Chapter 18
“Norman Cross . . . the author?” Hayley asked, looking up from her desktop computer at Bruce Linney, who hovered over her desk, smirking, rather pleased with himself.
“Yes. I did some digging and it turns out Otis Pearson’s number-one moonshine client is the reclusive Master of Horror himself,” Bruce said.
Norman Cross was a fan of Otis’s moonshine?
“And Otis made a delivery to Cross’s mansion the same night he was found in the cemetery?” Hayley asked.
“Yes. So Cross may have been the last person to see Otis alive.”
“Good job, Bruce.”
“I finally seem to be earning my stripes back as a relevant investigative journalist. It’s been a while.”
“It’s like riding a bike. You never really forget how to do it,” Hayley said, going back to her computer to put the final touches on tomorrow’s column.
She heard Bruce quietly chuckling to himself.
“What’s so amusing?”
He snapped to attention, surprised she caught him in a moment of reverie.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You’re laughing. I’m just curious what you’re thinking about.”
“Nothing,” Bruce said, trying to brush it off.
Hayley decided to press him. “Come on. Tell me.”
Bruce seemed to be debating with himself on how to respond, but then he just shrugged and said, “It’s just nice seeing you impressed.”
“Impressed?”
“For years whenever you looked at me, I could see your irritation or exasperation or even boredom, and I kind of eventually got used to it, but today, for the first time, you actually seem impressed.”
“That’s because your skills as a reporter impressed me.”
“Right. And that’s why I’m happy. It feels good.”
Hayley was certainly not used to Bruce being so open and honest with her.
Usually he would go to great lengths to make himself look self-assured and confident and unfazed by her sometimes critical opinion of ninety percent of his words and deeds.
But lately they had established a more friendly rapport.
And she liked it.
“I’m going to go question Mr. Cross about Otis Pearson at his house,” Bruce said. “Care to join me?”
Norman Cross resided in a hilltop mansion, very old and weathered and spooky.
The perfect home base for the Master of Horror.
The kind of house you would probably find the Scooby Doo gang poking around in for clues.
Bats flying around.
Creepy noises.
Faint haunting screams in the distance.
Okay, so most of that was imagined but it still was old and gothic and ominous after dark.
“So what do you say?” Bruce asked.
“Why not?” Hayley said, shutting down her computer and grabbing her bag from underneath the desk.
“See? I told you we make a great team!”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay, Bruce?”
“Got it.”