Tangled Vines Read Online Free

screen, its image replaced by that of a middle-aged man coming out of a black car flashing a smile and waving at the camera, ignoring the angry shouts from picketers outside. There was only her voice – that voice – talking over the images.
    â€œSince his election to the state senate two years ago, Dan Melcher has been the center of controversy. His liberal stand on civil rights and pro-choice issues has created loud opposition. Tonight, that opposition took a violent turn.”
    The voice stopped as a woman broke from the sign-carrying crowd. “Murderer!” she shouted and started firing.
    The ensuing flurry of action was difficult to follow. An aide grabbed the slumping senator; a policeman fell; bystanders scattered amidst shouts and screams of panic; someone grabbed the woman, and another policeman wrestled her to the ground. The scene was followed by a close-up of the unconscious senator, blood spreading across the white of his dress shirt. Then it cut to a shot of him being loaded into the ambulance.
    It was back to the woman. “We have just received late word that the patrolman who was also shot has died of his injuries. The police have the assailant in custody. Her identity has not been released. Charges are pending.” She paused a beat, then added, “Kelly Douglas, KNBC, New York.”
    Dougherty frowned. She didn’t look the same. The coloring was right – the auburn hair, the dark green eyes. And that voice, he knew he wasn’t wrong about it. She had changed a lot in ten years. She had even changed her name, taken her mother’s. But her voice hadn’t changed. It was her. It had to be.
    He stared at the television, blind to the patriotic commercial for Maxwell House coffee flickering across the screen. Beside him, Phipps groused to Big Eddie, “They call that journalism. You couldn’t write lousy copy like that and get away with it in the newspaper business.”
    Big Eddie shrugged his lack of interest. “A picture’s worth a thousand words.”
    â€œSome picture,” Phipps scoffed. “A pretty face in front of a camera pretending to be a reporter. Take it from me, everyone in television news is overrated and overpaid.”
    Len Dougherty half listened to the exhange. He was confused, his thoughts jumbled. He started to lift his glass, then abruptly shoved it away and pushed off his stool. He needed to think.

Chapter Two
    Kelly did the final standup live. She held her pose and position until the signal came that the network feed was complete. The lights were killed and she lowered the mike dropping her calm, slightly grave on-air demeanor, a glow of triumph lighting her eyes and bringing a satisfied curve to her lips.
    The producer, Brad Sommers, climbed out of the equipment-laden satellite van. Thirtyish, he was dressed in khakis and an L. L. Bean plaid shirt with short sleeves – New York country a concession to the sultry heat of an August night in the city. Kelly was still too pumped from the adrenaline rush of covering the story to feel the stickiness in the air.
    Brad gave a thumbs-up sign to Kelly and the crew. “We made network news on the West Coast.” A version that was always updated with late-breaking stories to compensate for the three-hour time difference.
    â€œWe did it, guys.” Flushed with the feeling of success and eager to share it, Kelly grinned at her two cohorts. “Back in Iowa where I come from, this is what we call ‘walking in tall corn,’” she declared with a broad wink.
    â€œYeah, too bad it couldn’t have been national, though.” A stocky, fortyish, and balding Rory Tubbs shifted the camera off his shoulder and set it down.
    â€œYeah, that woman’s timing was inconvenient as hell,” the sound man, Larry Maklosky, mocked.
    Rory flushed, realizing his innocent remark had sounded hard and insensitive to the tragic event that had left one policeman dead and a