himself. Neal had let her write a little two-paragraph blurb recapping his case and mentioning that Edwards posted bail, but she needed something for today , and talking to both Edwards and the DA’s office would look great . She was still irritated that they hadn’t talked to her yesterday. Either they were putting her off or they really were busy. Goddamn, she couldn’t wait until she had more clout with the town. She was certain that if her name was as well-kn own as their star reporter, someone there would have met with her that day. She knew part of that was small-town politics too. It didn’t matter that Winchester was no longer a town—it was more like a small city nowadays—the mentality was still small town. So she’d have to wait until the DA’s office was good and ready.
She’d written down the address on her steno pad. She knew the street, so she headed across town. It was nine o’clock, not too early and— thank goodness —not too hot yet. She’d dressed more conservatively today. First, because she was going to be interviewing an alleged felon, and she didn’t need to give him any ideas. Second, because she was going to the DA’s office after , and she knew she’d never be taken seriously if she couldn’t cover her tits and thighs . So she wore a dark blue pantsuit with a sleeveless white blouse and low white heels. She had her hair pulled into a loose bun and wore two tiny gold post earrings.
When she pulled up to the address, she locked her purse in the car and dropped her car keys in her jacket pocket. The only other things she took were her pad and pen and press card. She took a deep breath. She still didn’t feel like a full-fledged reporter yet, but she knew just doing it was the training she needed.
She made sure her stride was confident as she walked up the sidewalk to the door. The lawn was really just a little bit of grass, some green, some yellow, mixed with ragweeds and crabgrass, and there was a big plastic toy car, one that a child could sit in, tilted on its side. There was a gray garden hose with a sprinkler on its end, but Nicki doubted it had been used much. On the other side of the lawn was a child’s plastic swimming pool, but dirt covered the bottom. It hadn’t been used this summer either.
She reached the door and pressed the doorbell. She heard it ring inside and heard commotion inside. “Goddammit, mom, can you get the door?”
This was going to be pleasant.
The temperature might have only been in the low seventies but Nicki felt the sweat beginning to bead up under her bun and behind her collar. She knew it was her nerves, but she reminded herself she could charm people. She just had to be polite. Surely Edwards wanted to tell his side of the story.
At last, the door knob turned . The screen door remained closed while a n older woman with dark hair streaked with gray opened the inner door. The woman’s face was lined and covered in small brown age spots. Nicki thought that—with the cocky little shit of a son who was ordering her around—it was no surprise she wasn’t aging gracefully. Nicki recognized her as one of the people sitting at Edwards’s arraignment. The woman seemed to evaluate Nicki in the swoop of her eyes. Girls like Nicki didn’t grace her doorstep every day. When she didn’t speak, Nicki said, “Hi. I’m reporter Nicki Sosebee with the Winchester Tribune , and I’d like to interview Jason Edwards if that’s possible.”
The woman drew i n a breath, ready to speak , but was interrupted by none other than Edwards himself. He had grasped the edge of the wooden door, just his presence making his mother move over. His face got close to the screen. Shit. He was even better looking up close. And, God, he had a pierced eyebrow too, something Nicki hadn’t seen in court on Tuesday. But —good-looking or not—h e was more trouble than he’d ever be worth
She’d written down the address on her steno pad. She knew the street, so she headed across town. It was nine o’clock, not too early and— thank goodness —not too hot yet. She’d dressed more conservatively today. First, because she was going to be interviewing an alleged felon, and she didn’t need to give him any ideas. Second, because she was going to the DA’s office after , and she knew she’d never be taken seriously if she couldn’t cover her tits and thighs . So she wore a dark blue pantsuit with a sleeveless white blouse and low white heels. She had her hair pulled into a loose bun and wore two tiny gold post earrings.
When she pulled up to the address, she locked her purse in the car and dropped her car keys in her jacket pocket. The only other things she took were her pad and pen and press card. She took a deep breath. She still didn’t feel like a full-fledged reporter yet, but she knew just doing it was the training she needed.
She made sure her stride was confident as she walked up the sidewalk to the door. The lawn was really just a little bit of grass, some green, some yellow, mixed with ragweeds and crabgrass, and there was a big plastic toy car, one that a child could sit in, tilted on its side. There was a gray garden hose with a sprinkler on its end, but Nicki doubted it had been used much. On the other side of the lawn was a child’s plastic swimming pool, but dirt covered the bottom. It hadn’t been used this summer either.
She reached the door and pressed the doorbell. She heard it ring inside and heard commotion inside. “Goddammit, mom, can you get the door?”
This was going to be pleasant.
The temperature might have only been in the low seventies but Nicki felt the sweat beginning to bead up under her bun and behind her collar. She knew it was her nerves, but she reminded herself she could charm people. She just had to be polite. Surely Edwards wanted to tell his side of the story.
At last, the door knob turned . The screen door remained closed while a n older woman with dark hair streaked with gray opened the inner door. The woman’s face was lined and covered in small brown age spots. Nicki thought that—with the cocky little shit of a son who was ordering her around—it was no surprise she wasn’t aging gracefully. Nicki recognized her as one of the people sitting at Edwards’s arraignment. The woman seemed to evaluate Nicki in the swoop of her eyes. Girls like Nicki didn’t grace her doorstep every day. When she didn’t speak, Nicki said, “Hi. I’m reporter Nicki Sosebee with the Winchester Tribune , and I’d like to interview Jason Edwards if that’s possible.”
The woman drew i n a breath, ready to speak , but was interrupted by none other than Edwards himself. He had grasped the edge of the wooden door, just his presence making his mother move over. His face got close to the screen. Shit. He was even better looking up close. And, God, he had a pierced eyebrow too, something Nicki hadn’t seen in court on Tuesday. But —good-looking or not—h e was more trouble than he’d ever be worth
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