Free Buried Leads (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery) by Lyndee Walker

I do have a name.”
    “That’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure I can find someone else. And if not, I know where to find you.”
    “Sure,” I said. “If you’re going to keep secrets, I’m going to go see what I can find out from these guys and get back to the office before deadlines eat me alive. I now owe Bob three stories, and I still have a feature due today.”
    “No rest for the wicked.” He shook his head. “Though that doesn’t really suit the Nichelle I remember.”
    I smiled a goodbye and turned back to the building. The engineers spouted a lot of technical jargon about load-bearing walls and danger of spontaneous demolition, and I wrote it down carefully. Climbing back into my car, I waved to Kyle, who was taking notes while he talked to Aaron.
    Driving back to the office, I cranked the stereo and turned my conversation with my ex over in my head. The ATF only handled accidents when they involved certain chemical spills, and as far as I knew, diamonds were way outside their area of interest. And even if they weren’t, something like that didn’t need the attention of a big shot.
    I tapped the power button on my computer, still no closer to why Kyle had been at the accident scene. Dialing St. Vincent’s media relations office for an update on the victims from the jewelry store, I skimmed my notes from the scene again as I waited for a hospital PR person to pick up the phone.
    “Those boots hadn’t ever seen a field,” I said aloud as I read the clerk’s words and pictured her rolling green eyes.
    A tobacco field, maybe? Powhatan was full of them. I’d bet my favorite sapphire Louboutins I was right. Kyle didn’t give a damn about diamonds. He was there because of the farmer.
    6.

    To catch a thief

    I hammered out the jewelry store report in record time and plunged straight from that into the feature, with Eunice’s three o’clock deadline looming. One hour. I could write a feature in an hour. I thought, anyway.

    Troy Wright and his older brother, Darryl, grew up in the same house, went to the same schools, and had the devotion of a mother who loves her sons more than life itself. In a part of Richmond that sees more than its fair share of violence, where schools are underfunded and drugs and crime are a part of everyday life for many, Troy Wright is a contender for a prestigious academic award and an honor student at Kingston High School, with dreams of studying broadcast journalism at Virginia Tech or UVA.
    Darryl was a convicted drug dealer, found shot in the head in his own home in June.

    I lost myself in the rhythm of the keystrokes, the rest of the newsroom falling away until I closed with a quote from Joyce about how proud she was of her son and checked the clock. Three-thirty. Eunice wouldn’t be too upset at a half-hour tardy after the day I’d had. Thank God it was her waiting for the piece and not Les.
    Unable to ignore my stomach any longer, I sent Eunice the story and went to the break room in search of something edible and a caffeine fix. I hoped Eunice had been in the mood to cook the night before, and that the sports desk hadn’t already demolished whatever she’d brought in. But the fridge held only a half-eaten Taco Bell burrito and a salad with a slimy green coating that didn’t look like anything a person should eat.
    “Gross,” I said, swinging the door shut.
    “Nothing good in there?” Parker asked from behind me.
    I spun to face him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that hungry,” I said. “I’ll suck it up until I get home. I have one more story to do, which will make four for today. I’m going to sleep until Monday.”
    “Damn. And I thought my days were busy when I had a column and a game story,” he said. “Anything good?”
    “My feature came out great.” I spun the bottle cap between my fingers and sipped my Coke, then smiled at him. “Speaking of my feature, I need a favor.”
    “Anything. I’ll owe you ’til the end of time for