Silver Anniversary Murder by Leslie Meier

Author:Leslie Meier
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-07-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

It took Lucy a long time to get back to sleep and she ended up drinking a glass of milk and reading for over an hour before she finally felt drowsy enough to turn out the light. Even then her mind was restless, fretting about locks and tuition bills and polar bears, and the sky was lightening by the time she finally did get back to sleep. When she woke, she couldn’t believe the time: it was nearly eight o’clock.

She was supposed to meet E. L. Haley, the New York Times reporter, at nine. She quickly threw on some clothes, grabbed her purse, and ran out the door, then ran back to check that she really had locked the door. Then she was dashing along the sidewalk, wishing for coffee, and realizing that she could get a go-cup at the bodega. No wonder New Yorkers were always carrying cups of coffee; they were probably all running late.

The Starbucks where they’d agreed to meet was handy to the subway exit, but when Lucy arrived at the stroke of nine she didn’t see anyone there who looked like a reporter. She was standing in the doorway, a puzzled expression on her face, when a young woman whom Lucy had taken for a college student approached her. “Lucy?” she asked.

“Are you E. L.Haley?” she asked, in a skeptical tone of voice.

“I am.”

“Sorry. I really expected somebody, uh, older.”

“And male?”

“Well, yeah,” admitted Lucy, as they got in line at the counter.

“People just don’t take a girl named Emmy Lou seriously.”

“I suppose not,” said Lucy, with a chuckle. “So what do I call you?”

“Ellie’s fine.”

Lucy stepped up and ordered a pastry along with her coffee, then asked Ellie what she would like, offering to buy it.

“No, no. Company policy.”

When they were seated at a small table, Lucy took a bite of pastry and wondered where to begin. She was slightly intimidated. This tiny woman, really just a girl with long hair, oversized glasses, and a backpack, was a reporter for the New York Times! That was quite an achievement, especially for one so young. “How did you get a job with the Times?” she blurted out, immediately wishing she could take the words back.

Ellie laughed. “Hard work, all A’s in college—no, really, it was just a lucky break. A story I wrote for a little neighborhood weekly, the Riverdale Press, went viral and they were looking for some younger people to enliven”—here she paused and made little quotation marks with her fingers—“the Times’ rather staid reputation.” She took a sip of coffee. “It all worked out, and I’ve been there almost ten years now.”

“You don’t look that old.”

“It’s my cross to bear.” Ellie shrugged. “So why did you want to talk to me? Something about the story in the Sunday paper?”

“Yes. Beth Gerard, Jeremy Blake’s estranged wife when she died, was my best friend, ever since kindergarten. She fell to her death off a balcony on the twenty-second floor and the cops say it was suicide and they’ve closed the case, but I can’t accept that.

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