“But that’s how I got the pic.”
My skin tingled, as if I’d been rolling in fresh-cut grass. I tried to shake it off as just a reaction to his aftershave.
I’d gotten used to lying to myself a lot over the years.
“So, what’s so special about this?” Bran shifted into reporter mode. I could almost see the pencil poised to scribble across the empty page in his inner eye. “I mean, it’s horrible and all, but what’s the real story here?”
“Her family is upset about a photograph being smeared across the cheapest rag in the city, including toilet paper.” An order of dumplings appeared in front of him, Eddie supplying another set of napkins. “I’d have thought that much was obvious.”
“To a degree.” He picked up one dumpling with a fork and dabbed the end into the wasabi, smearing the hot green paste all over the tasty bundle. “But there’s more to this than just finding who took the photograph. You’re going after the killer while the cops do their own investigation. And don’t even try to tell me you’re not. I can’t see you quitting after grabbing the photobug.” He popped the dumpling into his mouth without flinching, chewing it slowly. “That puts a whole different spin on things, now.”
I watched as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, trickling down the sides of his face while he continued to eat the doughy bites without a single sip of beer. “Now, I’m pretty sure the police are going to write this one off. Not fair, not nice but that’s the way it is. They’re overworked and underpaid and all that. So, this is how it goes.” He waved the empty fork at me. “You allow me to follow the Cat woman Killer story with you and I cut you in for part of the credit when you catch the killer and I write the sequel.”
I almost reached across the table to strangle him right there, damn the good feelings I’d had a few seconds before. As it was, I flexed my fingers, wishing I had kept my nails as long as some of the women back on the farm did. A good scratching was almost acceptable in polite society, if I recalled correctly.
“Look, I don’t think you understand me.” I pulled in a deep breath and tried to center myself, find a Zen place and stay there. “If I were going after the killer, and I’m not confirming that I am, I’m hunting a man who killed an innocent woman. I’m not looking for street cred or some version of a Pulitzer Prize for crappy rags. This isn’t some reality show where you get to dash around and play the hero and drag me along for the ride.”
“I get that.” His face went sad and solemn, the silence falling over us blocking out the rising noise from the bar. “I’ve been there, done that. I know what you want. All I’m asking is to come along for the ride.” He snatched up the bottle and drained the foam out of the bottom. “Besides, you need me to get started.” His previous joviality returned. I wanted to smack him.
“Okay.” An overpowering rush of perfume hit my nose, sending a shock through my system. Some woman was just aching to have me dunk her in the nearest body of water, even if it happened to be a toilet bowl. “This is how it’s going to work. First, you’re going to take me back to your place.”
Bran’s eyebrows shot up as he grinned. “Really?”
“Yes, you are. Do you still have that envelope the photo arrived in? Or the actual photo?”
“Of course not.” He finished off the remaining dumplings in a rush. “I handed it off to the editor and trashed the envelope.”
“You never wondered who took the picture or why it ended up on your table?” My fingernails dug under the paper label on the beer bottle, pulling it off in small strips.
“Honey, where do you think the majority of my stories come from?” He exhaled a mouthful of wasabi, causing my nose to curl up. “People drop off this, that and the other thing at my desk at the Inquisitor all the time. You should see the crap hitting my email box
My skin tingled, as if I’d been rolling in fresh-cut grass. I tried to shake it off as just a reaction to his aftershave.
I’d gotten used to lying to myself a lot over the years.
“So, what’s so special about this?” Bran shifted into reporter mode. I could almost see the pencil poised to scribble across the empty page in his inner eye. “I mean, it’s horrible and all, but what’s the real story here?”
“Her family is upset about a photograph being smeared across the cheapest rag in the city, including toilet paper.” An order of dumplings appeared in front of him, Eddie supplying another set of napkins. “I’d have thought that much was obvious.”
“To a degree.” He picked up one dumpling with a fork and dabbed the end into the wasabi, smearing the hot green paste all over the tasty bundle. “But there’s more to this than just finding who took the photograph. You’re going after the killer while the cops do their own investigation. And don’t even try to tell me you’re not. I can’t see you quitting after grabbing the photobug.” He popped the dumpling into his mouth without flinching, chewing it slowly. “That puts a whole different spin on things, now.”
I watched as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, trickling down the sides of his face while he continued to eat the doughy bites without a single sip of beer. “Now, I’m pretty sure the police are going to write this one off. Not fair, not nice but that’s the way it is. They’re overworked and underpaid and all that. So, this is how it goes.” He waved the empty fork at me. “You allow me to follow the Cat woman Killer story with you and I cut you in for part of the credit when you catch the killer and I write the sequel.”
I almost reached across the table to strangle him right there, damn the good feelings I’d had a few seconds before. As it was, I flexed my fingers, wishing I had kept my nails as long as some of the women back on the farm did. A good scratching was almost acceptable in polite society, if I recalled correctly.
“Look, I don’t think you understand me.” I pulled in a deep breath and tried to center myself, find a Zen place and stay there. “If I were going after the killer, and I’m not confirming that I am, I’m hunting a man who killed an innocent woman. I’m not looking for street cred or some version of a Pulitzer Prize for crappy rags. This isn’t some reality show where you get to dash around and play the hero and drag me along for the ride.”
“I get that.” His face went sad and solemn, the silence falling over us blocking out the rising noise from the bar. “I’ve been there, done that. I know what you want. All I’m asking is to come along for the ride.” He snatched up the bottle and drained the foam out of the bottom. “Besides, you need me to get started.” His previous joviality returned. I wanted to smack him.
“Okay.” An overpowering rush of perfume hit my nose, sending a shock through my system. Some woman was just aching to have me dunk her in the nearest body of water, even if it happened to be a toilet bowl. “This is how it’s going to work. First, you’re going to take me back to your place.”
Bran’s eyebrows shot up as he grinned. “Really?”
“Yes, you are. Do you still have that envelope the photo arrived in? Or the actual photo?”
“Of course not.” He finished off the remaining dumplings in a rush. “I handed it off to the editor and trashed the envelope.”
“You never wondered who took the picture or why it ended up on your table?” My fingernails dug under the paper label on the beer bottle, pulling it off in small strips.
“Honey, where do you think the majority of my stories come from?” He exhaled a mouthful of wasabi, causing my nose to curl up. “People drop off this, that and the other thing at my desk at the Inquisitor all the time. You should see the crap hitting my email box
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