said to the men in blue. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Matt scowling at the cops, distrustful of authority figures as a rule.
“This way, Officers!” said the trench-coat guy. Frank and the cops looked in his direction instinctively. He snapped their picture.
Cop number one, the shorter one at six-foot-five, said, “We got a report of shots fired outside.”
“Gunshots?” asked Frank. “No, no. Some idiot set off a string of cheap firecrackers on the street. No one was hurt.” Trench Coat stared at Frank as she spoke to the cops. Frank felt his eyes on her back as she led the cops outside to show them the remains of the fireworks. Cop number two, a towering six-foot-seven, took a clipboard off the dash of the cruiser and asked her to sign a piece of paper.
Amanda came running up the street. She was breathing hard, as though she’d sprinted in from New Jersey. Frank told her everything was okay, to relax. Cop number one recognized Amanda from the newspaper. He asked her for her autograph in a flirty way that meant he’d rather have her phone number. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but one could never tell with cops.
Resigned to a talk with Amanda later about the dangers of dating a cop, Frank left them alone. She noticed that Trench Coat was still staring at her, camera ready to shoot. She stepped back inside, bracing herself against the dry rush of radiator heat.
Frank marched right up to Trench Coat and said, “You’ve got black smudges on your hands—gunpowder black.”
“Very observant, Nancy Drew.” The gnomish rumpled man actually sniveled at her before— whap! —he took her picture.
Frank was astonished by his rudeness. She said, “I’d like you to leave.” She reconsidered. “Who are you?”
“The name is Piper Zorn,” he announced. Frank was certain she’d never laid eyes on him in her life. And her memory was keen.
“Doesn’t that name mean anything to you?” he asked impatiently.
“You’re the Post reporter who wrote that fabrication about my sister,” Frank stated. “I can’t say I admire your work.”
“Piper!” sang Clarissa, sliding over to Frank and Trench. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” Clarissa and Piper Zorn hugged. His hand brushed over her butt. She pushed it away. Her eyes traveled toward Walter, who was taking orders and making change.
Piper said, “Just doing some follow-up. I wouldn’t want this to be a one-day story.”
“You’re so good to me,” Clarissa purred. Frank marveled at how she had this man eating out of her hand. Even though she’d agreed to let Clarissa do what she thought was right, Frank was still uneasy about Romancing the Bean’s coverage in the city tabloid.
“Perhaps in tomorrow’s story, you can report what actually happened instead of sensationalizing it,” said Frank.
“Francesca,” Clarissa started, “I thought we worked this out.”
Piper Zorn interrupted her by saying, “You of all people are preaching to me about journalistic standards?” He snorted. “I need some pictures. If you’ll get out of my way?” He pushed Frank to the side and walked toward a semicircle of recapping customers. She considered stopping him, but her instincts told her that would make things worse.
The two women watched Piper in action. Frank said, “When you said you had a reporter in your hip pocket, I had no idea he could really fit in your hip pocket.”
“Diminutive only in stature,” Clarissa assured her. “Piper is a veteran reporter and author. I think he’s won some awards.”
“He set off fireworks outside the store and called the cops,” said Frank. “Are you sure he’s trustworthy?”
“He’d never do anything to compromise my plans,” said Clarissa. “I have complete control.”
Frank doubted that, but she didn’t want to spoil the new understanding between them. It occurred to Frank that complete control was probably an illusion for everyone who sought it, including
“This way, Officers!” said the trench-coat guy. Frank and the cops looked in his direction instinctively. He snapped their picture.
Cop number one, the shorter one at six-foot-five, said, “We got a report of shots fired outside.”
“Gunshots?” asked Frank. “No, no. Some idiot set off a string of cheap firecrackers on the street. No one was hurt.” Trench Coat stared at Frank as she spoke to the cops. Frank felt his eyes on her back as she led the cops outside to show them the remains of the fireworks. Cop number two, a towering six-foot-seven, took a clipboard off the dash of the cruiser and asked her to sign a piece of paper.
Amanda came running up the street. She was breathing hard, as though she’d sprinted in from New Jersey. Frank told her everything was okay, to relax. Cop number one recognized Amanda from the newspaper. He asked her for her autograph in a flirty way that meant he’d rather have her phone number. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but one could never tell with cops.
Resigned to a talk with Amanda later about the dangers of dating a cop, Frank left them alone. She noticed that Trench Coat was still staring at her, camera ready to shoot. She stepped back inside, bracing herself against the dry rush of radiator heat.
Frank marched right up to Trench Coat and said, “You’ve got black smudges on your hands—gunpowder black.”
“Very observant, Nancy Drew.” The gnomish rumpled man actually sniveled at her before— whap! —he took her picture.
Frank was astonished by his rudeness. She said, “I’d like you to leave.” She reconsidered. “Who are you?”
“The name is Piper Zorn,” he announced. Frank was certain she’d never laid eyes on him in her life. And her memory was keen.
“Doesn’t that name mean anything to you?” he asked impatiently.
“You’re the Post reporter who wrote that fabrication about my sister,” Frank stated. “I can’t say I admire your work.”
“Piper!” sang Clarissa, sliding over to Frank and Trench. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” Clarissa and Piper Zorn hugged. His hand brushed over her butt. She pushed it away. Her eyes traveled toward Walter, who was taking orders and making change.
Piper said, “Just doing some follow-up. I wouldn’t want this to be a one-day story.”
“You’re so good to me,” Clarissa purred. Frank marveled at how she had this man eating out of her hand. Even though she’d agreed to let Clarissa do what she thought was right, Frank was still uneasy about Romancing the Bean’s coverage in the city tabloid.
“Perhaps in tomorrow’s story, you can report what actually happened instead of sensationalizing it,” said Frank.
“Francesca,” Clarissa started, “I thought we worked this out.”
Piper Zorn interrupted her by saying, “You of all people are preaching to me about journalistic standards?” He snorted. “I need some pictures. If you’ll get out of my way?” He pushed Frank to the side and walked toward a semicircle of recapping customers. She considered stopping him, but her instincts told her that would make things worse.
The two women watched Piper in action. Frank said, “When you said you had a reporter in your hip pocket, I had no idea he could really fit in your hip pocket.”
“Diminutive only in stature,” Clarissa assured her. “Piper is a veteran reporter and author. I think he’s won some awards.”
“He set off fireworks outside the store and called the cops,” said Frank. “Are you sure he’s trustworthy?”
“He’d never do anything to compromise my plans,” said Clarissa. “I have complete control.”
Frank doubted that, but she didn’t want to spoil the new understanding between them. It occurred to Frank that complete control was probably an illusion for everyone who sought it, including
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