Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) by Gemma Halliday (best e reader for manga txt) 📗

But Raley wasn't having it. "Go wait for the bus, Hartley."

"Come on, this is the biggest story ever."

"This is a police investigation," he told me.

"But I'm a member of the press. Don't I have any rights?"

"You're a member of a high school paper."

"At a public school. Which makes it a legitimate, government-sanctioned press."

Raley pinned me with a hard stare. Clearly my speech and debate skills were lost on him.

"Look, I'm sure all the gory details are going to leak out soon anyway. Heck, it's probably already all over YouTube," I told him, gesturing at the crowd around us. Sure enough, at least four Minecraft Creepers had their smart phones out, filming the crime scene tape as we spoke.

Raley frowned. While I was pretty sure he knew what YouTube was, he was a generation behind in his technological skills. He used computers to type up reports—not for entertainment.

"We won't have an official cause of death until the ME can examine the body," he said, his voice a flat monotone.

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't ask for the official cause of death, just how did he die?"

"You want to be official press? That's our official press release," Raley said.

I seriously had no idea what my mom saw in this guy. "You're killing me here. Anything? Just…was it an angry fan or did he choke on a Cheeto?"

Raley frowned again, though this time there was a hint of smile accompanying it. "Choke on a Cheeto? Where did you hear that?"

Dang. So much for my theory.

"So what did it?" I asked.

He shook his head.

But before he could shoot me down again, I quickly added, "The sooner I have my story, the sooner I can leave. And the less time I spend at a crime scene, the better mood my mom will be in later."

He narrowed his eyes at me again. But this time my logic must have hit a nerve, as he finally said, "Fine. Off the record…" Raley paused, glancing at the filming Creepers. "…which means I do not want to see you talking about it on YouTube."

I held up my hand. "I swear you won't." Something I could promise, as I knew Raley would never watch YouTube.

"It looks as though Simon sustained an injury to the head."

"So, he fell?" I asked, feeling Raley was holding something back.

"Something like that."

"Something like that or exactly that?" I asked, noticing he was avoiding my gaze.

He sighed. "It will be all over the news soon anyway," he said, though I'm not sure if he was reasoning with me or himself. "We believe the attack was intentional."

"Attack?" I asked, a clearer picture forming. "Wait—you mean someone killed Simon?"

"Keep your voice down," Raley shushed me, eyes flickering to the crowd.

"Who?" I hissed, my eyes darting around the room.

Raley shook his head. "It's too early to speculate. We need to process the evidence first."

Which I took to mean they hadn't found anyone standing over the body.

I glanced around at the assembled crowd. There was a good chance that the killer was still here, hidden in the costumed masses somewhere. I shivered at the realization.

"What did they hit him with?" I asked.

Raley sucked in more air, like he wasn't sure how many details to share. But, his earlier reasoning that it wasn't like he could keep all details out of the press anyway must have won him over, as he finally said, "It looks like he was hit on the back of the head with some sort of gaming console."

I cringed, almost feeling the weight of one at my own noggin.

"Any fingerprints? DNA? Clues?"

Raley shot me a look that said I'd reached the end of his generosity. "Go home, Hartley."

I sighed. "Fine."

"I'd offer you a ride," he said, gaze darting to a couple of CSIs who were threading through the crowd. "But it looks like I'm going to be here awhile."

"No prob. I came with Sam anyway," I said, gesturing behind me. Sam stood a few feet away, licking the last of her churro sugar off her fingers. Chase, however, was conspicuously absent. Not entirely surprising. Somehow he had a knack for disappearing when law enforcement was around.

Raley gave me a nod before going back to the VizaSoft booth, ducking inside to presumably view the body. Not something I envied him doing.

*  *  *

"Click that link," I told Sam.

"Which one?"

"That one!"

"Shhh!" a woman in a striped cardigan and knee socks told us, aiming a stern look our way.

We were at the Orange Blossom Library on Main Street the next day, sitting in one of their research cubes in the back, reading up on Connor Simon for my article. Or, I should say, my next article.

Getting the inside scoop from Raley had made Chase's eyes light up like Christmas, and while we'd sat outside the shut-down con waiting for the bus, we'd typed up a quick summary and posted it to the Homepage, getting it published just about as quickly as any news outlet. We'd immediately gotten a slew of comments and likes, and by the time Sam and I had gotten off the bus again, Chase had already texted me asking for a follow-up article as the investigation into Connor Simon's death progressed.

As if I'd be privy to more inside info.

Not likely, as Mom had had a near heart attack when I'd come home from the con and she'd found out why it had been shut down early that day. Not that she'd found out from me. I'd strategically waited until I'd seen her minivan leave for a Starbucks run before slipping into the house. But of course Raley had called her and told her all about it. Apparently, he and the SJPD