Read Online Shattered Shell by Brendan DuBois - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brendan DuBois
Tags: USA
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pissed if I tell you that. It'll mean a scoop for you, won't it?"
"Unless he calls you between now and first thing Monday morning. Otherwise, yeah, then this will be an exclusive."
"Hmm..."
She brought her hands down to her waist, gloved fingers holding on to the pencil and notebook. "Look at it this way, Mike. I don't see him shivering in here on a Sunday morning. Do you? So who deserves the story?"
That made him laugh, and he kicked at the floor and said, "Sure, you can say that. All four fires were connected. And now, if you'll excuse me, I got a hell of a lot of work to do before this day is done. So you'll kindly get the hell off this fire scene, okay?"
Mike went past us and Paula caught my eye, and I knew she was proud of what she had just wormed out of Mike Ahern. And I also knew that she was overly talented for a newspaper like the Tyler Chronicle . We followed him out, Mike lumbering through the debris like a trained bear, shuffling and sniffing, and I blinked hard when we got outside, for the late morning sun was reflecting quite strongly off the snow. As we started back, Mike called out and said, "Lewis, a minute alone, if that's okay."
I looked at Paula and shrugged, and she said, "Men," in the same tone she uses when discussing editors, and I joined him at his Chevette. He tossed his flashlight on the seat, turned to me, and said, "You want to set up a time this week?"
"Do I?" I asked, not sure what he was saying.
He shook his head. "Last Friday night, remember?"
Oh. Last Friday night. He had agreed to see me about the arsons, and I had agreed to give him whatever information I had gathered in my research. Well, such a meeting seemed fairly useless considering what I was going to be involved with during the next few weeks, but then I remembered my upcoming brunch, and thought it wouldn't hurt.
"Sure, Mike. Sorry I forgot. What's a good day for you?"
"Let's shoot for sometime on Friday. And is this going to be worthwhile?"
"I certainly hope so," I said, and then there was a creaking noise and a loud bang. We both turned in time to see a scorched beam at the motel, weighed down by the snow, fall into the mound of debris. I looked back at Mike and said, "What a waste."
"What do you mean?"
"Look at this," I said. "A guy builds a motel, runs a business that does fairly well, employs a bunch of people, and in one night some clown takes it all away."
Mike fished a cigarette from a pack hidden in a shirt pocket, lit it up, and shrugged. "Screw 'em. That's what insurance is for."
We had brunch at practically the only open restaurant on Sunday morning in this part of Tyler Beach, which was the Portside Room, the in-house restaurant for the Ashburn House, located at the head of Ashburn Avenue. The Ashburn House is one of the more Iuxurious hotels on Tyler Beach, and also has a popular nightclub and the Portside Room, also considered one of the finer restaurants on the seacoast. The maitre d' sniffed at our smoky clothes and sat us in a corner, which was fine. I carried a Sunday Boston Globe and inside the newspaper I had secreted the file folder I had prepared last night.
I ordered the eggs Benedict, while Paula had three scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon. As we ate we passed sections of the Globe around, and I read the editorial page and tried to keep my chuckling down to a minimum, while Paula stuck with the comics and the arts pages. When the dishes had been cleared away and we were both working on our second glasses of orange juice, I said, “Congratulations on getting a scoop for Monday. Will it make the Porter Herald angry?"
Her eyes were glittering as she picked up her juice glass. "It sure will, and I can hardly wait. They're trying beat us in a circulation war, but being idiots, they don't have the resources. You can't cover a town like Tyler by going to the weekly selectmen's meetings and calling the police station every morning to see what's in the log. That's what the
"Unless he calls you between now and first thing Monday morning. Otherwise, yeah, then this will be an exclusive."
"Hmm..."
She brought her hands down to her waist, gloved fingers holding on to the pencil and notebook. "Look at it this way, Mike. I don't see him shivering in here on a Sunday morning. Do you? So who deserves the story?"
That made him laugh, and he kicked at the floor and said, "Sure, you can say that. All four fires were connected. And now, if you'll excuse me, I got a hell of a lot of work to do before this day is done. So you'll kindly get the hell off this fire scene, okay?"
Mike went past us and Paula caught my eye, and I knew she was proud of what she had just wormed out of Mike Ahern. And I also knew that she was overly talented for a newspaper like the Tyler Chronicle . We followed him out, Mike lumbering through the debris like a trained bear, shuffling and sniffing, and I blinked hard when we got outside, for the late morning sun was reflecting quite strongly off the snow. As we started back, Mike called out and said, "Lewis, a minute alone, if that's okay."
I looked at Paula and shrugged, and she said, "Men," in the same tone she uses when discussing editors, and I joined him at his Chevette. He tossed his flashlight on the seat, turned to me, and said, "You want to set up a time this week?"
"Do I?" I asked, not sure what he was saying.
He shook his head. "Last Friday night, remember?"
Oh. Last Friday night. He had agreed to see me about the arsons, and I had agreed to give him whatever information I had gathered in my research. Well, such a meeting seemed fairly useless considering what I was going to be involved with during the next few weeks, but then I remembered my upcoming brunch, and thought it wouldn't hurt.
"Sure, Mike. Sorry I forgot. What's a good day for you?"
"Let's shoot for sometime on Friday. And is this going to be worthwhile?"
"I certainly hope so," I said, and then there was a creaking noise and a loud bang. We both turned in time to see a scorched beam at the motel, weighed down by the snow, fall into the mound of debris. I looked back at Mike and said, "What a waste."
"What do you mean?"
"Look at this," I said. "A guy builds a motel, runs a business that does fairly well, employs a bunch of people, and in one night some clown takes it all away."
Mike fished a cigarette from a pack hidden in a shirt pocket, lit it up, and shrugged. "Screw 'em. That's what insurance is for."
We had brunch at practically the only open restaurant on Sunday morning in this part of Tyler Beach, which was the Portside Room, the in-house restaurant for the Ashburn House, located at the head of Ashburn Avenue. The Ashburn House is one of the more Iuxurious hotels on Tyler Beach, and also has a popular nightclub and the Portside Room, also considered one of the finer restaurants on the seacoast. The maitre d' sniffed at our smoky clothes and sat us in a corner, which was fine. I carried a Sunday Boston Globe and inside the newspaper I had secreted the file folder I had prepared last night.
I ordered the eggs Benedict, while Paula had three scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon. As we ate we passed sections of the Globe around, and I read the editorial page and tried to keep my chuckling down to a minimum, while Paula stuck with the comics and the arts pages. When the dishes had been cleared away and we were both working on our second glasses of orange juice, I said, “Congratulations on getting a scoop for Monday. Will it make the Porter Herald angry?"
Her eyes were glittering as she picked up her juice glass. "It sure will, and I can hardly wait. They're trying beat us in a circulation war, but being idiots, they don't have the resources. You can't cover a town like Tyler by going to the weekly selectmen's meetings and calling the police station every morning to see what's in the log. That's what the
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