“I won a Peabody?” She turned to face him, and his eyes locked with hers.
“Your story put two very guilty men behind bars.”
“But it wasn’t just my story.”
He stopped toying with her skirt and his voice took on a serious edge she seldom heard. “It was your story and you deserve this.”
A Peabody. She’d always dreamed of earning one. Every reporter did. But she never really thought that she’d have one on her desk. A desk that was surprisingly empty right now.
“What happened to all my stuff?” Tara tried to look at the floor behind the desk, but Josh distracted her with a kiss.
He slowly slid her jacket off, and he began to unzip the back of her dress. “It’s still here, but like I said, we need to celebrate.”
More From This Author
(From Playing with Fire)
October 2
“Delia?” The barista stood, steaming cup in hand, as he looked out over the Saturday morning crowd at the coffee shop. As was typical during First Monday Trade Days, the room was packed with a mixture of red-hatted women bused in from assisted living centers in neighboring towns alongside young women pushing strollers seeking relief from the surprisingly oppressive October heat. Fall may have arrived in the rest of the country, but no one seemed to have alerted Texas to the news.
No locals could be found among the crowd. They were smart enough to leave Pineville before the tourists descended each month. “Delia?” The high schooler called out louder over the din of the crowd.
“Close enough.” Special Agent Della Chambers walked to the counter and reached for the cardboard cup.
“Extra large mocha with a double shot of espresso?” The young man’s pierced eyebrow shot up in question.
Della’s fingers wrapped around the cup. “That’d be me.” Taking her drink, she smoothed her coral camisole down over the waistband of her black Capri pants, very much aware that her rumpled business attire made her stand out in the crowd of bargain hunters. As she walked to the table filled with sugar packets and three flavors of creamers, she made one last, futile attempt to find a seat in the filled-to-capacity shop. She definitely should have driven thirty more minutes until she’d reached the next town. Of course, it had been a very long time since she’d been in the area; she’d forgotten the insanity that accompanied Trade Days.
After searching for a non-sticky spot on the table, she set down her drink and reached for the sugar packets. As a tendril of hair fell loose from the bun on the nape of her neck, she quickly spun it back into place as she fought back a yawn. Normally she’d spread a trip from Jacksonville to north Texas over two days, but Philip had told her time was of the essence. When she’d hung up the phone from her conversation with her boss, she had only allowed herself a half hour to prepare for the trip. As the reports Philip sent her printed, Della hurried through her apartment, tossing only absolute necessities into the bag for what she hoped would be a very short trip.
Now she was paying the price for her haste. She should have allowed herself a night’s rest in Louisiana, but now, with just four hours left on her trip, she couldn’t justify taking a break, especially not after her boss had called her with the latest news. Her guy had struck again while she was on the road.
Della leaned to the side in an attempt to loosen the cramped muscles in her back as she stirred the third packet of sugar into her coffee. The television in the corner of the coffee shop caught her eye as the camera panned to a limestone structure engulfed in flames. As she watched, the ornate stained glass window to the left of the front door shattered, and shards of glass sparkled like gemstones on the sidewalk.
“Such a pity.” A fellow patron noticed Della’s interest in the news report on the screen. Her red hat shook from side to side as a look of sadness took over her face. “I remember when the ladies and I went to tour Crockett’s town square. Our bus stopped at the church since it was on the national historic registry. Truly a loss … ”
Della nodded and winced as she took a sip of her still-too-hot coffee. “It was gorgeous. My parents got married there.” The ornately carved steeple faded from view as the roof crumbled in on itself. Della drummed her fingers against her thigh as she watched a group of volunteer firemen skitter away from the sparks and debris taking flight as the building fully collapsed. She whispered to herself. “Total loss.”
“That poor town. I’ve been following the story.” The woman’s voice rose in a mixture of horror and excitement. “That’s the fifth fire this week.” Her eyes flashed. “And they had fifteen others in September. Someone has to be setting them. Fifteen fires don’t just happen.”
“Ten.” Della tossed the wooden stir stick in the trash and reached for a plastic travel lid. “They had ten fires last month, and this is the third this week.”
The woman’s eyebrows knit together at the unexpected correction from her new acquaintance. She tsked as she shook her head. “In any case, I hope they find whoever’s setting the fires.”
“Oh, they will.” Della gave a grim nod and stepped toward the glass door. She turned and called out over her shoulder. “I can promise you that.” Carefully stepping down the freshly washed stairs leading from the coffee shop, Della paused as a young mother wrestled to get a jogging stroller over the curb. Careful not to spill her coffee on either of the two little girls, Della grabbed hold of the footrest and helped pull the stroller onto the sidewalk leading to the main row of antique stores.
“Thanks so much!” The woman smiled in relief.
“My pleasure,” Della waved as she turned away and began to make her way through the bustling sidewalk to the parking lot where she’d left her car. As she stepped around a group of women comparing purchases, she couldn’t help from comparing Pineville with the last time she’d been to Crockett. If her hometown had been blessed with the title of Antique Capital of East Texas, would it have the problem she was being sent to fix? She crossed the street at a jog as the traffic cleared on Main Street. After carefully placing her coffee on the hood of her car, she took one last opportunity to stretch her back before settling in her car for the last leg of the eighteen-hour drive.
Placing her cup in the car’s console, she glanced at the stack of manila file folders arrayed across her passenger seat. Based upon the news report she’d just seen, she had a new file to make. Buckling her seatbelt, she dug into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She turned off the navigator application since she didn’t need it any longer. She knew the way home from here.
Just as she settled behind the wheel, the sun was finally victorious in its battle against the low overhang of clouds. Bright sunlight streamed in through the front window, and Della squinted in response. If she drove for the next few hours without her sunglasses, she’d end up with a worse headache than the one currently fighting to make its presence known. She grabbed hold of her purse one more time and dug through her assorted papers, receipts, wallet, and spiral calendar in search of her sunglasses. Just as she began to wonder if she’d left them on her desk, her fingers brushed against plastic. Della thankfully placed her sunglasses on and sighed in relief. The oppressive summer sun was one thing she didn’t miss about living in the south. Unable to think of a reason to delay leaving any longer, she turned in her seat to check for traffic before pulling onto I-20. Easing her car into the line of traffic leaving the town after a morning of shopping, she passed the green sign with the name of an all too familiar town. Crockett — 112 miles. If she didn’t need to make any stops along the way, she’d be able to make it before lunch.
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