Free Stuck on Murder by Lucy Lawrence

back of his pants and tossed him out the open door to land in a jumble of arms and legs on the front lawn.
    “Have a nice day,” Nate said. Then he quickly closed and latched the door and pulled down the shades on all the windows.
    “Whoa,” she said, impressed.
    “I bartended my way through art school,” Nate said with a shrug. “I frequently had to toss out the drunks. Nosey reporters aren’t that much different, although they do put up more of a fight.”
    “Thank you,” Brenna said. “I know I can’t avoid him for long, but I’d like to shower first at least.”
    Sure enough, a fist pounded on the door again.
    “Go away, Ed!” they shouted at the same time.
    “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me,” Ed shouted back through the door. Then they heard a low-pitched growl. It was Hank, back from his morning walk and not happy to find a stranger on Brenna’s porch.
    “Nice doggy.” They heard Ed through the door. “Nice doggy.”
    The growling continued and Ed yelled, “Hey, you want to call him off?”
    “Should we?” Brenna asked. Nate didn’t seem worried, but she didn’t want Ed to sic the dog warden on Hank because of her.
    “Nah, Hank won’t hurt him, he’ll just show him his teeth until Ed gets the message,” he said.
    The growling continued and they heard Ed step off the porch while still trying to reason with Hank. Brenna crossed the room and peeked around the blind. Ed was hurrying across the lawn to his car while Hank was doing his best impression of a stalking lion.
    As soon as Ed drove away, Hank came trotting back to the door, wagging his tail and looking quite pleased with himself. Brenna opened the door and offered him two strips of leftover bacon.
    “Good boy,” she said, and she scratched his back just the way he liked it.
    Nate moved to stand in the open door. “You can shower now,” he said. “I don’t think Ed will be back for a while.”
    “Thanks,” Brenna said. “I really don’t want my name in the paper.”
    Nate looked at her questioningly and she realized she’d said too much. Before he could ask for an explanation, she said, “What do you think he meant when he asked if we knew what he’d done to get here?”
    He studied her for a moment as if trying to decide whether to allow her to change the subject. Finally, he said, “I think he meant covering all of the lousy stories that he’s had to write all these years, from school board meetings to charity yard sales. He’s finally got hard news and he’s not going to give it up easily.”
    “Oh,” Brenna said. She supposed that could be true.
    “Why? What do you think he meant?” he asked.
    “Nothing,” she said.
    She wasn’t going to admit that she thought he was saying he had done something to create this story. Not yet anyway.

Chapter 9

    Laying out the image is a lot like fitting together the pieces of a puzzle.
    It wasn’t long after Nate and Hank had left and Brenna had showered that the phone started ringing. Judging by the messages on her voice mail, the gossip had begun at the early bird breakfast at Stan’s Diner with the waitress Marybeth DeFalco, who was married to one of the police officers who’d been at the scene. With every order of coffee, she served up a side of the latest dish, today’s being the mayor found dead in a trunk. By eight o’clock in the morning, the entire town knew that Cynthia Ripley was now a widow.
    Brenna didn’t answer her phone and stopped checking her messages. She supposed some people were calling to see if she was all right, but she imagined most of them were looking for information. Well, she didn’t have any and she didn’t need to relive the whole horrible experience for the vicarious thrills of others. So there.
    Once it was more dry than wet, she pulled her curly, reddish brown hair back in its usual band and put on a moss green sweater, which made her hazel eyes appear more green than brown. She wore tan khakis, and in deference to the