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So here is something new – an excerpt from the book Front Page Fatality by LynDee Walker front page fatality.  Are you sitting comfortably, then I shall begin.

Jenna was still giggling twenty minutes later when we climbed out of the car by the river side a few miles south of the city. She was positively giddy from being forced to accompany me to an accident scene. Well that, and tequila.

I tried to look severe as I ordered her to do her best to appear sober and avoid making me laugh when I was supposed be working, but her twinkling eyes and eager grin reminded me of a little kid with a Toys “R” Us gift card, and it was damn near impossible to maintain decorum while I was looking at that.

“Yes, ma’am.” she slurred, proving my point as she offered me a weak salute and then winced when I giggled. “Oops. Sorry. I’ll try to be less funny. Damn you, Jack Daniels.”

“You were drinking margaritas, honey. Wrong label.” I chuckled as I tucked her arm into mine so at least she wouldn’t fall. I knew I had no chance of getting her to stay in the car.

All the emergency vehicles had made it difficult to get the car within field-goal range of the crash site, and the flashing red and blue lights made the natural beauty of the riverbank unnaturally eerie. The shredded boats still burning on the black water in the distance didn’t look promising for a happy ending.

I canvassed the fringe of the emergency personnel for Aaron, but it was hard to even distinguish the policemen from the firefighters in the strange half-darkness so far from the accident scene.

The blond head bobbing just above most of the crowd, however, I knew instantly.

“It can’t be,” I muttered, even as I recognized the butter-colored polo I’d seen twice that day already.

“There you are!” Parker said when I caught up to him. “This is a madhouse. How do you ever get any work done at one of these things?”

“Hey, Parker.” I stared, still unable to come up with a single logical reason for his presence. “I’ve never been to anything like this before. Boats don’t usually blow up on the James. But I’m about to find a cop and see what’s going on. Forgive my manners, but what are you doing here?”

“I know a little about what happened.” He grimaced. “The coach got a call during my interview after the Generals game. The little speedboat belonged to Nate DeLuca, one of our pitchers. I don’t know the details, but it hit a Richmond PD boat. Like you said, there was an explosion. The fire department is searching the river and the banks on both sides, but they don’t think anyone survived. After I called in my sto- ry, I came to see for myself what happened to DeLuca. I’m going to write a feature on him for Sunday. He should’ve been at the ballpark tonight, but he had friends in town, and since he wasn’t pitching, the coach gave him the night off.”

“Sweet cartwheeling Jesus. Let’s go see what else we can find out,” I said. “Kiss your Saturday goodbye, Mr. Columnist. You’re going to be at the office tomorrow.” And so was I. So much for my leisurely weekend.

I turned to dive back into the crowd in search of Aaron and mid-whirl, I noticed Jenna standing there, still and surprised. Her eyes were doing that white-all-around thing again.

“People died out there?” she squeaked.

I patted her hand. “You want to go back to the car?” “No.” She squared her small shoulders and gripped my arm a little tighter. “I want to go to work with you.”

I turned back to Parker. “Grant Parker, this is my friend Jenna Rowe. This wreck crashed girls’ night. She drank too much tequila, but she’s very excited to see the glamorous world of journalism up close.”

“The best way to do that is after too much tequila,” he said.


So, what do you think?   If your interest has been piqued by our crime reporter, pop along to Amazon and find out what has happened!

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