Shot Girl (37 page)

"Felicia told him you were the shooter, that you tried to kill your ex. She wanted to deflect any sense that she was involved, and put it all on you."

"So by telling you all this, Ned’s trying to save his ass? That he was justified in kidnapping me, holding a gun on me?"

"He says he didn’t mean to shoot you. He just wanted to scare you."

And he thought I deserved it. Our conversation on the way to the cave solidified that for me. If Ned was right, then Shaw had been wrong. Ralph didn’t want to try to redeem himself with me. He wanted me to go down with him. He was an asshole to the very end.

"Did Riley kill Ashley?" I wanted to hear what Tom had to say without my own opinion thrown in.

"You’ll find out when you see the press release," he said.

"Jesus, Tom, I have no idea if I’ll get to see the press release." I’d left a message for Marty to call me, but he hadn’t gotten back to me yet. I knew Dick Whitfield was skulking around the hospital somewhere, trying to get information about Jack Hammer and me.

"We found fibers from the condo in his cruiser. And some blood."

I’d told Tom about seeing the cruiser that night.

"So he was really the guy, huh?"

"Shaw and Decker both knew it. And if Ned hadn’t gotten to him first, Decker probably would be dead, too," Tom said. "I have to go talk to him again. I’ll call you later, see how you’re doing." I’d already spent hours giving my statement. I nodded. "Sure. How’s Shaw?"

"Ask him yourself."

I turned to see Reggie Shaw approaching. "Hey there," I said.

"Lovely to see you up and about."

I was getting used to his affectations. "Thanks." But then I remembered something. I tugged on Tom’s sleeve and pulled him away from Shaw and Vinny, who were talking.

"One thing. Ashley had told Vinny that someone named Reggie would give her shit if she was just talking to someone at the bar without selling any shots." This had bothered me.

Tom grinned. "The club manager’s name is Reggie, Annie."

Okay, so I hadn’t done my homework, as Shaw had so aptly pointed out earlier—and that reminded me of something else. "Shaw owns the house that Ralph lived in and that condo. What other properties does he own in the city?"

"All you have to do is check land records, Ms. Seymour." Shaw’s voice resonated from behind me, and I turned to see him smiling at me. "I have nothing to hide."

He was smooth; I had to give him that.

 
I made Vinny stop at the paper when we left the hospital. I’d managed to avoid seeing Dick anywhere, but I needed to clear up things with Marty. I needed to know if Charlie Simmons was taking me off my beat permanently. Dick’s comment when I saw him at my mother’s barbecue about "something else" besides his being employee of the month was nagging at me. In a really bad way.

The newsroom was mostly empty; it wasn’t ten a.m. yet. Only Marty and Jane Ferraro were at their desks. Kevin Prisley was on the phone. I wanted to ask him to check into Shaw’s properties next time he went to city hall; I couldn’t leave Shaw alone. I needed to know more about the man.

But I didn’t have time to talk to Kevin. Marty cluck-clucked over me and my bandages when I came in, and he pulled me into the conference room as Vinny went off to get a really bad cup of coffee out of the machine.

When we were seated with the door closed, Marty leaned in toward me, his face dark. "I’ve got some news for you."

My stomach lurched, and I took a deep breath. "Don’t tell me I have to cover social services now," I said grimly. "I don’t think I could deal with that."

Marty’s face brightened and he smiled. "Oh, Annie, it’s not that bad." He paused. "Charlie’s taken a liking to Dick, as you know. He also knows that you’re good at your job and Dick has a bit to learn yet. He and I have spoken at length about this." He paused again. "Dick’s going to start blogging."

Blogging?

"We’re beefing up the Web site, Internet exposure. We have to—we have to compete. Blogs are a way to do that. Dick’s going to do a police-beat blog."

"What does that mean, exactly?" I asked slowly.

Marty chuckled. "Don’t look so worried. What it means is, he’ll be taking your stories, and any he might do, and blog about crime stories, trends, do profiles, on the Web site. I think it’ll help his writing. It’ll get him out of your hair a little, but you’ll have to work with him on content. Can you do that?"

As long as he didn’t take my beat, I didn’t give a shit what Dick Whitfield had to do. I barely knew what a blog was, much less how to write one, so I could live with this plan. I nodded. "Sure."

Marty grinned and stood. "Great. I’ll tell Charlie you’re all set. Now that all this is over, take a week off, heal up, and then get back to work next week."

 
Vinny leaned on his elbow, his face over mine. "You okay? You’re not hurting too much, are you? We could wait."

The pillow was soft under my head, the light streaming into the bedroom, warming our bodies despite the cool air from the air conditioner. At least Riley had done something right.

"I think we’ll have to abandon the acrobatics for the time being, but I’m fine," I assured him. And as I said it, I knew it was true.