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On Wednesday morning, Lacey was still practicing her excuses for coming up empty on the Red Dress of Death story.
Perhaps that was why it was her turn to wear red today. It was a sleeveless red-and-white vertical striped dress. The white collar fluttered around her neck and the red cotton bolero jacket warded off the indoor chill at the newsroom. She wrapped a long red scarf around her neck for extra warmth. She hoped she looked crisp and cool and not like a peppermint stick, although at least that had a breezy and fresh connotation.
It was barely half past her first cup of coffee. Too early to fully engage the brain. She was distracted by Harlan Wiedemeyer’s story on Amy Keaton in the morning edition of The Eye. It ran in the editorial section for some reason. Obviously too many adjectives, she thought.
