Star Struck by Val McDermid Read Free Book Online Page B

intuition and imagination are powerful tools that she could develop profitably. She has a good business sense and communicates well in that sphere. She probably writes very thorough reports.

From
Written in the Stars
, by Dorothea Dawson
     
     
     
    It was hard to keep my mind on Gloria’s monologue on the way in to the studios the next morning. The conundrum of Gizmo’s mysterious bouquet was much more interesting than her analysis of the next month’s storylines for
Northerners
. When the delivery man had announced who the flowers were for, Shelley and I had rounded on Gizmo. Scarlet and stammering, he’d refused to reveal anything. Shelley, who’s always been quick on her feet, helped herself to the card attached to the bouquet and ripped open the envelope.
    All it said was, “www gets real.” I know. I was looking over her shoulder. The delivery man had placed the flowers on Shelley’s desk and legged it. He’d clearly seen enough blood shed over bouquets to hang around. “So who have you been chatting up on the Internet?” I demanded. “Who’s the cyberbabe?”
    “Cyberbabe?” Shelley echoed.
    I pointed to the card. “www. The worldwide web. The Internet. It’s from someone he’s met websurfing. Well, not actually met, as such. Exchanged e-mail with.”
    “Safer than body fluids,” Shelley commented drily. “So who’s the cyberbabe, Gizmo?”
    Gizmo shook his head. “It’s a joke,” he said with the tentative air
    I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’ve never met a techie yet who’d spend money on flowers while there was still software on the planet.”
    “Honest, Kate, it’s a wind-up,” he said desperately.
    “Some expensive wind-up,” Shelley commented. “Did one of your mates win the lottery, then?”
    “There is no babe, OK? Leave it, eh?” he said, this time sounding genuinely upset.
    So we’d left it, sensitive girls that we are. Gizmo retreated back to his hi-tech hermitage and Shelley shrugged. “No use looking at me, Kate. He’s not going to fall for the, ‘You can talk to me, I’m a woman, I understand these things,’ routine. It’s down to you.”
    “Men never cry on my shoulder,” I protested.
    “No, but you’re the only one around here who knows enough about computers to find who he’s been talking to.”
    I shook my head. “No chance. If Gizmo’s got a cybersecret, it’ll be locked away somewhere I won’t be able to find it. We’ll just have to do this the hard way. First thing tomorrow, you better get on to the florist.”
    Call me a sad bastard, but as I was driving Gloria to the studios, I was busy working out how we could discover Gizmo’s secret admirer if she’d been clever enough to cover her tracks on the flower delivery. So I almost missed it when Gloria asked me a question that needed more than a grunt in response. “So you don’t mind coming along tonight?”
    “No, that’s fine,” I said, not quite certain what I’d agreed to.
    “I’m really buggering up your social life, chuck,” she continued. “If you’ve got a fella you want to bring along, you’re welcome, you know.”
    I must have shown how unlikely a prospect that was, since Gloria chuckled. “He’s a rock journalist,” I said.
    She roared with laughter. “Better not bring him anywhere I’m singing, then,” she spluttered. “I’m too old to be insulted.”
    By the time we reached the studios, the sky had clouded over
    “Problems?”
    “We’re supposed to be filming outside this morning. When it’s raining like this, they’ll hang on to see if it clears up and fill the time with the indoor scenes scheduled for this afternoon. I’m not in any of them, so not only do I lose an afternoon off but I get a morning hanging around waiting for the weather to change.” She rummaged in the bulging satchel that contained her scripts and pulled out a crumpled schedule. “Let’s see … Could be worse. Teddy and Clive are in the same boat. D’you play bridge,