Bubbles Ablaze by Sarah Strohmeyer

skin.”
    â€œWhat do I know? I usually trim ’em with the vegetable peeler.” Genevieve sighed and opened the Band-Aid box. “You want Elmo this time?”
    Roxanne flew to the cash register and rang up the prune’s bill. “I’ve got to talk to you, Bubbles, before Mrs. Manetti’s timer goes off.” The cash register binged and the prune handed Roxanne a twenty.
    â€œIs it true what they’re saying,” Roxanne said, counting out change, “that Stinky’s a murder suspect?”
    â€œWe should talk alone.” I pulled Roxanne into her parlor and closed the door. There I gave her the lowdown from the press conference about how Stinky had been described by authorities as some disgruntled, homicidal ex-employee, and Roxanne started to cry.
    â€œReporters have been calling all morning. I had to remind myself that you were a reporter and that you were decent and some of them might be decent, too, but they’re all bastards. I caught a photographer shooting photos in the front window. Like a Peeping Tom. The thing is that all the attention seems to have brought in business. I’m booked. It’s like I’m a one-woman freak show.”
    I gathered Roxanne in my arms and let her head rest on my shoulder. After rubbing her back, I asked, “Do you rememberwhat you told me this morning about Stinky having a fit over the Number Nine mine maps not being updated?”
    She lifted her head and fumbled for a tissue. “You made a pinky promise not to tell.”
    â€œI know. But listen, Roxanne, I think you should let me write a story about that, before Stinky is completely discredited. I measured the distance from the Number Nine mine to the Dead Zone and I realized something. Is it possible McMullen was robbing coal from under the Dead Zone, the land Bud Price owned? Vilnia told me that Stinky was fired from McMullen because he discovered something there he wasn’t supposed to. This could be it.”
    â€œStinky wasn’t fired.” She blew her nose. “He quit.”
    â€œDetails.”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said, sighing. “Let me check the box.”
    â€œThe box?”
    â€œWhere Stinky keeps all his documents and correspondence and maps. You know Stinky. He was a stickler for documentation. I keep it in the guest bedroom dresser.”
    Holy hell, I thought. Mr. Salvo was going to pee in his pants. He lived for documents.
    â€œI can get it when we get a break.”
    Mrs. Manetti’s timer dinged.
    â€œSo you want me to write a story?” I ventured carefully. “A story that could be published tomorrow?”
    Roxanne hesitated at the door and was silent for a minute. Then she said, “If it’ll help my Stinky, absolutely.”
    Yes! I pictured Esmeralda boogying the night away with Stiletto and heard Mama’s admonition: Slow and steady wins the race. Mama was big on slow and steady, being rather slow—if not always steady—herself.
    Roxanne opened the door and Mrs. Manetti, who must have been eavesdropping, fell in. “I wondered when you were going to get to me,” she said. “I don’t want my hair turning orange.”
    Roxanne apologized and I dialed Mr. Salvo from the front desk phone as a heavyset woman entered. “I’m here for amakeover. I won the raffle.” She handed me a blue raffle ticket from a Ladies Auxiliary fundraiser. “Louise Lamporini.”
    I glanced down at the scrawl on the appointment book. Sure enough. Louise Lamporini at one.
    Mr. Salvo picked up the phone on his end. “Salvo,” I heard in my ear.
    I looked pleadingly over to Roxanne, who pointed to the other women on the couch and shrugged. “No way,” she said. “It’ll take me forty-five minutes to get to Louise. I’m way behind schedule.”
    â€œUhh, can you wait,” I said into the phone.
    â€œThat’s not acceptable,” Louise said,