Deadly Blessings by Julie Hyzy

Wilda Lassiter’s bald and
blue-headed incident, I didn’t have much to go on. After Sophie’s
frantic phone call, I asked Jordan to reschedule my third hair
victim, Angela Cucio. She’d been accommodating, thank goodness. I
hoped that bode well for today’s chat. Since I had nothing from
Tammy Larken other than the bad taste left in my mouth from our
brief, unpleasant conversation, I needed to make sure this next
interview soared.
    I’d made it back to the office yesterday to
be greeted by Fenton, nearly apoplectic with anticipation over the
file I promised him. It took me just over fifteen minutes to gather
and copy all the information, but the way he behaved you’d think he
waited a year. Bass had provided him with plenty of basic facts.
And while nothing stopped him from researching the story on his
own, Fent had spent the entire day waiting for the folder. I was
certain he’d been disappointed to find that I hadn’t swooped in
like the good fairy and left him a fully-written report inside. Too
bad.
    His scriptwriter was going to have a tough
go, but David Gonzales was a talented guy. I wouldn’t have minded
being assigned to him, now that Tony was gone. But I figured that
maybe this William might be good, too. I’d find out soon
enough.
    I flipped through my calendar to see when my
next free day might be. Lucy always liked to have the date to look
forward to, and I knew how much she’d been counting on seeing me
this Saturday. Even though I was pretty anxious to grab my junk out
of Dan’s place, now that we’d made the decision to split, my
letting Lucy down gave me a queasy sad feeling, as though I was
making a poor choice and I knew it.
    The Wrigley Building across the river showed
nine o’ clock through a lingering mist that looked to be burnt off
any moment by the sun rising over the lake. Time to talk to Lucy. I
picked up the receiver.
    My door opened, without an announcing knock.
“Alex?”
    Fenton actually called me by the correct
name. I was impressed enough to hold off dialing, but I kept the
phone close to my ear in a “don’t make this long” maneuver.
    “ What’s up?”
    “ I talked to Bass. He’s
giving me an extra week on the Millie story.”
    My lips compressed as I bit back correcting
him on Milla’s name once again. I’d have to stop in by Gonzales to
make sure the poor girl’s name wasn’t massacred in Fenton’s notes.
“Another week?” I asked, and I know incredulity squeaked out in my
voice. “This is one of the hottest local stories out there. Why in
the world would you want to hold it for a week?”
    Fenton was wearing yet another pair of
Dockers, dark gray this time, with a pink golf shirt. It had one of
those “I paid a lot for this item” logos embroidered in yellow on
the chest, small enough that I couldn’t quite make it out, but from
where I sat it looked like a pig being hoisted up by its
middle.
    He flipped his hair back, jutting his chin
out in an insolent way. “Because,” he said giving an impatient
wiggle, “you haven’t been exactly forthcoming with information. I’m
in a bind here, you know.”
    I stood up, and although the room stretched
between us, I noticed he took a tiny step backward. Just enough to
make me feel like I had an edge. “Guess what, Fent? I’ve got a
story to research too. So, your best bet is to figure out how to do
your job and get it done. Nobody here is gonna hold your hand.”
    “ You know, that’s another
thing.”
    “ What?” I asked. He backed
out of the doorway to allow me to pass.
    “ The way you talk to me.
I’m Genevieve Mulhall’s nephew, you know.”
    “ Yes, I’m fully aware. And
I remember Hank telling us to treat you like everyone else. Just
like any other member of the team. And you know what? Each of the
players on this team holds up their end, and I don’t think we
should start making exceptions. Do you?”
    His brown eyes blazed.
    I made a show of looking at
my watch. “I have another appointment