A Nose For News

By Stephen Liskow

When a journalist writing a series of articles that accuse local police of corruption is arrested for the murder of his girlfriend, his lawyer hires PI Eric Teague and his partner Jody Hidalgo-Silver to prove it’s more than a coincidence. They discover a maze of hidden identities, veiled accusations, and unanswered questions that lead to a municipal heart of darkness. Now all they have to do is prove it…and get back out alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wildside Press
• Release date: May 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9781479467204

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COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

NOSE FOR NEWS, by Steve Liskow

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2023 by Steve Liskow.

Original publication by Wildside Press, LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

NOSE FOR NEWS,

by Steve Liskow

They read, right? You brag about that all the time. Jody Hidalgo-Silver rests her stilettos on the corner of her desk, jeans hugging her slim legs. The stilettos make her five-ten.

Eric Teague—senior partner in Teague and Silver Private Investigators—tries to admire Jody’s legs without being too obvious. "They read all the Harry Potter books and tore the movies apart. And they’ve read the Hunger Games, too. I’m pretty sure."

Do they know the... Jody looks at the ceiling and snaps her fingers. "Wait a second, it’s coming. The Golden Compass is the first one."

You lost me. Teague’s twin nephews’ twelfth birthday looms in two weeks, and he has no idea what to get them. Jody, the youngest of four sisters, has nine nieces and nephews ranging from four to seventeen, so she’s an expert.

It was on TV, a mini-series. Damn, my mind is going to slush.

Well, at your age, you probably need more sleep. Jody flips him off.

I didn’t go out. Well, sparred at the dojo, but that’s not like, you know, a date or anything. Jody holds an eighth-degree black belt in Karate and a fifth degree in Tai Chi.

Now see, you burn all that energy, you come home and the adrenaline’s surging. You need to find a way to relax.

Now you’re suggesting I go out after all, maybe engage in some kind of mindless conjugal activity? Jody’s eyes are black pearls that seem too large for her face.

Well, not random, of course. I could recommend a guy...

Probably your height and weight, same eyes?

Well, not to be modest, but...

We were talking about books, weren’t we? His Dark Materials, that’s the name of the series. I don’t remember who wrote them, but it’s probably on Amazon.

What are they about? Teague never turns on his TV except for sports.

"They’re this steampunk alternate universe, a girl and a boy, they’re about fourteen, and they get mixed up in this conspiracy. You know The Handmaid’s Tale?"

Jody wears her blue-black hair in a ponytail that brings out the clean planes of her face. Teague bets she can still get carded in any bar in Stonebury even though she’s 27 and a widow.

What if they’ve already read them?

The office door opens to reveal a tall woman wearing top-to-toe navy pinstripes. The strap of a briefcase big enough to need a license plate hangs over her shoulder, and a black man in a white windowpane shirt and khakis stands a half-step behind her.

Good morning. Jody stands. Welcome to Teague and Silver.

Ms. Pinstripes stands half a head taller than Jody. Are you related to Abigail Teague, in homicide?

Her cousin. Teague wears slacks and a windowpane shirt, too, business sloppy. I’m younger and cuter.

It’s true, Jody says. We keep him here for eye candy. I tried to get him to change his name to Gold for the business cards, but he thinks we’d sound like pawnbrokers.

The woman’s eyes flick back and forth between them.

Do you just do stand-up, or can you investigate, too?

Jody gestures to the chairs facing the desks. Coffee? Tea? Water?

Coffee is fine. Both visitors sink to the chairs Teague rescued from a tag sale.

Well, Teague says, if you know my cousin, you’re probably either law enforcement or legal.

Legal. I’m Weronika Chudzik. This is Kennedy M’tsumbe."

Teague studies him more carefully. We’ve seen your name.

Then you probably know why we’re here. The man’s voice is a soft tenor with no trace of accent.

We’re not psychic, Teague watches Jody hand the visitors mugs. He puts the man in his late twenties, wiry frame and large hands. We know that Mr. M’tiss... M’t... sorry, you’re out on bail.

Everyone calls me ‘Mitt.’ It’s easier.

Chudzik steps into the conversation. She has dark blonde hair in a razor cut, and Teague decides he wouldn’t want to see her blue eyes across a poker table. She slides to the edge of the armchair, her fingers still wrapped around that huge briefcase.

Obviously, I am defending Mitt and I’d like your help. The police have already convicted him and aren’t doing squat.

Who’da thunk it? Jody puts her phone on the corner of the desk to record the conversation and Teague slides a legal pad in front of him.

"According to the media, you found your girlfriend’s body. Is that