knew, she'd have to have them taken out, but where was the time?
She checked her e-mails. The prosecutor's office hadn't bothered to get back to her about their repeated attempts to locate one Mitchell J. Bergen, the former husband of that beautician Jack was parading around with. It was no wonder they hadn't responded to her inquiries. It must be embarrassing that an entire task force couldn't locate one measly no-talent glassblower.
Christy laughed to herself, thinking how entertaining it would be when she'd get around to doing their job for them, in a spare afternoon.
The details of Samantha Monroe's life were coming quite easily. A single trip to the Marion County Clerk's office managed to unearth Samantha's marriage license and divorce decree, a visit to the state health department's Web site revealed she had a valid cosmetologist license, and a five-minute call to the Indiana Bureau of Vital Statistics rounded up the birth records of her three children. The rest of the Monroe woman's life story Christy got from Marcia Fishbacher, who said Samantha's husband had been a deadbeat who'd lived off his wife's flair with a pair of scissors until he skipped town. The reverence in Marcia's voice indicated she thought Samantha Monroe was a combination of Vidal Sassoon and Mother Teresa, or some nonsense.
"She's been through the wringer," Marcia had said. "I know her new boyfriend is running for office, but Christy, please don't do anything to hurt her. She deserves any joy she can find."
Yeah? And who doesn't? With gusto, Christy deleted at least a dozen spam e-mails from that assumed she was an impotent man in dire need of a home loan, remembering the night Jack made a fool of her in front of her peers.
She'd been up for an Associated Press Excellence in Broadcast Journalism award. She eventually lost to Al Gilligan over at Channel 3, but that wasn't the point. The point was that she and Jack had been dating for about three months and she really thought they'd go all the way to the altar. She was in love and assumed he was, too. Technically, he never actually said the words, but she could see it in his eyes. And her parents were thrilled with Jack. Marguerite simply adored her, even inviting her on a girls' shopping day to Chicago—which never happened, because Jack obviously suffered from some kind of hormonal disorder that prevented him from forming any kind of deep bond with a woman!
That night at the awards banquet, he just couldn't seem to resist dragging a Fox associate producer into the bank of pay phones and nibbling on her neck.
Had Christy been the one to witness this indiscretion, she could have dumped him with her pride intact. But no—her boss and four of her coworkers on their way to the men's room saw everything and, with glee, relayed the details to all at the Channel 10 table. When Jack returned to his seat a few moments later, looking refreshed and at peace with the world, no one could keep a straight face. When Jack reached for Christy's hand as it lay on her lap, she snapped. She twisted his index finger with all her might and hissed at him, "You disgusting pig!"
It was the highlight of everyone's evening, of course. Christy left the banquet without a little gold statue and without a date to her cousin's wedding that next weekend. But what galled Christy the most was how awful everything had gone on a night when she'd looked so great. Marcia had done her hair in an elegant upswept twist, and the cute little pink satin strapless dress she'd found on sale at the Circle City Nordstrom fit so perfectly it hadn't even needed alterations!
That should have been her night!
Jack should have been her man!
They looked so perfect together!
Christy sighed, returning her attention to the task at hand, and slogged through e-mails from viewers, coworkers, sources, and, of course, Brandon Miliewski.
She yawned with abandon and propped her stocking-clad feet upon the desk. As mind-numblingly bizarre as it
She checked her e-mails. The prosecutor's office hadn't bothered to get back to her about their repeated attempts to locate one Mitchell J. Bergen, the former husband of that beautician Jack was parading around with. It was no wonder they hadn't responded to her inquiries. It must be embarrassing that an entire task force couldn't locate one measly no-talent glassblower.
Christy laughed to herself, thinking how entertaining it would be when she'd get around to doing their job for them, in a spare afternoon.
The details of Samantha Monroe's life were coming quite easily. A single trip to the Marion County Clerk's office managed to unearth Samantha's marriage license and divorce decree, a visit to the state health department's Web site revealed she had a valid cosmetologist license, and a five-minute call to the Indiana Bureau of Vital Statistics rounded up the birth records of her three children. The rest of the Monroe woman's life story Christy got from Marcia Fishbacher, who said Samantha's husband had been a deadbeat who'd lived off his wife's flair with a pair of scissors until he skipped town. The reverence in Marcia's voice indicated she thought Samantha Monroe was a combination of Vidal Sassoon and Mother Teresa, or some nonsense.
"She's been through the wringer," Marcia had said. "I know her new boyfriend is running for office, but Christy, please don't do anything to hurt her. She deserves any joy she can find."
Yeah? And who doesn't? With gusto, Christy deleted at least a dozen spam e-mails from that assumed she was an impotent man in dire need of a home loan, remembering the night Jack made a fool of her in front of her peers.
She'd been up for an Associated Press Excellence in Broadcast Journalism award. She eventually lost to Al Gilligan over at Channel 3, but that wasn't the point. The point was that she and Jack had been dating for about three months and she really thought they'd go all the way to the altar. She was in love and assumed he was, too. Technically, he never actually said the words, but she could see it in his eyes. And her parents were thrilled with Jack. Marguerite simply adored her, even inviting her on a girls' shopping day to Chicago—which never happened, because Jack obviously suffered from some kind of hormonal disorder that prevented him from forming any kind of deep bond with a woman!
That night at the awards banquet, he just couldn't seem to resist dragging a Fox associate producer into the bank of pay phones and nibbling on her neck.
Had Christy been the one to witness this indiscretion, she could have dumped him with her pride intact. But no—her boss and four of her coworkers on their way to the men's room saw everything and, with glee, relayed the details to all at the Channel 10 table. When Jack returned to his seat a few moments later, looking refreshed and at peace with the world, no one could keep a straight face. When Jack reached for Christy's hand as it lay on her lap, she snapped. She twisted his index finger with all her might and hissed at him, "You disgusting pig!"
It was the highlight of everyone's evening, of course. Christy left the banquet without a little gold statue and without a date to her cousin's wedding that next weekend. But what galled Christy the most was how awful everything had gone on a night when she'd looked so great. Marcia had done her hair in an elegant upswept twist, and the cute little pink satin strapless dress she'd found on sale at the Circle City Nordstrom fit so perfectly it hadn't even needed alterations!
That should have been her night!
Jack should have been her man!
They looked so perfect together!
Christy sighed, returning her attention to the task at hand, and slogged through e-mails from viewers, coworkers, sources, and, of course, Brandon Miliewski.
She yawned with abandon and propped her stocking-clad feet upon the desk. As mind-numblingly bizarre as it
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