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next time she saw him he was wearing a tuxedo with a white carnation pinned to his lapel and Tanyalee glued to his arm, and the smile plastered on his face looked more fearful than joyful. And all Cherise could think was, Here comes the bride, and there goes J.J..
    “There’s no problem whatsoever,” Cherise answered him. She smoothed out her shirt and raised her chin as she walked past J.J. and into the conference room, immediately introducing herself to the city editor and general assignment reporter waiting to meet their new publisher. Several other people began to file in, and Cherise took a moment to introduce herself to each—the sports editor, the business writer, the head of the graphics and photography department, and the schools and government reporter.
    “Close the door, please,” Cherise told J.J., taking the seat at the head of the conference table as everyone got settled. Granddaddy smiled proudly at her. She took that as her cue to get the meeting started. “Now, I’m assuming the most pressing concern today is the discovery of the old car? What’s the latest? What do we know?”

Chapter 5

    We?
    J.J. widened his eyes in disbelief and looked sideways at Garland, the proud patriarch. It would take a superhuman amount of self-restraint to not bust out guffawing at this point.
    We knew next to nothing. We might be a Newberry, but we had never worked a day at the Bugle and wouldn’t know a news story if it bit a big hefty chunk out of our nicely shaped ass. We just rolled into town in a scrap heap of a car and ridiculously impractical shoes and plopped our tight skirt into the publisher’s chair without so much as a howdy-do.
    J.J. took a deep breath as he sat down, reminding himself that there was a reason she was here, and he now had a role to play. At least he hadn’t blown everything by kissing her.
    J.J. managed a patient smile. “First off, we know it’s Barbara Jean Smoot’s car. There’s a match with the plates and the vehicle make and model. Turner said there are remains inside, but they are in such disintegrated condition that any forensic investigation will take longer than usual.”
    Cheri drummed her fingers on the tabletop, frowning. “That’s just a technicality. Really, who else could it be?” She looked around the table. “Is anyone else missing in this town? Why can’t we just put her picture on the front page and say the Lady of the Lake’s car has been found and the body inside is hers and that she was obviously murdered?”
    A sharp pain sliced into J.J.’s right temple. “Because that’s not good journalism.”
    “Fine. I understand your point. I’m not an idiot,” Cheri said. “What I’m suggesting is that we find a way to spice up the ‘good journalism’ so we can take advantage of this story and sell some papers.”
    Cheri waited for someone in the room to agree with her, but no one did. “Isn’t that what we’re trying to do here? Isn’t it about time the Bugle got its sexy back?”
    Mimi Grayson, J.J.’s only general assignment reporter, snorted in disbelief, then covered it up with a fake sneezing attack. Jim Taggert, the Bugle ’s seasoned city editor, stared blankly ahead, the gray stubble on his upper lip glistening with sweat.
    J.J. turned slowly to Garland for some guidance. The old man gave him a helpless shrug and a wink.
    Oh, shit. What had they done?
    “Madam publisher,” J.J. began, wondering how the hell he could give Cheri a refresher course in journalism without making it sound belittling. “You are well aware, growing up as a Newberry and all, that the primary responsibility of a newspaper is to report the news as accurately and fairly as possible while making our home-delivery edition deadline, which is midnight, about eight hours from now.”
    “I know that.”
    “Then, of course, you know that the Bugle can’t publish something without the facts to back it up.”
    I’m starting to sound like Turner, he realized with a