“Sure, no problem,” I said nonchalantly, although my heart was racing with the thought of not having to entertain myself for an entire week. “Thanks,” I managed to sputter just before I hung up the phone.
Richard Wells was going to shit when he saw this story. I smiled to myself in the dark, because even though Dick was getting the byline, this was my fucking story and everyone would know that.
I was almost asleep when the phone screeched again. I picked it up.
“Yeah?”
“Annie, it’s Dick Whitfield. I just left the station house. They’ve arrested Melissa Peabody’s roommate, and your name kept coming up.”
I glanced at the clock. He had about half an hour to get the story to the copy desk. He didn’t need me for this, it was cut-and-dried. I could see the headline now: “Yale Student Charged in Murder of Roommate.” With the time constraint, he’d barely be able to write ten inches. Tomorrow I’d help him out; I just didn’t have the energy right now.
“Can you give me a comment?” he asked when I didn’t answer. “I was going to swing by there, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea.”
He was right. And I showed considerable restraint by not telling him so in the manner that I wanted to. I merely hung up, rolled over, and stuffed my head under the pillow.
Annie Seymour 01-Sacred Cows Page 25
