Read Annie Seymour 01-Sacred Cows for Free Online

not off the record, is it?”
    “Oh, Christ, Annie, do what you want with it. But I just hope that if you keep finding out stuff you’ll let us know so we can put a lid on this one. There’s way too much heat from the school, from the mayor’s office. And now, with this escort service shit, well, let’s just say you’ve made my job that much harder.”
    I wanted to put my arms around him, but he looked so damn sexy, his tie askew, his collar open enough to reveal a tiny tuft of chest hair, that I had to keep my distance. This certainly wasn’t the time or the place.
    “I thought you’d want to know before it was in the paper.”
    He sighed again. “Yeah, that would’ve been really embarrassing.”
    “The apartment is rented by the McGee Corporation. What’s that?”
    “I don’t know. The address is a post office box in New York City. We can’t seem to find a phone number.”
    He was tired, that’s why he was telling me this. He wasn’t on his toes, he wasn’t up to playing the game. I had to get everything I could out of him before he stopped himself.
    “A dummy corporation?” I suggested.
    “Maybe. I don’t know. They’ve rented the place for two years. Does it look lived in?”
    I glanced around and saw the spare rooms again. “No.”
    Tom moved closer to me. “That’s all I can give you. Really.”
    I nodded. “Sure. I understand. But if I have something, I have to tell you, right?”
    “Give me a break.” His voice was rough, and I backed off. It wasn’t the time or the place for that, either.
    I started to back out the door, then stopped. “Just one thing, though. Since her ex-boyfriend’s a suspect, you think she was murdered and didn’t just off herself?”
    “Off the record?”
    “The readers will draw their own conclusions.”
    “You can’t use this,” he said again, and I nodded.
    “Okay.”
    “She was dead before she went over the balcony.”

CHAPTER 4
    Melissa Peabody died from a blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Tom said there was blood on the balcony, and the injury wasn’t consistent with the fall.
    “So whoever did this then dumped the body over the balcony?” I asked.
    Tom shrugged. “There are a lot of sickos out there.” But I could see he was stumped, too, as to why someone would do that.
    It was irritating me that I couldn’t include the cause of death in the story, but I’d promised Tom. As a reporter, I couldn’t go back on my word or I’d never get anyone to tell me anything ever again.
    Back at the office, I tried to get someone to tell me on the record, but no one returned my calls.
    The streets were deserted when I finally climbed into my 1993 Honda Accord and made my way home in the dark. I parked near my brownstone on Wooster Square and instead of going right up, turned toward the smell of pizza. Sally’s was still open, and I wanted a small white clam pie. It had been a long day, I’d missed lunch, Dick was getting top billing on the byline as I’d suspected, and Tom had disappeared.
    The picture of Frank Sinatra on the wall at Sally’s stared down at me as I moved toward the counter. Flo was bustling around but took the time to say hello as I gave my order to her son.
    “Takeout?”
    I nodded.
    “Be a few minutes.”
    I was willing to wait for the best pizza anywhere. Most people did. Sally’s opened at 5:00 P.M. every day, except Mondays, and it’s rare not to have to stand in the long line that snakes down the sidewalk, people salivating for the crispy thin crust and savory sauce. Pepe’s, just up the street, boasts similar lines, but I have to be honest. I’ve never eaten there. In New Haven, you ask, “Sally’s or Pepe’s?” and people always have an allegiance to one or the other.
    We’ve got a lot of new reporters and copy editors who’ve moved here from other places and they don’t want to wait in the lines, so they never experience either. I actually saw a Domino’s delivery one night. New Haven was where pizza