Blood of the Pride by Sheryl Nantus Read Free Book Online

nice buzzword for saying they had stalled. Not that I was complaining. Having the cops around wasn’t going to help.
    Finally settling on Animal Planet I dumped the contents of the packet into the boiling water and ran back up to the computer.
    I had two targets to hunt down. The photographer and the killer. I figured the easiest spot to start with would be the scum who took the picture and sold it to the tabloid. With any luck one would lead me to the other. At the least I’d be able to give the name of the photographer to the Pride and let them decide what to do with him or her.
    There was also a chance the photographer was the killer. It’d make things easier to a degree but I couldn’t assume anything at this point.
    The front page of the Inquisitor website had the current issue displayed with poor Janey Winters taking up a small square at the bottom with a thumbnail photograph and the tag “Cat Woman found dead!” It wasn’t a good shot, intentionally blurred to avoid anyone identifying the face. Some of the fuzz had been added electronically but it was still disturbing as all hell. I skipped over the article excerpt and headed for the information page. Sure enough, Brandon Hanover’s picture was there with a link to his email address.
    Of course I wasn’t going to just email him. I didn’t like doing business without seeing or hearing a person. It was much easier catching a lie when you could see a person’s sweat or hear the tension in his voice.
    After a few minutes of internet searching I had his cell number. I dialed it while slurping up noodles and nibbling on slices of old, old cheddar retrieved from the back of my refrigerator. The cheese helped cover up the smell of the blood but the aroma still danced in my nostrils, sending me back to early morning hunts and urging me to get a nice rare slab of meat for a snack later.
    “Hey.” The tone was jovial and mellow.
    “Hey, Hanover.”
    “Who’s this?” The voice dropped from friendly and cheerful to less than welcoming. “Who’s this?”
    “I’m looking into the death of Janey Winters. You know, the dead woman you got pictures of?”
    “Oh, right. The cat woman. What’s it to you?”
    “Like I said, I’m looking into the case. Can I meet you and discuss it over a beer?” If I knew something about reporters, I knew they would never pass up a free drink.
    “You got it. Handy Andy’s on Queen in about an hour. I’ll be the hot stud hanging out at the bar.” The line went dead.
    “Modest, ain’t ya?” I set the plate down on the kitchen table.
    Jazz slithered onto my couch and rolled onto her back. I sat down beside her and began to stroke the thin hair.
    “You’re on guard duty. Don’t give away the place.”
    With her answering trill in my ears I snagged my jacket and headed out to the main street. There was no way I was going to try to find a parking place downtown then deal with having a drink or three, depending on how the meeting went.
    I knew Handy Andy’s from years ago when it had tried to establish a niche for itself as a Goth bar, failing miserably because the owner figured Goths couldn’t count and wouldn’t know when they were being ripped off for drinks. It had passed through a variety of owners since then, finally settling on a nice dark place serving beer, good pub food and a set of pool tables in the back beside the oldest pinball machines I had ever seen.
    The bar was still half-empty when I arrived, tripping over the clearly marked step despite the yellow fluorescent tape. A series of giggles and guffaws welcomed me into the pub. There was a single empty table, set up against the plate glass window looking back out onto Queen Street. I sat down at the circular wooden platform and waited.
    The waitress was the first to arrive, an older woman with more wrinkles on her face than a grumpy Shar Pei. She put a photocopied sheet of paper in front of me and smiled, almost a sisterly grin.
    “What can I get