presses that night, which anyone could have pulled off the server and read.
“So all the drugs and money were still in the house?” He laughed, but it wasn’t the relaxed sound I’d heard in the meeting that morning. There was an edge to it I couldn’t place. “That sounds kinda suspicious to me, but what do I know?”
“How many RBIs did Jeter have last season?” I grinned, pushing the subject away from my story. I wasn’t in the habit of sharing the down-and-dirty of what I was working on before I finished an article. People talk, sometimes to the wrong person, even when they don’t mean any harm.
“Hey, speaking of Jeter, do you like baseball? The Yankees are in town tonight.” Parker’s once-pitching-hero status and blinding grin had landed him the cushy star sports columnist gig, and though it didn’t require evening hours, he still loved baseball and chose to spend his summer nights at the stadium covering the city’s big league team. Bob, not surprisingly, didn’t object. “Want to hang out at the ballpark with me and a bunch of over-opinionated sports guys?”
“Tempting.” I laughed, not sure if I was lying or not, but relieved to have a better excuse than sitting at home with the dog and one of my ridiculously monochromatic puzzles. “But I have plans. It’s girls’ night. Margaritas and Mexican food.”
He nodded. “Some other time, then.”
Not likely, I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. Parker was the kind of guy who dated the kind of girls who starred in beer commercials. And I generally preferred men who spent less time on their hair than I did on mine.
I smiled instead and turned toward the door.
“I need to go see if my story’s set before it gets too much later,” I said. “Nice talking to you.”
“Back at you. Have a good time tonight.”
“You, too. I hope they win.”
I hurried to Bob’s office and tapped on the doorframe.
“Yeah?” He didn’t turn from his computer monitor.
“Did you need me to make any changes to my piece before it goes?”
“No. Not a lot of bite, but it looked like you didn’t have much to share. What happened to the vigilante?”
I kept my eyes on my shoes. “They didn’t have it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe Monday,” I said, making a mental note to come up with a plausible story to put him off again before then. “The cops are trying to figure out if these guys were connected. Hopefully they’ll get lucky this weekend.”
“Just as long as Charlie Lewis doesn’t have it Sunday.” Bob’s eyes never left the screen—I’d bet he didn’t even lose his place in the story he was editing. “Have a good weekend, kiddo. See you Monday.”
Not even sticking around to chat with Melanie at the city desk as I normally would, I called a goodnight to anyone who happened to be listening as I unplugged my laptop and slid it into my bag. Striding
“Well, thank you. And I know. About Shelby, I mean. It took me forever to figure out what she had up her ass when I first came here, but I finally caught on. I’ve read some of her stuff in the archives. Her writing is solid. Given a chance, she might be good at this—if she could handle the crap and jump through the hoops. But I’d like for her to keep those skills at the copy desk for now.” I tapped the bottle on the countertop and smiled. “Keeps me on my A game.”
He nodded. “So, just the one dead guy? Is he an interesting dead guy, at least?”
“Yeah, there’s something,” I said, deciding to skirt the details of the deal I’d made with Aaron just in case Parker and Shelby still had a thing going. It didn’t really sound like it, but better safe than sorry. “I’m not exactly sure how interesting it is, but I can do a little digging.”
Parker’s eyes narrowed as he listened to a synopsis of what I had on the presses that night, which anyone could have pulled off the server and read.
“So all the drugs and money were still in the house?” He laughed, but it wasn’t the relaxed sound I’d heard in the meeting that morning. There was an edge to it I couldn’t place. “That sounds kinda suspicious to me, but what do I know?”
“How many RBIs did Jeter have last season?” I grinned, pushing the subject away from my story. I wasn’t in the habit of sharing the down-and-dirty of what I was working on before I finished an article. People talk, sometimes to the wrong person, even when they don’t mean any harm.
“Hey, speaking of Jeter, do you like baseball? The Yankees are in town tonight.” Parker’s once-pitching-hero status and blinding grin had landed him the cushy star sports columnist gig, and though it didn’t require evening hours, he still loved baseball and chose to spend his summer nights at the stadium covering the city’s big league team. Bob, not surprisingly, didn’t object. “Want to hang out at the ballpark with me and a bunch of over-opinionated sports guys?”
“Tempting.” I laughed, not sure if I was lying or not, but relieved to have a better excuse than sitting at home with the dog and one of my ridiculously monochromatic puzzles. “But I have plans. It’s girls’ night. Margaritas and Mexican food.”
He nodded. “Some other time, then.”
Not likely, I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. Parker was the kind of guy who dated the kind of girls who starred in beer commercials. And I generally preferred men who spent less time on their hair than I did on mine.
I smiled instead and turned toward the door.
“I need to go see if my story’s set before it gets too much later,” I said. “Nice talking to you.”
“Back at you. Have a good time tonight.”
“You, too. I hope they win.”
I hurried to Bob’s office and tapped on the doorframe.
“Yeah?” He didn’t turn from his computer monitor.
“Did you need me to make any changes to my piece before it goes?”
“No. Not a lot of bite, but it looked like you didn’t have much to share. What happened to the vigilante?”
I kept my eyes on my shoes. “They didn’t have it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe Monday,” I said, making a mental note to come up with a plausible story to put him off again before then. “The cops are trying to figure out if these guys were connected. Hopefully they’ll get lucky this weekend.”
“Just as long as Charlie Lewis doesn’t have it Sunday.” Bob’s eyes never left the screen—I’d bet he didn’t even lose his place in the story he was editing. “Have a good weekend, kiddo. See you Monday.”
Not even sticking around to chat with Melanie at the city desk as I normally would, I called a goodnight to anyone who happened to be listening as I unplugged my laptop and slid it into my bag. Striding
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