TITLE: SOME WARS END
GENRE: Traditional Mystery
Identity theft, computer hacking, and murder—and it’s only Monday.
Cooter Ferry’s top news jockey, Quindley Dempsy is a transplanted Yankee with a penchant for interfering in police investigations and a knack for solving murders. The former embedded war reporter has raised a mountain of cash to build a high-tech rehab clinic for injured combat veterans. When a body drops from the rafters during the clinic’s dedication, Quindley sets out to nail the bastard who killed her best friend—the chief finance officer of her mega-bucks foundation.
The first time I fired a gun, I killed six people—and all I got was a lousy t-shirt. Actually, a shirt and a three-inch titanium screw that holds my right ankle together.
I’m Quindley Dempsy, Eagle 7 News feature reporter, and I’ve learned there are only two rules in deep-pocket fundraising. Rule 1—reel in as much loot as possible at each event, and Rule 2—repeat Rule 1, as needed. I’m a Rule 2 Goddess. Good thing, too. Because my Global Warrior Foundation needs more scratch. That’s why I decided to dangle another money-raising shindig alongside the dedication of our new veteran’s rehabilitation center.
I funneled a Diet Mountain Dew, held back a belch, and strutted to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen.” The gala’s velvety hum subsided. “Your generous contributions made Five Angels a reality.” I swept my arms around the atrium connecting the new rehab clinic with the vets’ medical center. “Tonight, we’re dedicating this miraculous facility. But our work is unfinished.”
It was one of those blithe, sultry Lowcountry evenings. Bow-tied waiters, proffering trays of champagne and canapés, slalomed through the crush of moneyed-elite, noted philanthropists, and local celebrities eager to donate to my cause.
“The war has created a painful and expensive legacy—brain-injured and limbless young bodies—who will challenge our ability to care for them for decades to come. And Government resources for prosthetics and specialized medical attention are at a breaking point. One high-tech leg starts at sixty-thousand dollars. Cheers to each of your two good ones. Now, how many limbs will you buy tonight?”