A Stranger Lies There by Stephen Santogrossi Page A

I will be first with it.”
    â€œI don’t really give a damn,” I said, raising my voice. “I hope you win the fucking Pulitzer for it. You can take your story and shove it up your ass. Just do it off my property.”
    By this time Deirdre had unlocked the front door and was pulling me inside.
    â€œYou know Turret’s out don’t you?” And when that didn’t get a response: “I should have you two arrested for assault! See how you like jail again after all this time.”
    Deirdre slammed the door, turned on the living room lights, and looked me up and down. “You okay?”
    â€œYeah, I’m all right. That was a pretty good kick you gave him, though.”
    â€œI had a feeling he was a reporter even before I saw his ID,” she said, moving into the kitchen.
    It was stiflingly hot in the house. Deirdre opened the sliding glass door and stood a few moments in front of the screen, breathing in the night air. Our backyard was dusted with a silvery light from our neighbor’s security lamp. It outlined Deirdre in a faint aurora, as though she was lit from within.
    The illusion lasted only half a moment in her stillness, then she spoke.
    â€œI knew he’d dug up your past. I don’t think I would have kicked him if he hadn’t grabbed me. But I might have.”
    I didn’t respond.
    â€œSo. Your cell-mate,” Deirdre said without turning around.
    No reason not to tell her. “He was a Hell’s Angel. Don’t remember his name. I found him dead one morning. My first year, when I was on laundry detail.” Deirdre turned to face me. “They had those big, industrial, stainless steel machines. He was floating in one. Just him and all that soapy water.” I paused. “That wasn’t what killed him, though.” Deirdre raised an eyebrow. “Sticky fingers are a no-no when you’re part of a prison drug ring. Got him a bleach cocktail. Followed by the hot bath.”
    â€œAnd you?” Deirdre asked.
    â€œI just shared a box with him.”
    I switched on the overhead fluorescents. They flickered to life, bathing the room in a blue-white glow. Deirdre went to the cabinet and took down two glasses, then got a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. She sat down at the table, which had a slight wobble that I hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet, and poured us both a glass.
    When I sat down across from her, she took a sip of her tea and said, “So I guess your story will be all over the newspaper tomorrow.”
    Just then the telephone rang, startling us. It seemed blaring and strident in our small kitchen and I hesitated before getting up to answer it. Deirdre looked at me expectantly as I picked up on the third ring, just before the answering machine would have taken it. I wished I’d let it.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œIs this Mr. Ryder?”
    â€œWho wants to know?” I asked, shaking my head with disgust. It had to be another reporter, I thought. They’d be coming out of the woodwork now. Deirdre got up from her chair and approached inquisitively. Our eyes locked as the man on the other end continued.
    â€œI’m James Parker from the Pilot , hoping to get some comments about the murder that happened out there yesterday.” Out there. Like North Palm Springs was alien territory from where this guy was calling from.
    â€œThis is Tim Ryder, isn’t it?”
    â€œHow did you get this number? It’s supposed to be unlisted. And don’t you guys go home at night?”
    â€œI’m just a working man trying to get ahead, sir. Putting in a few extra hours to get some background, some human interest on the story.”
    â€œThe fact that he was murdered in cold blood isn’t human interest enough for you? You gotta bother me at home, use a kid’s death to get ahead?” I asked, getting irritated.
    Who is it? Deirdre mouthed.
    â€œI understand how you feel sir.