Exacerbyte (Ellie Conway Book 3)

by Cat Connor

  Another news report began. This time the reporter spent time extolling my virtues as an FBI agent and a poet, then highlighting my more philanthropic ventures. They were promising an in-depth look at the Butterfly Foundation in a later broadcast. I looked at Lee and ran my thumb under my chin. He escaped the phone call from my ex-mother-in-law.

  “Which station started this crap?”

  Lee smiled and flipped channels. “This one,” he said, stopping and putting down the remote.

  I called directory assistance and they put me through to the television station. A receptionist answered.

  “Yeah, this is Supervisory Special Agent Conway – put me through to your news desk.”

  She started to argue.

  “Okay, then put me through to whoever the hell is in charge of that station. Your CEO will do,” I demanded. My tone conveyed an unwillingness to listen to arguments.

  “Putting you through now, ma’am.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said as the phone rang in my ear briefly then stopped short as a male voice spoke.

  “This is Colin Scott, how may I help?”

  “This is S.S.A. Conway. You can stop reporting my death and offer a public apology to my family and colleagues.”

  “We report what we know, ma’am.”

  “Your reporters are embellishing.” I signaled Lee and he started making calls. “My body was not publicly identified in that parking lot. Your reporter is an idiot.”

  I had a feeling it wasn’t just Caps who listened in on police channels.

  “That’s as may be, but no one denied the identity of the woman.”

  “And no one noticed me talking to detectives and viewing the body half an hour ago? Amazing.”

  “I don’t know who you are.”

  “I’m not discussing this any further with you. The reporter in question has caused considerable difficulty this morning by jumping to conclusions and not waiting for formal identification. Cease and desist reporting the death of Agent Conway, immediately.”

  “I don’t know who you are …” The insincere sleaze in his voice pissed me off. I wanted to reach down the phone and shove my badge down his throat; maybe knock out some teeth on the way.

  “Have it your way,” I said. “In about four minutes a bunch of federal agencies are going to be crawling all over your station. It’s going to look like alphabet soup down there.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “They will have the District Attorney with them. You have any idea how pissed she’s going to be at being hauled out of bed because you can’t get your facts straight?”

  “Do what you have to do, Agent.”

  I sensed some of his smugness withering. “I shall.”

  I hung up and looked at Lee. “Green-light the teams. That bastard thinks he’s a law unto himself. Let’s introduce him to some of our friends; make sure IRS is read in.” There was a smile on my face, I couldn’t help it. “Ask the DA about obstruction charges, and making false declarations.” I picked up my coffee. “I want everything we have on this dead woman; she has a family, and they need to know.”

  Lee smiled. He called our SAC, and let him give the news to the teams standing by. “Caine wants to know if you want SWAT.”

  I grinned. “Don’t toy with me like that!”

  Over the phone, Caine’s laughter bounced into my ear. I would have loved SWAT, but I’d already employed overkill involving as many agencies as I could.

  Reporters piss me off. I called our new media liaison, Special Agent Sandra Sinclair. She’d already heard and was heading into the office. She also gave me some information. The television station in question and the reporter who did the live feed from the crime scene, was the same one who had been harassing Carla about a month earlier. He’d followed her to school and lurked around the grounds. He’d even followed her home once or twice. Another reason we were going off the radar with our new home.

  I checked my watch.

  “I need to talk to Carla before she hears this.”

  Lee checked his watch then looked toward the hallway. “She’ll be up soon to get ready for school.”

  We both heard an alarm clock ring.

  “Speak of the devil,” I commented. “I’ll go start breakfast – pancakes?”

  “Sounds good.”

  His words were laden with suspicion. It wasn’t that long ago that I was renowned for my inability to make anything more than coffee. As Bob Dylan sang, ‘The Times They Are A-changin.’ I had a feeling that I was going to need to swim to stop myself sinking. Drowning felt like a very real possibility. Nothing I could put my finger on, just a feeling that life was more fluid than usual. Dory from Finding Nemo swam into view. Dammit. Not that annoying fish. I watched her innocently swim up to Bruce the shark and introduce herself. Some days it would be great to be Dory: To have a short memory and trust everyone. Ha!

  I knocked on Carla’s door. “Good morning. I’m making pancakes!”

  She called back, “Okay, won’t be long.”

  As I entered the kitchen, I heard Carla turn on the shower. We had a pretty good routine going, she and I. We’d settled into life as a family. Being a mom didn’t come naturally to me, but Carla didn’t seem to mind. My saving grace was my father. He was my catcher. His signals, combined with his ability to block my wild pitches, saved the game time and time again. Dad was only too happy to play grandpa. The times when I was called away, he moved in, so Carla had continuity of care. I’d enrolled Carla at Oakton High. Her old school was too far from home and this way my dad was handy should anything go wrong.

  I scooped flour from the flour bin and beat it into the egg mixture alternately with milk. The fry pan heated. Butter sizzled.

  Lee poked his head in. “Can I help?”

  “Set the table,” I suggested.

  He also poured orange juice and located the maple syrup. Bacon cooking filled the room with the best smell ever. Carla appeared towel-drying her hair. She hugged Lee. He kissed her with affection on the top of her head. She slipped an arm around me and snagged a piece of bacon.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” I said, stealing back half the bacon piece and shoving it in my mouth.

  She smiled and sat at the table. Sun streamed in the window, painting the scene normal.

  I set plates piled with pancakes in front of Lee and Carla, then fetched mine.

  Lee nudged Carla. “Ellie always cook like this?”

  “Yes,” she replied, drowning her pancakes in syrup.

  We did breakfast. I couldn’t guarantee I’d be around for dinner, so we did breakfast.

  “Did you teach her?” he asked, cutting pancakes with his fork.

  “Nope.”

  Skeptical, he looked at the forkful of pancakes. “Is it okay to eat?”

  Carla squawked with indignation, “Uncle Lee, Mom is an excellent cook!”

  “The child has spoken,” I added with a smirk.

  “How come you’re here so early?” she said, ignoring his feigned wounding.

  “We have a case.”

  “Is it interesting?”

  The phones rang.

  “Yep,” Lee replied, pretending he couldn’t hear the persistent ringing.

  I put down my fork. “The media have been reporting my death since six this morning.”

  “Why?”

  “Because someone who looks like me, with the same name, was strangled in Washington early this morning.”

  Carla nodded. Her fortitude was legendary. “I’m glad you told me. It’s obviously untrue.” With a cheeky smile she said, “Can I have the day off to grieve?”

  “Nice try, kiddo. As you can see there is no grieving required, although I’m a little hurt that you’d be over me in a single day.” I smirked as I shoveled another forkful of pancakes into my mouth. “We’ll drop you at school on our way into the office.”

  “Rats!”

  “You might want to tell Joey before he hears the news. These media people are tedious and don’t let up.”

&n
bsp; “There’s heaps of time. He gets up ten minutes before school starts.”

  Lee shrugged. “He’s a guy, and last time I saw him, doesn’t exactly need to shave every day.”

  I laughed. That was true. Once a week might be pushing it.

  “That’s kinda mean, Uncle Lee,” Carla said.

  “Says the kid who called me a dork. My point is he’s a guy – he’ll pick up the nearest almost-clean tee shirt and jeans, shower and leave.”

  “And unload an entire bottle of Axe body spray,” I added. “Must he marinate in the stuff?”

  “I think what you’re referring to, Ellie, is the smell of teen spirit.”

  And with that I heard Nirvana playing. I glanced around the room. The radio wasn’t on. Guess they were playing just for me. ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’

  “Are you two finished being mean-spirited about my best friend?” Carla asked between syrupy mouthfuls.

  “I wasn’t being mean. It was a simple observation.”

  Carla rolled her eyes at me.

  I laughed. “Anyway I happen to like Joey,” I said.

  “Imagine if she didn’t like him,” Lee added.

  The phones rang again.

  “Mom, are you going to answer that?”

  “I don’t think so.” I ate some more, accompanied by ringing phones.

  “Why are the phones all ringing like this?”

  “Because everyone wants to talk to the dead,” Lee replied.

  “I’m super popular in death. Who knew?”

  The ringing started to bug me. The house phone was flicking to the answering machine all the time. The sound of well-meaning messages irritated me even more than the phones ringing.

  All names, characters, places, and incidents in this publication are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2011 by Cat Connor

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  For information regarding permission, email rebele@rebelepublishers.com, subject line: Permission.

  ISBN: 978-0986973154

  First published by Rebel ePublishers 2011

  Cover design by Littera Design

  Interior design by Caryatid Design

  Butterfly graphic © CanStockPhoto/Evgeniia Hulinska