The Mortal Groove by Ellen Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

what I hear, it could be bad.”
    â€œWe got so many ways for things to be bad, you better be more specific.” Randy sat down himself, eased back into the darkness.
    Sue.
    It was the one word Randy feared more than any other. “It’s just an old story, Del. Nothing happened then and nothing will happen now.” Unconsciously, he began to knead his wedding ring between his fingers.
    â€œI wish I had your confidence.”
    It wasn’t confidence, thought Randy. It felt more like desperation.
    â€œThe reporter’s name is Melanie Gunderson. She works for
City Beat
—that weekly pulp. That’s all I know about her, but I’ve got a bunch of feelers out. I’ll have more by tomorrow morning. Man, I don’t need this. I’m already up to my ears in campaign shit. We gotta do something.”
    â€œLike what? What are you suggesting? That we have her whacked?” He laughed.
    Del didn’t. “I got a bad feeling about this. Nobody’s touched that story since the trial. And now this.”
    â€œSounds like you boys got some heavy problems,” said Larry,leaning against the open office door. He ambled into the room and took the chair next to Del.
    â€œHow much of that did you hear?” asked Randy.
    â€œEnough. Look, boys, if I understand it right, this concerns me, too.”
    Randy gave a slow nod.
    â€œEither of you got any serious cash?”
    â€œWhy?” asked Del. “You think we can buy her off?”
    â€œIt’s worth a try. She don’t know me from Adam. I don’t look nothing like I did back then. What if I contact her and offer her, say, twenty thousand to back away from the story. All I’d tell her is that I’m an interested party, a guy who don’t wanna see innocent people get hurt.” He shrugged. “Everybody’s got a price.”
    Inside his perfectly pressed Oxford cloth shirt, Randy was beginning to sweat. He glanced at Del. “What do you think?”
    â€œI haven’t got twenty thousand dollars.”
    â€œBut I do,” said Randy. And yet his gut reaction was that it was a mistake.
    â€œYou boys mull it over,” said Larry, stretching his arms high over his head. “I’ll be kickin’ around here for a few days. Whatever you decide is fine by me.”

 
    Â 
    â€œIs that you, honey?” called Sigrid from the bathroom.
    Peter had just come through the front door of their apartment. “How come you’re home so early,” he called back, feeling momentarily panicked. He searched the top of the credenza in the dining room, looking for the day’s mail.
    â€œMy last client canceled,” called Sigrid. “Hey, what do you say we go out for a drink, maybe some food. I know it’s late—”
    â€œSounds good to me.”
    â€œI just got out of the shower. I’ll be there in a sec.”
    Peter darted into the kitchen, looked around, then returned to the dining room. His eyes cruised the living room until he saw the stack of letters on the coffee table. Sweeping them up, he turned away from the hallway door and flipped through them. If Sigrid had brought the mail in, she might have already found the letter—if it had come. On the other hand, if she’d seen it, read the con-tents, she would’ve been waiting for him with a loaded shotgun.
    The letter he’d been waiting for was at the bottom of the stack—unopened. He quickly stuffed it in his pants pocket, then sat down on the couch, depositing the rest of the mail on the end table next to him. He couldn’t believe he’d nearly blown it. Retrieving the mail before Sigrid got home wasn’t usually a problem. When his dad had called and asked to meet him at the Lyme House, he’d assumed that he’d still get home before she did. So much for dumb assumptions. If Sigrid discovered what he was up to, he wasn’t sure what she’d do. That’s why he