Read Online Stiff Penalty (A Mattie Winston Mystery) by Annelise Ryan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Annelise Ryan
Ads: Link
under his breath.
“Wise choice. Is it okay if I meet you at the station? I want to stop by my office and download these pictures first.”
“No problem. I’ll see you there.”
I exited the house and headed for my hearse, which I had been forced to park a few houses away because of all the other official vehicles on-site. It was dark outside, but the weather was warm, the sky was clear, and there were so many lights on in the neighborhood that it looked like daylight. The neighbors were still out in force, talking among themselves about what had happened. They all stared at me with wistful expressions, no doubt hoping I would share a juicy tidbit or two with them. From the corner of my eye I saw one woman separate herself from a group and head my way at a fast clip. It was Alison Miller, Sorenson’s ace reporter and photographer. I ramped up my pace, hoping to outrun her, but she was too close and too fast for me.
“You know I can’t tell you anything, Alison,” I said as she caught up to me.
“Oh, come on, Mattie. Give me something. Anything. Any kind of quote will do.”
I kept going and said nothing, but if Alison is anything, she is persistent.
“Please, Mattie?” she said, a bit breathless as she kept pace at my side. “Just a little something for old time’s sake?”
I stopped then and whirled on her. “For old time’s sake? Seriously?” I said, looking askance. “You’ve done everything you can to embarrass me in that stupid rag you work for, publishing pictures of me half naked, and writing stories about how my divorce left me, and I quote, ‘unable to face the living so I decided to go work with the dead.’ And don’t even get me started on that whole business with Hurley a while back. How can you possibly think I’d want to help you after all that?” I turned away from her to continue my march to my car, but her next words stopped me short.
“My mother’s dying,” she said.
“What?” I turned back to her, unsure if I’d heard her right. The sad, overwrought expression on her face suggested I had.
“You almost got rid of me,” she said with a painful smile. “Do you remember that fiasco with the Heinrich family?”
I remembered it all right. A car accident had led to the death of multimillionaire Dietmar Heinrich and his second wife, Bitsy, who had been an exotic dancer prior to marrying Dietmar. Determining which of them had died first dictated who inherited the money—Bitsy’s kids or Dietmar’s—and the two families had engaged in some very public and ugly warfare. Because Dietmar Heinrich was a well-known public figure, news agencies from all over the country had descended on Sorenson to cover the case and the subsequent fallout. Alison found herself front and center, with a starring role in it all, and it had given her the kind of exposure most small-town reporters can only dream of.
“Of course I remember it, Alison. That picture you took of me in my underwear at the Heinrich’s crash scene not only made it into the local paper, but into some national tabloids as well.”
“Yeah,” she said with a wince. “Sorry about that, though technically it wasn’t my fault that the pictures got published.”
She was right about that. It was a freakish sequence of events that led to the pictures getting out, but that didn’t mean Alison was off the hook. “If you hadn’t taken them in the first place, they never would have been published anywhere,” I said.
“Yeah, like I said, I’m sorry about that,” she repeated, sounding genuinely sincere. “Anyway, after all the coverage from the various news outlets, the Chicago Tribune offered me a job. I was all set to accept it when my mother had what we thought at first was a stroke. Two days later she was diagnosed with ALS.”
Now it was my turn to wince. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I told her, and I meant it. ALS is not a kind disease, slowly robbing its victims of every last bit of dignity before it
“Wise choice. Is it okay if I meet you at the station? I want to stop by my office and download these pictures first.”
“No problem. I’ll see you there.”
I exited the house and headed for my hearse, which I had been forced to park a few houses away because of all the other official vehicles on-site. It was dark outside, but the weather was warm, the sky was clear, and there were so many lights on in the neighborhood that it looked like daylight. The neighbors were still out in force, talking among themselves about what had happened. They all stared at me with wistful expressions, no doubt hoping I would share a juicy tidbit or two with them. From the corner of my eye I saw one woman separate herself from a group and head my way at a fast clip. It was Alison Miller, Sorenson’s ace reporter and photographer. I ramped up my pace, hoping to outrun her, but she was too close and too fast for me.
“You know I can’t tell you anything, Alison,” I said as she caught up to me.
“Oh, come on, Mattie. Give me something. Anything. Any kind of quote will do.”
I kept going and said nothing, but if Alison is anything, she is persistent.
“Please, Mattie?” she said, a bit breathless as she kept pace at my side. “Just a little something for old time’s sake?”
I stopped then and whirled on her. “For old time’s sake? Seriously?” I said, looking askance. “You’ve done everything you can to embarrass me in that stupid rag you work for, publishing pictures of me half naked, and writing stories about how my divorce left me, and I quote, ‘unable to face the living so I decided to go work with the dead.’ And don’t even get me started on that whole business with Hurley a while back. How can you possibly think I’d want to help you after all that?” I turned away from her to continue my march to my car, but her next words stopped me short.
“My mother’s dying,” she said.
“What?” I turned back to her, unsure if I’d heard her right. The sad, overwrought expression on her face suggested I had.
“You almost got rid of me,” she said with a painful smile. “Do you remember that fiasco with the Heinrich family?”
I remembered it all right. A car accident had led to the death of multimillionaire Dietmar Heinrich and his second wife, Bitsy, who had been an exotic dancer prior to marrying Dietmar. Determining which of them had died first dictated who inherited the money—Bitsy’s kids or Dietmar’s—and the two families had engaged in some very public and ugly warfare. Because Dietmar Heinrich was a well-known public figure, news agencies from all over the country had descended on Sorenson to cover the case and the subsequent fallout. Alison found herself front and center, with a starring role in it all, and it had given her the kind of exposure most small-town reporters can only dream of.
“Of course I remember it, Alison. That picture you took of me in my underwear at the Heinrich’s crash scene not only made it into the local paper, but into some national tabloids as well.”
“Yeah,” she said with a wince. “Sorry about that, though technically it wasn’t my fault that the pictures got published.”
She was right about that. It was a freakish sequence of events that led to the pictures getting out, but that didn’t mean Alison was off the hook. “If you hadn’t taken them in the first place, they never would have been published anywhere,” I said.
“Yeah, like I said, I’m sorry about that,” she repeated, sounding genuinely sincere. “Anyway, after all the coverage from the various news outlets, the Chicago Tribune offered me a job. I was all set to accept it when my mother had what we thought at first was a stroke. Two days later she was diagnosed with ALS.”
Now it was my turn to wince. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I told her, and I meant it. ALS is not a kind disease, slowly robbing its victims of every last bit of dignity before it
Similar Books
