Crip chortled. “I can just see you on the radio. You don’t know current events from the Current River.”

“Hey—people could be interested in the river. I know fishing inside out. And that wouldn’t get me bombs on my doorstep, either. I’m sick of politics anyway.” He scanned the screen again. “Why a chick with her assets wants to waste time on all those heavy topics is beyond me. She ought to do a show on a froufrou subject, like cooking or makeup or interior decorating. Don’t you think so, Buzz?”

“Yeah.”

Double yeah.

And it was possible she’d switch gears, after this scare.

“How come you’re so quiet tonight?” Crip nudged him.

“Long day.”

“I hear you. Any big weekend plans? Hot dates?”

“Nope.”

Crip sighed. “Me either. But I bet Eve’s got guys falling over themselves to take her out.” He motioned toward the screen with his mug. “What a looker. She sure didn’t deserve what happened today.”

Buzz bit back the retort that sprang to the tip of his tongue. Disagreeing with his buddies would only raise questions.

But the truth was, she deserved everything she’d gotten—and more.

He took another sip of beer while Crip and Suds continued the conversation.

And maybe she’d get it.

Maybe there’d be an Act II to today’s performance.

It was certainly worth thinking about.

How ironic that she’d been the one sent to cover the Eve Reilly drama for tomorrow’s paper.

Carolyn Matthews stepped out of her shoes and picked up the TV remote. Late as she’d worked on her article, there wasn’t much chance she’d catch any of the TV coverage—but with a breaking story like this, there could be an update at the end of the late-night news.

She tuned out the sports and wandered into the kitchen. A glass of wine would be an excellent end to the evening. Her story was finished and turned in—and Eve Reilly had to be running scared.

Carolyn smiled and pulled a bottle of chardonnay out of the refrigerator. Uncorked it and poured a generous glass. Took a sip.

Perfect.

The announcer’s voice drifted into the kitchen from the living room, and she tuned in as he returned to the lead story.

“At this hour, the police say they don’t yet have any suspects in custody for the fake bomb that was planted on radio personality Eve Reilly’s porch late this afternoon. They’re continuing to work the case, and they’ve asked anyone who may have information about the perpetrator to call the tip line.” He gave the number as it flashed on the screen.

So there was nothing new. No leads.

Nor would there be, if fate was kind.

Carolyn took another slow sip of wine, letting the taste linger on her tongue as she shut off the TV.