Edited for Death Read Online Free Page B

one.
    For the next hour, I keep myself busy while I watch the clock and wait for the phone. Finally, I dial Clarice’s cell, and a deep male voice answers.
    “Who’s this?” I demand.
    “This is Lt. Schultz of the Monroe police. Who are you?” the voice demands back.
    Oops. What is this all about? I introduce myself and ask for Clarice.
    “She’s talking to the fire guys right now,” Schultz says in a don’t-mess-with- me cop tone. “I left my phone in my car and asked to use hers. I’ll have her call you.” The line goes dead.

 
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    The ten minutes before Clarice calls back are long. I can’t keep my mind together enough to edit stories. When the phone finally rings, I jolt.
    “Where are you? Why are you letting the cops use your cell phone?” I demand.
    “Hey, Amy, and how are you?” Clarice’s voice is cheery, not a good sign. ”Schultz asked to use my phone and I know you’re always preaching good, open communication, so I let him. They’re not using land lines right now so they can’t be traced over the scanner.”
    “Well, where are you and Schultz?”
    “We’re at the scene. They did discover a body and it sure looks like the missing guy. It’s about 60 or 70 yards off Granite Road, you know, the county road that leads down to the levees. It’s pretty moist out here. The body is in a patch of weeds—can’t tell what kind in the dark but they’re tall—and it’s lying face down in some shallow water.”
    “How in the hell do you know that? What did you do, see the body? Isn’t the scene taped?” I’m clenching my hand, getting a fist ready to punch something.
    “It’s taped … now.” The blonde’s voice is subdued. “Funny thing, it wasn’t taped when I got here. There weren’t even any homicide guys here when I got here. The tip from Rural Fire was real good. I walked out into the field to ask the guys on the scene what they’d found and, well, they’re standing over the body of an old guy dressed in a security guard’s uniform.”
    Oh Lord, I think. I’m going to have to remake a portion of page one.
    “OK Clarice, you win. This will go page one, but, BUT it’s not the lead story and you need to get your butt back here NOW and write it. I’ll need about 12 inches.”
    “Well, that may be a problem.” Clarice’s voice suddenly sounds tinny, like she’s using a can and string. “I can do the 12 inches, but I can’t get back right now.”
    “What are you talking about?” I’m almost yelling. It’s been a long day. My patience is as stretched as control-top pantyhose. “If you’re not back here in the next half hour, and it isn’t written 45 minutes after that, I won’t be able to hold page one.”
    Clarice’s voice scratches and then takes hold. “It seems as though I got here too early,” she admits. “My car is inside the tape and the cops won’t let me out. They’re checking tire tracks now.”
    I can’t even come up with a response.
    When she parked her car on the shoulder of the road, it ended up in the middle of the crime scene. How the hell does Clarice manage to get herself into these situations?
    “Oh God, hitch a ride with the fire guys, ask one of the uniforms to bring you back. I don’t care how you do it, but I better hear from you in a few minutes and you better be telling me you’re on your way back to the office.” I poked the phone off and massaged my right temple where an incipient headache was trying to stake a claim.
    I’m on automatic as I call the news editor and tell her to leave a hole for Clarice’s story. I even offer to write a headline so that she can work on the remake.
    Clarice blows in 15 minutes late, but in her solid way turns out a concise, readable story with a little time to spare. Once everything is buttoned up, I offer to buy her a drink and vent some of my peevishness over a glass of wine.
    “You know, Clarice, this could become a big problem for the paper and for you.”
    “I know,