Loose Screw (Dusty Deals Mystery) by Lori Devoti, Rae Davies

on a white background. I drove by the front and weighed my options. I could park on the street and enter through the front, or I could park in the News lot and try to sneak in the back. I hated to waste a quarter on a meter. I parked in the lot.
    After strolling up the cement ramp to the backdoor, I leaned against the metal rail to wait. Anyone could come and go un-accosted through the front, but you had to know the “secret key code” to get in the back. I was no longer privy to the number. If I wanted in the back, I’d have to wait. I knew it wouldn’t be long though. Newspapers are busy places, with reporters and advertising reps constantly coming and going.
    Just as I suspected, within a couple of minutes a compact import pulled into the lot. Out of it popped my advertising rep for Dusty Deals, Laney Washington. Laney was a tiny, bubbly, sweet girl of about 22. There was definitely cheerleading in her past. She wasn’t the most knowledgeable ad rep at the News , but people bought advertising from her because she was just so darn cute. To tell her “no” would be like kicking a bunny.
    It took a real hard ass or a total cheapskate to turn her down. No one had ever accused me of having a hard ass, but cheap, yes. When I saw her start up the ramp, I remembered seeing her card attached to a flyer for some kind of downtown special section lying on my desk.
    Her whiskers twitched when she saw me. “Hi, Lucy. What are you doing here?”
    I briefly explained my involvement with the Crandell story and tried to look poor.
    “That’s great. I can’t believe he was killed right by the Gulch. When does your story run?”
    Obviously, another employee who didn’t read the paper. The newspaper industry could save a bundle on promotions if they could just get their employees to subscribe.
    “The first one ran today.” I frowned in disapproval. Why let Laney know I didn’t read the paper either?
    “Guess I should have known that.” She giggled. “I just look for my ads.”
    She began punching numbers into the keypad that controlled the backdoor. “Oh, did you get the flyer I dropped off on the Jazz Festival section? There’s going to be a special page with free color for downtown businesses.” She stood in the doorway blocking my way. I swear I saw horns poke up out of her hair.
    “Oh, yeah. I guess I should do something small.” I shuffled my feet, hoping she’d get the message that what I really meant was no, a big capital I-have-a-malamute-to-feed no.
    “Great! The deadline is today, and I have a two-column by two-inch space left. I’ll put you down for it.”
    I did a quick calculation in my head. A two-by-two ad was billed as four inches. The rate for a downtown page was 25 dollars an inch. So I saved a quarter at the meter and lost 100 dollars on an ad—story of my life.
    Disgusted with myself, I grabbed the door behind Laney. “Okay, just stop by and see Betty. She can work something up.”
    The backdoor opened into the graphics department. A cluster of computer stations with an artist at each occupied the majority of the floor space. People shouted back and forth. “Has anyone heard yet on that Chevrolet ad?” “Where’s Janet, we need to get that proof back.” I weaved through the bustling bodies and into the newsroom. The volume instantly dropped about five decibels.
    Most of the action in the newsroom happened in the late afternoon. The copy editors didn’t even come in until three or so. The first pages of the next day’s paper would start going to press then and keep going until the front page printed at midnight. Changes were made right up to press time; sometimes, to the publisher’s chagrin, past it.
    I walked past Ted’s office on my way to Marcy’s desk. Good news—he was out. Bad news—his door was closed, making it impossible to see who was under the antlers today. Both relieved and miffed, I kept moving.
    Marcy’s desk sat under a big crank-out window. She had it open and was