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living room and trolled through my purse until I found it. I didn’t recognize the number, although it was local, so I let my voice mail take the call.
    I anxiously waited out the minute it took for the voice message icon to appear; then I quickly held the one button for the new message.
    â€œYou have one new voice message . . . ,” said the robotic voice-mail lady. “New message.”
    â€œHi, Gwen. This is Rob Reid from the National. I’m so sorry for all you’re going through. I spoke with one of your employees earlier about rescheduling . . .”
    Oh. Shit, I thought. That’s what he was asking Dani?
    â€œAnd I think we’ve come up with a workable plan. We want to try and keep the process on schedule. I’ve talked with the committee and with the editor here, and we’re just gonna go ahead and meet at my place Sunday, from seven to nine p.m. It’s not exactly a luncheon, then, but it’s the next time everyone is free and I’ve got the room. . . .”
    Of course you do. Your daddy owns the newspaper chain.
    â€œWhat I was hoping, Gwen, was that you could just do a take-out version of whatever you were planning for this afternoon. I know you were kinda stressed this morning, and understandably so, but I was thinking this might help put it behind you. Let me know, okay?”
    â€œTo save this message, press nine. To delete this message, press . . .”
    I pressed nine.
    Well, the good news was that if I went, I wouldn’t have to bring food for myself. I’d be eating crow. I knew Robert Reid only by sight, since he was in his own newspaper at least once a week, giving this trophy, cutting that ribbon, giving somebody a prize or a medal or a citation. I shouldn’t have assumed he was like every other publisher of every other tabloid I read in the nail salon, out to get a salacious, sensational story.
    Not that I’d blame him. You read those damn papers, don’t you? You like peeking into the lives of the rich and powerful. You’re glad that their problems aren’t your problems, spread across the public consciousness. Scandal is always entertaining in the third person.
    My phone buzzed again.
    Thinking it was Robert Reid calling back, I answered.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œHey.”
    It was Grant.
    â€œOh. Hi.”
    â€œLook, I’m sorry to have overruled you in your own place, but you didn’t seem yourself. You were a mess, and I thought someone needed to take charge.”
    â€œDid you call to make me feel better? ’Cause so far you’re sucking at it.”
    â€œI called to explain why I stepped on your toes.”
    â€œOkay. You explained.”
    â€œGwen, I didn’t call to fight.”
    â€œIf you hadn’t called, we wouldn’t be.” I knew that was harsh, even as it came out of my mouth. The fact that it had come from my mouth meant it was in play. Might as well see where the bitch ball landed.
    â€œIs that what this is about?” he asked. “Do you not want me to call anymore?”
    I might have hesitated a bit too long on this one, but I wasn’t sure. “No,” I hedged till I figured it out. “But you hurt me. What you call ‘taking charge’ I would describe as ‘kicking to the curb.’ You should’ve just let me get about my business. They’re still having the meeting, you know.”
    â€œI heard.”
    â€œIt would’ve worked itself out.”
    â€œMaybe. Of course, you were the one who stormed off. I was trying to transition things from a crime scene back to neutral.”
    â€œWell, I’m not very good at idling.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œI make ninety-degree angles. Top speed.”
    â€œI know that, too.”
    â€œYou’re a knowledgeable guy,” I said. “Now, don’t you have a killer to catch?”
    â€œI’m waiting for the autopsy and forensics reports to come