Free The Fraud by Brad Parks Page A

Brodie to cover for me because you have a hankering for chicken tikka biryani.”
    I shook my head. “Look, I know every other important person at this paper seems to be a man over the age of sixty so they might not understand the implications of your condition. But have any of them noticed that you’re about to bring forth life? What are they going to do when you’re on maternity leave?”
    We had yet to discuss the exact contours of Tina’s leave. The paper had a generous policy that allowed new parents to take up to three months paid leave. But I knew Tina was worried how her high standing with corporate might be compromised if she disappeared for that long. Even though we were supposed to be living in more enlightened times, Tina had the fear—shared by working women everywhere—that maternity leave would count against her.
    This had caused me to worry that she was going to take a three-month leave and cut it short after three days. Every time I talked about how lucky we were to have such a kind employer—between the two of us, we could stay at home with Baby Boy Ross for his first six months—she changed the subject.
    I pressed on. “And while I’m bringing up subjects you’re trying to avoid, we really need to start moving some of your stuff over to my place. At least some clothes. It’s going to get a lot harder once C-3PO makes his arrival.”
    She absentmindedly rested a hand on her belly.
    “Yeah,” is all she said and she stared out the glass wall of her office into the newsroom beyond.
    “What?” I said.
    “Huh? Nothing.”
    “No. It’s not nothing. You’re gazing off into the distance with a contemplative look. I’m a highly trained newspaper reporter, you know. I notice things like that.”
    “It’s nothing,” she said again. “Have you heard from Chillax lately?”
    “And now you’re dodging my question. Didn’t I just mention I’m a newspaper reporter?”
    “Yes, but I’m not one of your sources, Carter Ross. I’m your girlfriend. So drop it, okay?”
    I have to admit, I was so warmed that she described herself as my girlfriend—most of the time she resisted labels that might suggest attachment—I let it go.
    “All right, fine,” I said. “To answer your question, I dispatched Chillax to Scotch Plains this morning and haven’t heard from him since.”
    “Could you please make sure he hasn’t fallen in a hole or something?”
    “Yeah, you got it,” I said, and shoved myself away from her door frame, against which I had been leaning. I had my shoulder turned to walk away when she spoke up.
    “Hey, Carter. I’m sorry about dinner. You know I wish I could spend time with you tonight, right?”
    “Yeah, sure,” I said, smiling at her. “And you know I love you.”
    She smiled back. I quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then blew her a kiss.
    *   *   *
    My stomach was starting to do its predictable 12:15 P.M. rumble and as I left Tina’s office I scanned the newsroom for Tommy Hernandez, my partner in pizza. Not seeing him, I settled into my desk and dialed Chillax’s number.
    After two rings, I heard, “Hey, dude.”
    “Hey, Chillax, it’s Carter Ross.”
    “What’s up, brah?”
    I clenched my teeth. It was an effort to unclench them enough to be able to speak. “I was just calling to see how things were going out there.”
    “It’s good, brah. I’m outside the dude’s house. There’s, like, a billion TV trucks here. You’d think the president was holed up inside. It’s pretty boss.”
    I realized he was using “boss” not as a noun or verb, but as an adjective. I took it to mean that the young man was impressed by the spectacle spread before him.
    “Have you gotten any good stuff?” I asked.
    “Not really. The word is that a family spokesman is going to give a statement sometime this afternoon. But no one knows when.”
    “What about the neighbors?”
    “I think we’ve scared them all away. Any time someone walks by,