Blood Ties by S. J. Rozan Page A

She leaned forward, turned the smile to me. “Stacie Phillips. Editor of the Warrenstown News —that’s at the high school—and I cover high school affairs for the Tri-Town Gazette . That’s published in Greenmeadow, but it also covers Warrenstown and a couple of other places around here.”
    â€œSounds like a good job,” I said. Her hair was chin-length and bouncy and she wore six gold earrings in one ear and eight in the other, from the lobe on up.
    â€œYeah.” She grinned. “You’re a private detective from New York. You’re Gary Russell’s uncle and you’re looking for him. You were there when Detective Sullivan found—found Tory Wesley.” The grin flagged. She looked around, luckily spotted the waiter bringing her coffee and my sandwich.
    â€œThat’s true,” I said.
    She reached for the milk and sugar. Her hands were small and plump; her short nails were painted a pale pink. “Tell me about it.” Into her coffee she dumped four sugars and as much milk as the cup could hold.
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œCome on, it’s news, it’s not a secret.” She raised her cup carefully, sipped coffee off the top.
    â€œAsk Detective Sullivan.” I salted the sandwich, took a bite.
    â€œThere’s a press conference at three. Probably not Detective Sullivan, probably Chief Letourneau with his usual everything’s-under-control-in-our-perfect-little-town stuff.” A slight hesitation before stuff made me think that wasn’t the word she’d have used if she weren’t talking to a grown-up.
    â€œIf he’s the police chief,” I said, “then it’s his job to say things like that, to make you all feel safe.”
    â€œHe grew up here, I think he believes it. Anyway, I’ll be there, at his press conference. But I wanted to talk to you first.”
    â€œHow do you know who I am?”
    â€œI asked Trevor.” To my blank look she said, “The cop who was chasing everyone away at the driveway. He used to date my sister.”
    â€œAnd how’d you find me?”
    â€œI followed you. Trevor’d already said about the press conference, and I knew there was no way he was going to let me up to the house. I mean, he knows I’m a reporter, but he’s all, Hey, yo, this is my job, man.” She said the last part in a deep, dumb-cop voice. “So when you left I followed you. You parked on Gillis and made a phone call. It’s all one way around there, so I drove past you around the corner to Linden and waited. You had to come out that way.”
    I ate more turkey, thought back to the quiet street, the gardener. “Green Corolla?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œThat’s pretty good.”
    â€œSo reward me. Tell me about it.”
    â€œHow’d you hear what happened?”
    â€œI have a police scanner in my car.” By now she’d drained off maybe a quarter of her coffee. She poured more milk in, added another sugar. “And so does Stuart Early, who’s the police reporter for the Gazette , and sooner or later he’ll figure out about you, and I want to scoop him.”
    â€œThis sounds more like his beat than yours.”
    â€œTory went to Warrenstown High. It can be mine.” She grinned again. “You share, I’ll share. Maybe I can tell you something about Gary that can help.”
    â€œDid you know Tory Wesley?” I couldn’t help asking.
    Stacie Phillips’s round-cheeked face clouded. She shook her head, maybe to chase the clouds away. “Not really. She’s a sophomore. I mean, I saw her around.”
    â€œTory Wesley’s dead,” I said. “This is the real thing.”
    â€œI’m a reporter,” she said, looking me in the eye. “This is a real story.”
    I drank my coffee and looked at her, a kid whose life was about to start, asking me to tell her about a kid whose life