out before I stuck my neck out. Right now, I was relying on Aunt Madge’s and my own instincts. Hers might be good but, hell, I never figured out Robby was draining our bank accounts. How good were my instincts? Maybe he did kill his mother. I pushed that thought aside.
I WAS MORE RELAXED THAN I had been in a long time, and spent the weekend walking on the beach, reading a Sue Grafton novel and trying to convince Jazz that Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy only wanted to smell her, not eat her. Aunt Madge suggested that I simply leave Jazz alone, perhaps sitting on the bookcase, and she would get used to the guys. I was convinced that I needed to protect Jazz until she had her confidence about the relationships. One of the best things about Aunt Madge is that she only makes her suggestions once.
Every time I went out I looked for Scoobie. I thought of going to the library, but reasoned that it would be invading his space. Who am I kidding? We had been good friends for one school year, but was there a reason to strike up that friendship again? We had had a lot of fun, though. I decided that’s what I was looking for, something fun to do. I debated calling Michael, but decided even though I thought he was innocent it bordered on nuts to invite a possible murderer to lunch. If I hadn’t found anyone to hang out with besides Aunt Madge by next weekend, I’d visit my sister and do some shopping at the Mall in Lakewood.
On Monday I went to Java Jolt before I stopped at Harry’s to see if he had more work. I had thought of a way to learn more about Michael. I didn’t even know the name of Michael’s firm, but I figured if I Googled “Riordan + Houston + oil” I’d get something. Sure enough, Michael Riordan was still listed as vice-president for operations of USA Energy Distributors. The company web site said the firm distributed “home-grown Texas oil” throughout the western United States. Home-grown? These guys could use a botany class.
I found a Houston newspaper on line and a brief article said Michael would be stepping down at a date to be determined, but it was only a short note on the business page. I scanned the business section and saw an article by Joel Kenner about the drop in home heating oil prices because OPEC had lowered the per-barrel price. Maybe Mr. Kenner would know more about the circumstances behind Michael’s departure. I went to switchboard.com and found the phone number for the paper and jotted it down.
Thank goodness for mobile phones. Mine is programmed not to give out my name or number on anyone’s caller ID. I wasn’t sure I’d be exactly honest with Mr. Kenner about who I was. I went out to the boardwalk and sat on a bench. Kenner took my call and listened as I explained I was a reporter for the Ocean Alley Press and was looking into Riordan’s background in conjunction with a piece I was doing on him. When he asked, I hesitated a second and then said my name was Georgine Winters . Damn, that was dumb.
Good reporter that he was he wanted to know more about the story I was working on. The murder accusation was public information, so I started to give brief background when he stopped me. “You’re telling me Michael Riordan has been accused of murder? Let me get my pen.” My heart almost stopped. This is not good.
I spent a couple minutes telling him that I was one of a number of people who thought the police evidence against Riordan seemed flimsy, and that’s why I was doing the story. He wanted a lot of particulars, so I told him he should consult the paper’s web page, as I had not done the prior articles. That stopped him, and I was able to ask my questions.
“All I could find in your paper was a brief piece saying Riordan was stepping down as VP for operations at USA Energy Distributors, but a couple folks here have said he had a falling out with his partners. Do you know any more about that?”
“I don’t know a lot yet, though I’ll be doing some more digging now.” I
I WAS MORE RELAXED THAN I had been in a long time, and spent the weekend walking on the beach, reading a Sue Grafton novel and trying to convince Jazz that Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy only wanted to smell her, not eat her. Aunt Madge suggested that I simply leave Jazz alone, perhaps sitting on the bookcase, and she would get used to the guys. I was convinced that I needed to protect Jazz until she had her confidence about the relationships. One of the best things about Aunt Madge is that she only makes her suggestions once.
Every time I went out I looked for Scoobie. I thought of going to the library, but reasoned that it would be invading his space. Who am I kidding? We had been good friends for one school year, but was there a reason to strike up that friendship again? We had had a lot of fun, though. I decided that’s what I was looking for, something fun to do. I debated calling Michael, but decided even though I thought he was innocent it bordered on nuts to invite a possible murderer to lunch. If I hadn’t found anyone to hang out with besides Aunt Madge by next weekend, I’d visit my sister and do some shopping at the Mall in Lakewood.
On Monday I went to Java Jolt before I stopped at Harry’s to see if he had more work. I had thought of a way to learn more about Michael. I didn’t even know the name of Michael’s firm, but I figured if I Googled “Riordan + Houston + oil” I’d get something. Sure enough, Michael Riordan was still listed as vice-president for operations of USA Energy Distributors. The company web site said the firm distributed “home-grown Texas oil” throughout the western United States. Home-grown? These guys could use a botany class.
I found a Houston newspaper on line and a brief article said Michael would be stepping down at a date to be determined, but it was only a short note on the business page. I scanned the business section and saw an article by Joel Kenner about the drop in home heating oil prices because OPEC had lowered the per-barrel price. Maybe Mr. Kenner would know more about the circumstances behind Michael’s departure. I went to switchboard.com and found the phone number for the paper and jotted it down.
Thank goodness for mobile phones. Mine is programmed not to give out my name or number on anyone’s caller ID. I wasn’t sure I’d be exactly honest with Mr. Kenner about who I was. I went out to the boardwalk and sat on a bench. Kenner took my call and listened as I explained I was a reporter for the Ocean Alley Press and was looking into Riordan’s background in conjunction with a piece I was doing on him. When he asked, I hesitated a second and then said my name was Georgine Winters . Damn, that was dumb.
Good reporter that he was he wanted to know more about the story I was working on. The murder accusation was public information, so I started to give brief background when he stopped me. “You’re telling me Michael Riordan has been accused of murder? Let me get my pen.” My heart almost stopped. This is not good.
I spent a couple minutes telling him that I was one of a number of people who thought the police evidence against Riordan seemed flimsy, and that’s why I was doing the story. He wanted a lot of particulars, so I told him he should consult the paper’s web page, as I had not done the prior articles. That stopped him, and I was able to ask my questions.
“All I could find in your paper was a brief piece saying Riordan was stepping down as VP for operations at USA Energy Distributors, but a couple folks here have said he had a falling out with his partners. Do you know any more about that?”
“I don’t know a lot yet, though I’ll be doing some more digging now.” I
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