There was a pause in Menken’s rapid-fire recitation, then Menken suddenly launched into vigorous, unexpected swearing. Steve Crow jumped to his feet; the editor immediately cut Menken off the air, and the newsroom was filled with the crackle of static coming from Menken’s two-way radio. Just one word made its way through the static.

“—Garbage!” Menken gasped, then all was silent.

Chapter 1

Daisy Adams was an enterprising twenty-six-year-old graduate student. She’d written a cookbook called Bones for Bowser, and somehow, through sheer tenacity, she’d managed to turn a gimmick into a five-minute slot on WZZZ every Monday morning. She filled her airtime with dog stories and gave detailed directions on how to make homemade dog biscuits, dog soup, and dog stew. She’d become the darling of the morning DJs on the FM stations, who made her the brunt of their jokes, referring to her as the “Dog Lady of Snore,” hitting on a tender subject for Steve Crow and his unfortunate luck in call letters.

A few wisps of bangs straggled over her forehead, tortoiseshell combs held her blond hair swept back from her temples, and big, loose curls tumbled in a luxuriant mass down the back of her head and neck to an inch below her shoulders. Her eyes were big and blue, her nose small, her mouth wide. She had a gamine quality to her face that was completely misleading because there wasn’t an ounce of gamine in her personality. Her ex-boyfriend had compared her to Attila the Hun, but most people thought she was more like the human version of the Little Engine That Could.

At ten-fifteen Daisy swung into the newsroom. She waved hello to the anchor in the glass booth and gave the Capitol Hill correspondent a bag of experimental snacks for his beagle. She adjusted the strap on her oversized shoulder bag and dropped into a seat beside the editor. “What happened to Frank? I heard him giving the traffic report while I was driving in. He said a rude word and that was the last of him.”

“Rear-ended a garbage truck and got buried under half a ton of Dumpster droppings. He’s okay except for a broken leg.”

Daisy pulled a five-by-seven card from her pocketbook and glanced over a recipe for dog granola. “That’s too bad. Who’s doing traffic?”

“Nobody’s doing traffic. Steve’s offered double Frank’s salary plus a year’s supply of Girl Scout cookies, but nobody’ll take it.”

Daisy felt her heart jump. Double Frank’s salary! “I could do it,” she said. “I need the money.”

“You need money that bad?”