Rushing to her car, with her cell phone jammed between her shoulder and ear, she waited for the police reporter, Cameron Parker to answer.
It was early. He was probably still sleeping. He better get his ass in gear. TV crews were already at the river so that meant their competition was on its way to the crime scene, as well.
To her surprise, he answered immediately and didn’t give her a chance to talk.
“On my way,” he said, and mumbled something about not needing a photographer before he hung up. Whatever. Must’ve gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. Sometimes he was such a dick. Just because she wouldn’t sleep with him anymore
Punching the accelerator on her Jeep, Tommy wondered if this fresh body was connected to the others. Four bodies had been found floating down the mighty Mississippi River in the past six months.
So far, all of the deaths had been ruled accidental. Coroner said they all died of exposure. Usually drugs and booze were found in their system. But never any signs of trauma. Just bruises here and there from bumping along the river.
As Tommy impatiently whipped around slower drivers on Hiawatha Avenue, her cell phone rang.
She snatched it up without looking at the number. “St. James.”
“Is this Tommy St. James? The redhead? The photographer?” The man’s voice was reedy and wavered, almost like an adolescent boy going through changes. Something was definitely odd about it.
“Yeah,” Tommy said, instantly wary. Why would this guy bring up her hair color? And how did he get her private cell phone number? “Who is this?”
“Jack Sparrow. That doesn’t matter. Listen, I only have another minute. Tell the police to be sure to look inside the kid’s windpipe when they do the autopsy. They might find something interesting.”
An icy chill shot through Tommy, starting at her scalp and zipping down her legs.
“Who is this? How do you know this?”
But the man had already hung up.
She thought about the man’s voice. He’d sounded nervous and as if he was trying to disguise his voice. And his name. Jack Sparrow — the same name as Johnny’s Depp’s character in Pirates of the Caribbean.
CHAPTER THREE
“Hey, Snap, what are you doing out here?” Cameron Parker was in his Alpha Romeo when Tommy pulled up. She pulled up beside him so their driver’s side windows were only inches away.
“Uh, it’s my job,” Tommy said glancing over at the long legs and miniskirt sticking out from his passenger seat. It wasn’t unusual for Parker to roll out of bed and leave his latest conquest to snuggle in the warm covers while he raced to a crime scene. But he’d never brought a plaything along for the ride.
Parker looked confused. “Didn’t they tell you Meg was already out here?”
He leaned back and Meg’s button nose poked forward from the passenger seat.
“Hi, Tommy.”
“Hey.”
Yeah, cute new photographer Meg had just started at the paper two months ago. Her first day, she toured the newsroom with her twin. He was a really good looking kid, Tommy thought. But then when they were introduced, Tommy changed her mind.
The guy looked at her with barely disguised hatred.
Tommy stared back in astonishment. She’d never met the dude in her life and yet he seemed like he hated her. But then he smiled and the feeling was gone. She shook it off. She’d probably imagined it. It was probably all lumped up in her jealousy at the way Parker was eyeing his twin sister.
And now the cute young photog was in Parker’s car. It was not even eight in the morning. Which meant there was a good chance she’d spent the night at the playboy reporter’s house. Which was probably why Parker told her he didn’t need a photographer out at the crime scene. Which meant that she got the crime scene photos, not Tommy. Damn it all to hell.
It was total bullshit.
Tommy knew that Parker could sweet talk a nun into his bed. She’d fallen for his crooked smile and sculptured cheekbones herself a few years ago. Luckily, she was now usually immune to his charisma. However, the steamy history between them and the ever-present crackling chemistry was always there — unspoken tension that flickered between them, no matter how much time had passed.
Tommy looked at Parker for a long beat, both of them staring at one another.
Meg looked back and forth between them. Something in the girl’s eyes showed that she knew exactly what was going down between Parker and Tommy. And it looked like instead of being jealous, she loved it. After all, she was the one who just spent the night at his love nest.
Tommy didn’t like the look in Meg’s eyes. It was catty and smacked of competition. Tommy had zero interest in Parker. She would nonchalantly throw up the white flag in that battle. But as far as her career, well, that was another matter.
Tommy, an award-winning photojournalist, didn’t think Meg could be too much competition for her in that arena. And that was the only area Tommy cared about.
However, with ever-present budget cuts, many veteran journalists were frequently dumped for the cheaper, sometimes hungrier, young photographers and reporters who came on staff. Tommy had almost lost her own job last year.
In the eyes of management, the only leg up that Meg had over Tommy was her cheaper salary.
Unless—Tommy’s eyes narrowed—Meg made Tommy look bad by beating her to crime scenes.
But Tommy was going to make sure that never happened again. If she had to sleep with her police scanner blaring on her nightstand, she would.
The crappy part was that Tommy had been so nice to Meg. When the young woman started in the photo department, Sandoval had ordered St. James to show her around. But Meg seemed less interested in meeting the police sources and more interested in learning how she could meet and photograph celebrities.
“Hey, Meg,” Tommy suddenly said, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” Meg leaned over Parker in a very familiar way, actually draping herself on his jean clad legs so she could meet Tommy’s eyes.
“Sandoval still thinks I should show you around a bit. I forgot there’s someplace else you need to know about and some people I need you to meet. Are you available this afternoon?”
Meg looked confused. This overture of friendship was not exactly what she expected. “Uh, sure. About two?”
“Perfect,” Tommy said, and peeled out.
She was done here.
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Acknowledgments
Thank you to early reads from Sharon Long and Emmy McCabe!
About the Author
Kristi Belcamino is a Macavity, Barry, and Anthony Award-nominated author, a newspaper cops reporter, and an Italian mama who makes a tasty biscotti. As an award-winning crime reporter at newspapers in California, she flew over Big Sur in an FA-18 jet with the Blue Angels, raced a Dodge Viper at Laguna Seca and watched autopsies.
Her books feature strong, fierce, and independent women facing unspeakable evil in order to seek justice for those unable to do so themselves.
Find out more at http://www.kristibelcamino.com. Find her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/kristibelcamin
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Death on Sunset Hill (A Tommy St. James Mystery Novella Book 2) Page 9
