“It’s the truth.”
“Why are you … daydreaming about that movie? That was the nineties. The fashion was horrible then.” Tinkie shuddered at the thought of heavily padded shoulders and permed hair. She was barely five feet, and she said those huge shoulder pads made her look like a linebacker for a tiny tots team.
I shook my head. “I think it has something to do with this case and all the cheating husbands, cheating wives, and people set on revenge.”
“O-o-o-kay.”
Tinkie wasn’t convinced, but she was going to let it go. Or so I hoped. I picked up a little speed. If I set a fast-enough pace, Tinkie would have to step double time to keep up with me and she wouldn’t have breath to ask questions. “So where are we off to?”
“We need to run back to the local newspaper.”
“Okay, right. To check the heavy equipment rentals in the area. If we can find out who paid the cement truck driver to dump that load, we’ll have a name.”
“The way I figure it, the newspaper will know which truck drivers would destroy a car. Could save us a lot of legwork.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me to a halt. “Slow down. You can’t outrun my questions.”
“You’re right about that.” I used my phone to find the newspaper office and was delighted to discover we were only three blocks away. The Columbus Packet was within our strike zone.
“Do you know anyone at the newspaper?” Now would have been a good time to have Cece with us. Journalists could almost always find common ground.
“Cece called ahead for us.” Tinkie grinned. “She’s paved the way. Should be a piece of cake. Ask for Debbie Harris.”
“Hurray. We’re going to a journalist to ask about the sleazy side of town.” I had a sudden drop in enthusiasm for this case. “We really shouldn’t have taken this on.”
Tinkie sighed. “I know. But we did, and now we have to finish it. We have a standard to live up to, Sarah Booth. We have always given our clients our best effort. We can’t do less here.”
She was right about that and I had sudden clarity. “I think Clarissa is behind this and she’s hired us as a beard for her activities.” I’d finally found the words to say what was troubling me. “I think we’re being used and I don’t like it.”
“The same thing occurred to me,” Tinkie admitted as she reached for the door handle to the newspaper office. “But if that turns out to be the case, think how much fun it’s going to be to nail her. And we’ll get paid to do it.”
I thought about it for a few seconds and brightened. Tinkie was right. We could put it to Clarissa—if she was the one behind these nefarious deeds—and get paid for it. “I just wish she hadn’t picked Christmastime for all of this. What kind of people cheat and deliberately damage others at Christmastime?”
Tinkie shrugged. “The holidays bring out a lot of extreme emotions in people. Sometimes people just flip. Let’s hope she’s smart enough to cease and desist with these crazy episodes.”
“Or let’s hope we catch her in the act before she harms someone else.”
We stepped into the chaos and clatter of a working newsroom.
11
Debbie Harris was a brunette with ivory skin and bright red lipstick. She ran the lifestyle section and was a longtime friend of Cece’s. “Sorry Cece isn’t with us,” I said once we were seated. Her office was almost an exact replica of Cece’s madness. Papers, books, cameras, and scraps of paper with writing on them seemed to have exploded in the room. There wasn’t a chair to sit on because everything was covered with piles of paper.
“I’ll catch up with her at the flotilla tonight,” Debbie said. “I just love that new column she and Millie Roberts are doing.” She held up her hand and moved it across the room in front of her as if she were reading a marquee. “‘The Truth Is Out There.’ That’s genius. And those celebrity stories. Where in the world do they come up with those? When I read the one about Oprah being pregnant with Elvis’s baby, I thought I’d die.” She arched one eyebrow. “But wouldn’t that be kind of wonderful? Two Mississippi icons. Man.”
I’d actually loved that story, too. “Millie is a huge fan of celebrities and Cece is a great researcher.”
“Tell me the truth. Where do they come up with that stuff? It’s not research, it’s inspired!”
“We have a psychic friend, Madame Tomeeka, who helps out.” It was true, but I suspected Debbie Harris wouldn’t believe a word of it.
“You crack me up. But that’s a great angle, too. I’ve read a couple of those columns and I love it when they consult the psychic.”
“I’ll pass your compliments along to Madame Tomeeka,” Tinkie said. “Now what can you tell us about the heavy equipment owners who might have dumped a load of cement in Bricey Presley’s car?”
Debbie tapped a pencil on her desk. “I suspect it was a man named Colton Horn. He runs a foundation business, mostly fill dirt and cement for foundations, driveways, and pools. Occasionally sand deliveries. Nice guy. And easy on the eyes.”
“If he’s the one who unloaded on that car, he destroyed some expensive property.” He didn’t sound very nice to me.
“You don’t know what he was told, now do you?” Debbie asked. She had a “cat that ate the canary” grin. No matter what she said, she sounded like she was a wiseacre. It made me like her a bunch. And she had a point.
“Do you know what he was told that convinced him to do that much property damage?”
She nodded. “The owner of the car paid him to do it.”
That was a stunner. “Bricey paid him?”
