Cover Story (4 page)

So why I simply nodded and agreed to Dot’s plan is anyone’s guess. A picture of Simon flashed briefly into my mind, but I dismissed it as I drove away from Los Alamos Court.

*

Instead of having the afternoon off, I went into the office to help Sofia with the political story. Kevin wasn’t a fan of investigative journalism—too time intensive—so he’d given Sofia another story to write and she was whining.

“Would you rather write about the Gnomes on Crazy Lane?” I scanned my emails as Sofia sat on my desk, legs swinging.

“No, but a sports star’s stupid new hairstyle would have to come a close second.” She picked up my purple highlighter and doodled on my previously pristine desk blotter.

“Granted.” I grabbed the highlighter and dropped it back in my penholder. I was no advocate of sharing stationery supplies. “I’ve got an hour or so—do you want to do something else on the senator’s office?”

She sighed. “I haven’t heard from our contact in two days, so there’s no point—”

“Hey, Fletcher.”

I looked at Matias. “What?”

“What do you call three smashed gnomes?” I turned away, but he continued. “A good start!” He laughed loudly at his own joke.

A familiar annoyance flared. He was like a mosquito—persistent and infuriating. A great big, sexy one, perhaps, but a mosquito nonetheless. I scowled. “You’re an idiot, Matias.”

“Ah, but to
gnome
me is to love me, Fletcher.”

I sighed and said to Sofia, “I think I’ll just head home. I’m interviewing more people about the gnomes tonight. See you tomorrow?”

“Sure, Tobi.” Sofia winked at me. “You
gnome
me—always at the office.”

Why did everyone think they were comedians all of a sudden?

*

I spent a good two hours on my laptop trying to write a feature story about Los Alamos Court. I couldn’t get an angle. I’d ruled out the Woman Scorned and was left with the two new options—the Youth Crime wave and the Hitchcock copycat. Problem was, I didn’t have anything to support either.

I typed up my notes and jotted descriptions of the people and houses in case I needed them. Then I arranged for one of the paper’s staff photographers to meet me in the morning, after breakfast with Davo. I wondered if I could coerce the boys in number two to put their gnomes in the simulated sex poses for the picture. From Ethel’s description of them, I didn’t think it would take much convincing.

With luck, I could finish interviewing everyone tonight and in the morning, spend the afternoon writing up the story, and hand it to Kevin with enough time to get a handle on a new story before the end of the day.

I had a quick shower, got dressed, put on my rose-gold watch—the one with ruby flecks on the band—and drove over to Los Alamos Court for the promised dinner. I pulled up in Simon’s drive, and almost had a heart attack when someone leaped out at me from behind the wall next door.

“Hey, boss chick.”

“Davo! Why did you jump out at me?”

“Bein’ discreet.” He gave an exaggerated wink. “Just lettin’ you know I’m on the job.”

“Um … that’s good …” I said faintly. I began to wonder if this relationship with Davo was going to kill me. “Ah … keep up the good work.”

“Will do.” He took a few steps, then looked back with raised eyebrows and hand cocked like a gun. “Later, babe.”

I managed to get my breathing back under control by the time I knocked on the door. Simon and Anna answered together.

“See, Daddy, I told you it was Tobi.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me into the house before I had time to greet her father. “Gran’s cooking burritos. Wanna see my dolls?”

“Er, sure.” I followed her, wondering what the minimum amount of time I could spend with a kid and her doll was without being rude.

I perched on the edge of her bed and smiled politely as she showed me an ugly pink-haired doll. Then, thankfully, it was put aside and she offered a horrid floppy doll, which I courteously declined to cuddle. I even found pleasant words to praise a nauseating baby doll that drank and filled its nappy.

When the creepy doll that cried appeared, Simon popped his head around the corner and said he needed me in the other room. Anna seemed fine with this and kept playing. Obviously as kids go, this one was pretty low maintenance.

I scurried back to the dining room and Simon resumed setting the table. He looked up at me and smiled. “I thought you might need rescuing from the land of the dolls.”

“Thanks. Where were you when my mother called yesterday?” Damn, had I said that out loud?

He arched an eyebrow in that maddening way he had. “You often need rescuing?”

Hmph, I most certainly did
not
need rescuing—I was more than capable of looking after myself.

Despite the rapid rise in my blood pressure, I laughed, trying to make light of it. “Just from the occasional call from my mother.”

“Maybe you should keep my number for when you need a knight in shining armor.” He held my gaze longer than necessary and, as the moment stretched out, I became aware that his midnight-blue eyes seemed to darken until they were almost black. That, and the fact he needed a shave. He must be one of those men who normally ran the razor over twice a day. I’d always liked that.

Yep, he was flirting and I was responding.

A strange thing usually happens when men flirt with me—I have the almost irresistible urge to put them in their place. I suppose it might come from what Grace calls my “control issues”. Well, sure, I don’t like to feel out of control, but who does?

I think it’s more to do with my intolerance for game-playing and silliness. My mother says that even when I was little, I didn’t want to play games with my sister and the other kids—I always had something important to do. Playing games is a waste of time, whether you’re seven or fifty-seven. Case in point—the editor on the first newspaper I worked on. He didn’t play games—he asked me out to dinner, then at dinner he asked me to sleep with him. He continued asking for weeks until I agreed. I respected that—to the point, no mucking around, no misunderstandings.

Shame I got bored with him.

But when I did, I offered him the same courtesy—no games, no lies. I told him he bored me and dumped him. I think he appreciated it.

Of course, he had organized for me to be transferred soon after, but he swore it was more of a promotion than anything.

Looking back at Simon, however, I resisted the urge to spurn him. There was something real about him that was different from men I’d known. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe that a snarky barb would actually hurt him? But also, that stepping into whatever he was offering with his flirting would be real. And good.

I turned away and ignored his knight in shining armor offer—for purely professional reasons, of course.

After we ate the black bean burritos and a cherry pie Dot and Anna had made in my honor, Dot suggested Simon take me next door while she put Anna to bed.

We walked across to the Sinclairs’ at number six, hoping to catch Martin. Beverley answered the door with her squishy-faced fake smile and asked us in for a cup of Highlands Herbs Tasmanian tea. Apparently there are protocols with tea variety and time of day. Who knew? Simon accepted and we walked through to the table in the kitchen, while Beverley went to find Martin.

Martin arrived almost immediately, thinly veiled disdain marring his reasonably handsome face. He looked quite the businessman with the obligatory short gray hair and business shirt, albeit with his collar undone. But it was the expression in his eyes that told me the most. It was hard. Lacking something.

“Good evening, Mr. Sinclair, my name is Tobi Fletcher and—”

“I know who you are,” he interrupted. “Beverley told me earlier.” He sat down and laced his fingers behind his head, eyelids half lowered in obvious boredom. He was trying to intimidate me into leaving, but I paid no heed.

I flipped open my spiral notebook. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“About the gnomes?” He practically sneered.

I dislike arrogant men—they bring out a similar urge in me that flirting men do: I get this almost irresistible urge to separate them from their testicles. But, being the professional I am, or maybe just exhausted, I restrained myself.

“Yes, about the gnomes. Have you any idea what happened to them?”

He looked me up and down. “So you’re the caliber of person drawing a wage from my subscription?” He shook his head. “Perhaps I need to rethink where my money goes.”

I took a deep breath, determined not to rise to his bait, despite my fist clenched around my pencil. “You don’t have an opinion on the gnomes then?”

He snorted a breath. “Are you honestly asking me to speculate about the fate of five-dollar garden gnomes?” He threw his arms in the air. “No wonder this country’s a mess, when the media takes this sort of nonsense seriously and ignores crucial economic and trade issues.”

My blood steamed. Whether he was baiting me or not, I’d had enough, and the fact that I agreed with him in no way soothed my annoyance. “The gnome issue may not chart on the national political Richter scale, but it’s of relevance to some members of our readership and that’s ultimately what matters. At the
Santa Fe Daily
, we pride ourselves on representing our entire readership, not just the self-important buffoons who think they know more than everybody else.”

His face turned an interesting shade of red and seemed to swell. “I think it’s time you left.”

“I think you’re right.” I stood and walked to the door, not checking if Simon followed.

He caught up with me on the sidewalk. I felt a twinge of guilt that he’d probably had to apologize for my behavior. After a lifetime with my mother, I was embarrassed I’d dumped someone else in the position she’d always put me in. “Simon, I’m sorry if I’ve caused problems for you with your neighbors.”

He eyed me then grinned. “It was worth it to see Martin’s face. I don’t think anyone’s stood up to him like that in a long time.”

I winced. “I wouldn’t call it standing up to him. It was more my temper getting away from me.”

He grinned. “Whatever, it was entertaining.”

Nodding absently, I glanced at the Sinclairs’ house. “I agree with most of what he said, though.”

The streetlamp threw a subtle light across Simon’s features, turning his dark blue eyes almost black. “I know you do,” he said. “But you’re still doing your best to be objective about the gnomes and I respect that.”

“Thanks.” Go figure. After my lifelong struggle to gain respect, Simon Hanson goes ahead and gives it to me when I least expected it. It felt strange, but rather nice. I smiled at him. “Hey, that didn’t take long. Could we visit someone else?”

“Sure. Any preferences?”

I cast a quick look up and down the quiet street. “The boys on the corner would be good. I’ll be back in the morning, but, from the sounds of them, they might not be up then.”

He released a low rumble of laughter. “That’s a strong possibility. Come on.”

They were on the same side of the street as the Sinclairs, so we only had to walk past one house, but we could hear their music long before we reached their door. The garden accent lights in the yard on the other corner flickered in order, as if someone had moved quickly past them.

Simon stopped. “Did you see that?”

I peered over and made out the shape of a teenager in a hooded jacket giving me a thumbs up before falling over the hedge. “It’s just Davo.”

Simon frowned, obviously bewildered. “What’s he doing?”

Good question. I was wondering that myself—and praying he didn’t do anything too stupid. “Long story.”

We knocked on the door to number two and were greeted by one of the longhaired hoods. “Hi Simon and,” he paused to give me a once-over and a wink. “Hi, Simon’s friend.” This was obviously my day for arrogant and flirtatious men.

Simon smiled easily. “Hi, Laurie.”

I stuck out my hand. “I’m Tobi Fletcher from the
Santa Fe Daily
. Have you got a minute for some questions about the gnome incident?”

“Gnome incident?” Laurie scratched his head. With his tall, skinny build, the gesture reminded me of Laurel from Laurel and Hardy. When I realized even his name was similar I almost laughed out loud, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate the comparison.

“Maybe if we came in?” I indicated past the door.

“Yeah, sure.” He stood back and let us through to a living room littered with pizza boxes, soda bottles, and cigarette packets. I was comforted by the knowledge that I wouldn’t be offered a cup of tea.

“Are you the only one home?”

“Nah, Pedro’s around somewhere. I’ll go find him.”

He walked into the kitchen and we heard him talking to someone else as he came back: “She’s hot, dude. Says she’s here about the gnome incident.” I had my fingers crossed for a short, chubby, dark-haired hood to complete the Laurel and Hardy set.

They appeared through the archway and the new arrival stuck out his hand. He was short, dark haired and reasonably cute, but alas, not chubby. I was a little disappointed but I took it well.

“I’m Pedro. What’s happened to the gnomes?”

I shook his hand. “You don’t know three were smashed?”

“Shit. Really?” Laurie dropped into a chair, his face a comic representation of shock, complete with gaping mouth and raised brows.

A cover act? I couldn’t eliminate them as suspects until I was sure. “So you don’t know anything about it?”

“Nup. Shit.” Laurie scratched his head again in his unwitting Stan Laurel impersonation. “Which ones?”

Simon spoke at my side. “The two carrying the apples were smashed outside number three and one of the flute players was smashed at my house.”

“Really? That’s bad, man.” Pedro stared absently into the distance, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of the tragedy.

“I heard you guys had been seen putting them in lewd positions and I wondered if you may have—accidentally, of course—damaged them?”

Laurie’s head jerked up. “No way! We love those little guys.”

“The sex stuff was just our contribution to the thing the street’s got going with moving them around—but we’d never hurt them,” Pedro said.

I tapped my toe on the floor. Unfortunately, its effect as a tool of interrogation was lost as the carpet muffled the sound. “What about the other guy who lives here?”

“Lukas?” Pedro shoved his hands in his pockets. “He’s been talking about us getting some gnomes of our own. He thought it was cool.”

Dammit, I believed them. There went the Youth Crime angle. “Any ideas on who might have done it? Have you seen anyone strange hanging around?”

“No one more strange than usual,” Pedro said.

“You know what?” Laurie swiveled in his chair to face his housemate. “I bet it’s that black cat from up the road.”

That caught my attention. “Winston?”

“Yeah, that cat is psycho,” Laurie said. “He comes sprinting down here some days and stalks us like a freakin’ lion looking for a meal.”

Pedro punched him on the arm. “Hey, Laurie, remember that day I woke up and he was spread eagled on my window screen watching me?”

“Yeah, you screamed like a baby.” They both fell about laughing.

I sighed. Yep, this was my life now. Not only a distinct lack of Pulitzer prizes, but nights spent with giggling garage band musicians to push the message home.

I plastered on my professional smile. “Okay, thanks guys. If you think of anything I’ll be around in the morning.”

Pedro regained himself to escort us to the door. “Hey, Tobi, don’t be a stranger.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Oh, yeah, that was going to happen. “Thanks, Pedro, I’ll try and remember that.”

As Simon and I returned to the sidewalk, he asked, “So what do you think?”

“Well, the Demented Cat angle is the most plausible so far. I’ve
met
Winston.” A shiver ran down my spine at the memory.

“You know,” he slowed his steps to look at me, “you don’t have to solve the crime. It could have been anyone this side of the city. The chances of you finding them are pretty slim.”

He was right, of course, but if I could just get an outcome—a result—from this absurd assignment, I might be able to salvage some pride. “I hate loose ends.”

“The loose ends don’t matter. We just wanted people to be vigilant and to consider the effects of vandalism on someone like Anna.” Love for his little girl shone from his eyes—something I found oddly attractive. What was that about?

I blew out a breath. “Yeah, but it’d be nice to solve it, too. I … I …” I could feel a sneeze coming on but managed to hold it off. I’d forgotten to take more antihistamines with dinner.

“You were saying?” We’d stopped at my car in his driveway.

“I’m sorry, I forgot.” I was much more concerned with avoiding a sneeze before I could make a getaway. I could feel the pressure building behind my nose and my face starting to contort. Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. There was no stopping it; it was like a loaded freight train.

“Ah …
fink
.”

When I opened my eyes, Simon was regarding me like some creature at the zoo. “You know you could hurt yourself doing that—maybe burst a blood vessel or something.”

I rolled my eyes. “So I’ve been told.”

He rocked on his heels, hands in his jeans pockets. “Then why do you do it?”

“Thank you for your consideration, but I’m more than capable of handling my own sneezing affairs.” I tried for my steely gaze to put him off.

“You’re welcome,” he said, unfazed. “Why don’t you just let yourself sneeze properly?”

Why was everyone so hung up on my sneezes? Surely they had other things to occupy their minds? Although, I supposed, all evidence was to the contrary.

I folded my arms. “For your information, it’s not that simple. I’ve tried, but it’s a habit now and I couldn’t have a proper sneeze even if I wanted one.”

His eyes danced and the corners of his mouth were turned down, repressing a smile. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re uptight?”

“They have, actually, but I’ll add you to the list.” I turned to get in the car.

“You should let go a little.” His voice dropped a note. “Relax and have some fun.”

Oh, that was rich. I turned back to him. “And you’re basing this advice on knowing me in a purely professional capacity for less than thirty-six hours?”

He shrugged. “You journalists haven’t got a patent on observation.”

Of all the conceited, cocky men … “And you think … ah … ahh … you think … ahhh …
fink
.” Dammit. “Look, I have to go. Can you say goodnight to your mother for me?”

He grinned, damn him. “Sure. ’Night, Tobi.”

I scrambled into my car and made a quick getaway. What did he know about me? I stopped at the liquor store and bought some cheap red wine—I’d show
him
I could relax!

*

I woke the next morning feeling like my brain had been partially eaten by rats—dirty, smelly rats that’d crawled through my mouth on their way in. I’d remembered on the first glass why I didn’t drink cheap red wine—the hangover was horrendous—but I refused to wimp out of a challenge, even if no one else would know …
and
if I’d set it myself to spite Simon Hanson. It was the principle of the thing.

My open laptop glared up from the table, taunting me. I ran an eye over the drivel I’d written the night before while under the influence, then deleted the lot.

After a shower and coffee I had another go at writing up the feature but couldn’t seem to get a handle on it. Whenever I tried to put it together in my mind, my thoughts were too scattered, so I plodded into the kitchen, hoping more coffee would help.

It didn’t.

Running out of time, I dragged on another pet hair-friendly trouser suit and my favorite diamante watch—one of my good luck watches.

Davo was already at the diner, waiting in a booth. I ordered coffee and a pastry and waited while he ordered a breakfast burrito, scrambled eggs, chunky fried potatoes, English muffin, and a chocolate milkshake. My stomach churned just thinking about it.

“So, did you unearth anything?” I took off my sunglasses but when the glare hit my retinas, I flinched and put them back on.

“It’s more than that, boss chick.” Davo executed a quick look around—I assumed checking if the coast was clear to report his findings. Pointless really when we were the only ones in the place. “There’s been another one.”

A gum-chewing waitress appeared with my coffee. I smiled my gratitude and stirred in the sugar. “Another one?”

“Another
gnomicide
.” Davo leaned back in his seat, savoring his moment of glory.

“Oh, another gnomicide. I see.” I sipped my coffee. Gritty and burnt, but I’d take what I could get this morning. “A new crime scene?”

The waitress returned with our breakfasts and Davo waited until she was out of earshot before replying. “Yep. This one was in front of old Valentina de la Vega’s house.”