New Release Sample: LIVING PROOF (that no good deed goes unpunished)

 

The problem with living in a small town like Neighborlee (besides the rotten name for the high school sports teams, because who really wants to win when you're named after a fish?) is that chances were good you worked with relatives. Harry's contract to pick up papers from the big printing plant over in Valleyview meant he was in and out of the office a dozen times a week. He was there when Conrad raved about my story on the Neighborlee Pikes and announced it had already been picked up on the wire by a few national magazines.

He wasn't there when Mrs. Sloane and Sheridan invaded the office and rearranged our lives.

"You're looking at the new writer of the Talk to Terry column." I concentrated on pulling out of the parking lot into the dwindling traffic around the club. "You guys want to stop at Mac's on the way home?"

"Uh oh. It's the junk food defense," Pete sing-songed. He ducked before I could consider reaching back between the seats to slap him, so I didn't try. Besides, I was driving.

"So that's not a good thing? Never heard of it, but it sounds like a gossip column or something. Conrad's adding it to the paper?" Harry said.

"The column runs in four papers and is being added to eight, including ours. We have a new owner." No way was I going to say the name of the Evil Overlord and pollute the interior of my beloved Jeep. "We're getting lumped together with all the other papers he just bought, and a bunch of the columns are getting picked up in all the papers."

"So, Terry, what do you write about?" Harry leaned into the door on his side of the Jeep and turned sideways to grin at me as we reached a red light.

"It's mostly an advice column." I swallowed hard and wished I had a big can of ginger ale to wash the bad taste out of my mouth and settle my stomach. "Mostly lovelorn junk."

"Ick. Gross. Mental deterioration of the—" Pete ended on a yelp as my fist connected with his knee. My radar worked as faithfully as always, letting me swing back between the seats without looking. His leg jerked, hitting the back of Harry's seat. Two birds with one wallop.