Death on a Deadline

tabs. Most of them didn’t seem pertinent. Then my gaze fell on a tab marked Current Editorials . I plucked it from the drawer.
    “Listen to this. This was the editorial that was supposed to go out the week after Hank died. It’s not completely done, but listen.” I waved the paper in Carly’s face. “ ‘Our esteemed mayor is up to his eyebrows in more than the citizens of Lake View can ever imagine.’ What do you think Hank meant by that?”
    “No idea. Oh, you should read this letter. ‘I’m sixteen and my parents are so out of touch. I feel like I can’t talk to them about anything.’ Isn’t that just so sad?” Carly hadn’t moved from her chair, still enthralled with the Dear Pru letters.
    “Carly, stop reading those letters and help me look.”
    She reluctantly left the letters, and we opened every drawer of Hank’s massive, battle-scarred oak desk. If there were any clues there, we weren’t smart enough to find them.
    “Let’s take a break and have a cup of coffee. Newspaper offices are known for having coffee, right?” In the break room, Carly put some fresh coffee in the Brewmaster and I poked around in the cabinets.
    “Ever wonder what newspaper employees keep in their refrigerator?” Carly opened the door and peered inside. “Ketchup, mustard, and French vanilla creamer. That’s it.”
    “Glad you cleared up that little mystery for me.” I took two cups off the shelf and filled them with hot coffee. “Check out the freezer—maybe there’s some Häagen-Dazs or Ben & Jerry’s.”
    “Nope. Just some ice and a brown paper bag.” Carly shut the freezer door and sipped her coffee.
    “What’s in the bag?”
    “Are you serious?” Carly asked.
    “Sure. Maybe it’s cold cash.”
    Carly opened the door, retrieved the bag, and shook the frost off it. “Looks like medicine of some kind.” She pulled out several prescription bottles and set them on the table. “Oxycontin. Isn’t that a prescription painkiller?”
    I shook one. Empty. I shook another one. Empty, too. Every bottle was empty. “The label says Anne Mansfield . Who’s that?”
    “No idea. This one’s for Josephine Winston.” Carly said, showing me the one she held. “Never heard of her either. You?”
    “Nope.”
    We sorted them out by names and ended up with three for Josephine, four for Anne. “Who would be sick enough to gather up different women’s empty pill bottles?”
    “Maybe there was some kind of plastic drive and we just didn’t hear about it? A recycle-your-old-pill-bottles thing? And these accidentally got put in the freezer instead of with the others?”
    “But they’re all painkillers,” I mused.
    Carly nodded and ran her finger over the bottle label. “Why would anyone have these?”
    “I don’t know. Unless it was for a story Hank was doing. The one he did the Web research for. They’re all from Lake View Pharmacy and all dated within the last few months.”
    “Oh, well, it was more interesting than ice cream but not near as tasty.” Carly shoved the bottles back into the sack and started to put them back in the freezer.
    “Wait. Maybe I should take them to Marge and ask her if she knows what they’re for.”
    “If you think these have anything to do with Hank’s murder, you need to take them straight to John.” Carly sounded like the bossy older sister she was.
    “If they did, don’t you think John would have confiscated them when the police searched this place?” I scribbled the names from the labels on the outside of my folder and stuffed the bag back into the freezer.
    The heat kicked off with a loud pop and Carly jumped. “C’mon, girl. Let’s clean up this mess and get out of here. I’ve enjoyed about all of this place I can stand.”
    She might be a tad on the bossy side, but in this case, I completely agreed with her.
    Two hours later, I pulled my old threadbare terry robe around me and sat down on the loveseat with the Dear Prudence file. I sketched out some rough-draft answers to a couple of letters, then pulled one out of the archive. The previous Dear Prudence had been much more forceful with her advice than I was. Was that good or bad? I scanned the letter and then read it again more carefully. Could it be? I scooped up the cordless and punched in Carly’s cell number. She answered on the fourth ring. “Tell me this is important.”
    “Already in bed?”
    “Hmm. It’s ten-thirty. I have to get up at six. Yes, as lazy at it seems to you, I’m in