Front Page Fatality by Lyndee Walker Read Free Book Online

boats still burning on the black water in the distance didn’t look promising for a happy ending.
    I canvassed the emergency personnel for Aaron, but it was hard to even distinguish the policemen from the firefighters in the strange half-darkness so far from the accident scene.
    The blond head bobbing just above most of the crowd, however, I knew instantly.
    “It can’t be,” I muttered, even as I recognized the butter-colored polo I’d seen twice that day already.
    “There you are!” Parker said when I caught up to him. “This is a madhouse. How do you ever get any work done at one of these things?”
    “Hey, Parker.” I stared, still unable to come up with a single logical reason for his presence. “I’ve never been to anything like this before. Boats don’t usually blow up on the James. But I’m about to find a cop and see what’s going on. Forgive my manners, but what are you doing here?”
    “I know a little about what happened.” He grimaced. “The coach got a call during my interview after the Generals game. The little speedboat belonged to Nate DeLuca, one of our pitchers. I don’t know the details, but it hit a Richmond PD boat. Like you said, there was an explosion. The fire department is searching the river and the banks on both sides, but they don’t think anyone survived. After I called in my story, I came to see for myself what happened to DeLuca. I’m going to write a feature on him for Sunday. He should’ve been at the ballpark tonight, but he had friends in town, and since he wasn’t pitching, the coach gave him the night off.”
    “Sweet cartwheeling Jesus. Let’s go see what else we can find out,” I said. “Kiss your Saturday goodbye, Mr. Columnist. You’re going to be at the office tomorrow.” And so was I. So much for my leisurely weekend.
    I turned to dive back into the crowd in search of Aaron and mid-whirl, I noticed Jenna standing there, still and surprised. Her eyes were doing that white-all-around thing again.
    “People died out there?” she squeaked.
    I patted her hand. “You want to go back to the car?”
    “No.” She squared her small shoulders and gripped my arm a little tighter. “I want to go to work with you.”
    I turned back to Parker. “Grant Parker, this is my friend Jenna Rowe. This wreck crashed girls’ night. She drank too much tequila, but she’s very excited to see the glamorous world of journalism up close.”
    “The best way to do that is after too much tequila,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Jenna.”
    The thin fingers around my arm dug in tighter, and I didn’t think their owner was breathing. I elbowed her lightly in the ribs, rolling my eyes. Her forceful exhale sounded like a sigh as she gazed at Parker.
    “I really love your column,” she lied. Jenna hated sports in any incarnation. She was already bemoaning the start of Gabby’s soccer season, and it was three months away.
    “Thank you.” He smiled.
    We moved through the crowd as a unit until I saw a familiar face.
    “Mike!” I waved at Sergeant Sorrel from the narcotics unit.
    “Nichelle,” he said, turning from the water to face me when I stopped next to him. “Where’ve you been? You missed the TV crews. They all left about twenty minutes ago.”
    Damn. Charlie no doubt drank her margaritas with her scanner in her lap.
    “I was out and I missed the call, but got down here as quick as I could. I didn’t even take my poor friend Jenna home first.”
    Mike smiled at Jenna and held out his hand. “I guess you never know how your Friday night is going to end up when you’re friends with Nichelle, huh?” 
    I started to introduce Parker, but quickly learned women weren’t alone in their rambling worship  of him.
    “Hey! You’re Grant Parker!” Mike said before I got a word out. “I watched you play ball when you were in college here, man. You had some arm. Too bad about all that, I guess—but I read your column. I’m a big fan.”
    Parker smiled and shook