Really Something by Shirley Jump Page A

the job and Earl won on a write-in vote a couple of years ago. He’s the resident complainer, and I guess all his carping finally paid off because they made him the guy in charge.”
    â€œ He’s the mayor?” Oh hell, that really screwed things up. She’d never get permission from that man to film within the Tempest city limits. The last thing Earl would want was more strangers traipsing all over Tempest, disturbing the peace. “I’ll be sure to talk to him.”
    Ira’s chuckle became heartier. “Good luck. He’s not exactly a fan of tourism.”
    â€œI’m sure once Earl sees the money something like this can bring to the town, he’ll change his mind.” She hoped.
    Once again, Ira gave an unconvinced shrug. He tapped the ad. “Okay if I cover this for the paper?”
    She hesitated, then chided herself. The chances of Ira connecting the thin, blond Allie with the fat brunette girl who had sat in front of him in Mrs. Anderson’s English class were slim. And if she refused to cooperate, she’d lose her chance at some decent prepromo. The only thing Jerry found sexier than a stripper on a pole was free publicity. “Sure. I’m Allie Dean, the location scout for Chicken Flicks.”
    â€œAllie.” Ira noted the information on his pad. “Is that short for Allison?”
    Panic rushed through her. Of course someone would connect her nickname with her given name. How could she have been so stupid? She’d never even thought about using a different first name. She glanced at Ira’s pen, perched over the pad. To his right sat a camera, the Nikon’s lens seeming to wink at her. If Ira ran her picture, how long would it be before someone else put the pieces together?
    Someone like Ira, who was still watching her intently, wheels turning behind his glasses. “It is Allison, isn’t it?”
    Allie dug in her purse, fished out a twenty, and dropped it on his desk. “I’m sorry. I really don’t have time for an interview right now. Here’s the payment for the ad.”
    She turned away, hurrying toward the door.
    â€œWait!” Ira called. “Don’t you want a receipt? And what about the interview?”
    â€œLater,” Allie said over her shoulder, then bolted from the office.
    Ira Levine may not have been able to figure out the meaning of “pseudonym” if his life depended on it, but there was nothing the former Sleuth Club president loved more than a good mystery.
    That was the last thing Allie needed to add to her growing mountain of problems—a homegrown Columbo.
    Â 
    Duncan was back at work and sat behind his desk, a remote control in his hands, replaying the video from last Friday night’s Litter Box Dance report over and over again. He’d smiled too much. Came off as too glib. He looked about as much like a serious reporter as a Fluffernutter looked like gourmet food.
    At this point, given how slow Tempest moved, he was going to have to generate some major national news of his own. Or—
    Wait. He didn’t need to pull a single news rabbit out of the Tempest hat. He already had his story. He shut off the TV, then crossed into Steve’s office. “You got a second?”
    â€œSure,” Steve said without looking up from his computer. “Let me just say good-bye to my Russian love.”
    Duncan chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re still looking for true love in a chat room.”
    â€œHey, these women are in dire straits. Natasha just escaped an abusive marriage and is looking for a man who likes long walks on the beach and piña coladas.”
    Duncan laughed. “Uh-huh. And that’s exactly why you’re chatting with her, to share rum recipes?”
    â€œHell no. I like her because she has an awesome set of 36Ds. She showed them to me last night. I’m hoping to see what’s below them later today.” Steve’s brows