Read Online Shot Girl by Karen E. Olson - Free Book Online
Authors: Karen E. Olson
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Journalists, Police Procedural, Divorced men, Women Journalists, Seymour; Annie (Fictitious Character), New Haven (Conn.)
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questions swirled around in my head, landing somewhere unexpected. Why had Vinny been in my apartment yesterday morning when I wasn’t there? Walter said he saw him. Even though Vinny and I had exchanged keys, we were pretty respectful of each other’s privacy.
I pushed my thoughts aside—there was nothing I could do about it now—and concentrated on where I was heading: West Rock. To get there, I’d have to go through the campus of Southern Connecticut State University, where Felicia Kowalski was matriculated. If I had time after my interview with Shaw, maybe I’d stop over at the journalism department, see if I could find Ned Winters or someone else who could shed some light on this girl. It wasn’t like I wasn’t familiar with the territory. I’d gotten my journalism degree there—two years after Ralph got his.
My mother hadn’t been too happy I went to a state school. She’d had bigger plans for me: Yale, Harvard, Princeton—even New York University would’ve been more acceptable. But I wasn’t smart enough, not in that way you needed to be to get into schools like that. My high school grades were passable, but even then I wanted to be a journalist and spent a lot of my time putting together the school newspaper rather than studying science or math.
I’m sure Vinny would’ve been happy to tutor me—he admitted he’d had a crush on me back then—but I just wasn’t interested in anything else.
I snorted. Wouldn’t you know I’d end up with some shit beat because of Ralph. He’d always outshone me. I stayed in the background, letting him be first, allowing myself to wait for my own chance, once he had his. What an idiot I’d been.
I took a deep breath, not wanting to remember. Not wanting to bring it all back. But the emotions that hadn’t come while I saw his body on the sidewalk came rushing at me now, and I knew the wounds hadn’t healed like I’d thought; maybe that was why I’d been so commitment phobic with Tom and I couldn’t use the right words to tell Vinny how I felt about him.
I should get a goddamn Ph.D. for figuring that out.
Ralph had fucked me up big-time. I was glad I’d at least had the last word.
The Reverend Shaw looked like his voice. His skin was a deep chestnut, laugh lines danced around his eyes, and his smooth, shaved head was unnaturally dry in the hot afternoon sun. His fashionable glasses were rectangular with red plastic frames. He wore a dirty white T-shirt, loose jeans, and Birkenstocks. I’d seen photographs of him and had placed him in his fifties, but up close, he was definitely younger. Maybe in his forties, not too much older than me. Either way, his smile was warm, convincingly trustworthy, just like his voice on the phone.
I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
Shaw pulled off thick gardening gloves to shake my hand.
"I’ve read your articles, Ms. Seymour. You’re doing a fine job," he praised, his white teeth gleaming. He’d had money at some point for braces. No one had teeth that straight naturally.
"Thank you, but please call me Annie," I said, trying to keep my voice light, like I didn’t think he was going to pickpocket me at any second. It didn’t matter that he looked like a regular guy—that was the problem. He wasn’t a regular guy, but he wanted me to think he was.
"Your photographer is already here," he said, putting the gloves back on and waving his hand to indicate he wanted me to follow him.
I’d parked in the lot next to the Visitor Center, and Shaw had been waiting for me. We walked past the Nature House, which houses a reptile display and tanks that I didn’t want to get too close to—I’m not afraid of too many things, but I really hate snakes—and we went around the Ranger Cottage. As soon as we turned the corner, I could see the raised garden beds, and a group of six kids were up to their elbows in dirt. Wesley Bell—never without his bow tie but because of the heat he’d conceded to a
I pushed my thoughts aside—there was nothing I could do about it now—and concentrated on where I was heading: West Rock. To get there, I’d have to go through the campus of Southern Connecticut State University, where Felicia Kowalski was matriculated. If I had time after my interview with Shaw, maybe I’d stop over at the journalism department, see if I could find Ned Winters or someone else who could shed some light on this girl. It wasn’t like I wasn’t familiar with the territory. I’d gotten my journalism degree there—two years after Ralph got his.
My mother hadn’t been too happy I went to a state school. She’d had bigger plans for me: Yale, Harvard, Princeton—even New York University would’ve been more acceptable. But I wasn’t smart enough, not in that way you needed to be to get into schools like that. My high school grades were passable, but even then I wanted to be a journalist and spent a lot of my time putting together the school newspaper rather than studying science or math.
I’m sure Vinny would’ve been happy to tutor me—he admitted he’d had a crush on me back then—but I just wasn’t interested in anything else.
I snorted. Wouldn’t you know I’d end up with some shit beat because of Ralph. He’d always outshone me. I stayed in the background, letting him be first, allowing myself to wait for my own chance, once he had his. What an idiot I’d been.
I took a deep breath, not wanting to remember. Not wanting to bring it all back. But the emotions that hadn’t come while I saw his body on the sidewalk came rushing at me now, and I knew the wounds hadn’t healed like I’d thought; maybe that was why I’d been so commitment phobic with Tom and I couldn’t use the right words to tell Vinny how I felt about him.
I should get a goddamn Ph.D. for figuring that out.
Ralph had fucked me up big-time. I was glad I’d at least had the last word.
The Reverend Shaw looked like his voice. His skin was a deep chestnut, laugh lines danced around his eyes, and his smooth, shaved head was unnaturally dry in the hot afternoon sun. His fashionable glasses were rectangular with red plastic frames. He wore a dirty white T-shirt, loose jeans, and Birkenstocks. I’d seen photographs of him and had placed him in his fifties, but up close, he was definitely younger. Maybe in his forties, not too much older than me. Either way, his smile was warm, convincingly trustworthy, just like his voice on the phone.
I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
Shaw pulled off thick gardening gloves to shake my hand.
"I’ve read your articles, Ms. Seymour. You’re doing a fine job," he praised, his white teeth gleaming. He’d had money at some point for braces. No one had teeth that straight naturally.
"Thank you, but please call me Annie," I said, trying to keep my voice light, like I didn’t think he was going to pickpocket me at any second. It didn’t matter that he looked like a regular guy—that was the problem. He wasn’t a regular guy, but he wanted me to think he was.
"Your photographer is already here," he said, putting the gloves back on and waving his hand to indicate he wanted me to follow him.
I’d parked in the lot next to the Visitor Center, and Shaw had been waiting for me. We walked past the Nature House, which houses a reptile display and tanks that I didn’t want to get too close to—I’m not afraid of too many things, but I really hate snakes—and we went around the Ranger Cottage. As soon as we turned the corner, I could see the raised garden beds, and a group of six kids were up to their elbows in dirt. Wesley Bell—never without his bow tie but because of the heat he’d conceded to a
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