Grin And Bear It by Leslie LaFoy

Author:Leslie LaFoy [LaFoy, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0373880731
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2005-03-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

It had been a pity lunch, a case of Marti feeling sorry for her and thinking that—with all that had happened in the last week—she’d earned a free meal. And somewhere in the course of the small talk—the learning that Marti was a former reporter, was married to a TV engineer, that her son drove a truck for Wal-Mart, and that her daughter was a freshman at Emporia State—they’d slid right out of the client-agent relationship and into the start of a potential friendship. In a way it had been unexpected, but then again, not. Talking with Marti Johnson on the phone had always delivered a chuckle or two. She was even more entertaining in person. Way more.

Stacy slowed to accommodate the traffic just starting from the light at McLean and Seneca. As she eased through the intersection, Garth Brooks faded away and the disc jockey’s voice came booming out of the speakers. She frowned and looked over at Marti in the passenger seat. “Are you in the market for mag wheels at a huge, huge, huge discount?”“Ah, no,” the insurance agent answered, laughing.

Stacy shoved a CD into the player and fell into the line of traffic clipping along the river. As usual, the Canada geese were lined up along the curb, pretending they were at Talladega.

“I’m always afraid one of them is going to jump out in front of me,” she admitted, hugging the outside edge of her lane. “Suicide by motorist, ya know?”

“Yeah, they’re not all that smart,” Marti countered. “If they were, they’d remember what happened last month and do their spectating from the other side of the trees. Did you hear about that?”

“Hear about it? Hell, I drove right into it and couldn’t get out.”

Marti whipped sideways in the seat. “Oh, God, an eyewitness! Tell me, tell me!”

“Once a newsgirl, always a newsgirl.”

“Reporter,” she corrected, the disdainful angle of her nose countered by her laugh. “I was at the airport, on my way to Boston for a waste-of-time seminar as the story was breaking. Give me the up-close-and-personal deets.”

“Okay, it was evening rush hour. Right back there,” Stacy said, pointing over her left shoulder, “by the athletic field. A guy jumped the curb and mowed a bunch of the geese down. I didn’t see that part. But I was there just seconds after that. There were cars every which way and people running all over the place. Flapping, honking, flopping geese. It was awful.”

“What did you do?”

Aside from standing there with my mouth hanging open? Stacy shrugged. “Well, there were enough cell phones out that I figured 9-1-1 didn’t need a call from me and I was close enough to see that I didn’t need to do anything except stay the hell out of the way. Some people caught the injured geese and rushed them off to vets. Others used their cars to block the Goose Killer and keep him from getting away. Then it got really ugly. They dragged him out of his car and were about to beat him to a pulp when Wichita’s Finest arrived.

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