Tuesday Tales: From the Word BRAZEN

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday tales, the blog where writers share their work in progress with you.

So, Christmas is 10 days away. Things will be different this year, but it we all play our part, they’ll improve in 2021.

Today’ post in based on the word prompt BRAZEN. I’m continuing with The White Dahlia.

Retracing her steps, Beth followed her superior into the office they shared and sat in front of the desk instead of behind it, waiting for the dressing down she probably deserved.

“Whatever you’ve got to say to me, save it for Monday, please?” Beth begged, exhaling heavily. “I’m exhausted and have to meet with Dr. Mitchell this afternoon. Looking like I do now, she’ll never let me get back to active duty.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t. What the hell were you thinking? Did you know someone was filming you while you talked to Ogden? I didn’t see Holmes. Where was she? Effing werewolves in Brownsville?”

Beth bristled. “Erica wasn’t there,” she confessed brazenly. How much worse could things get? “I let her leave early since she wasn’t feeling well. For the record, I didn’t give Jack a story if that’s what you’re implying. I’m not his source. I would sooner rot in hell than give that bastard even the time of day. He overheard one of the trashmen and then embroidered from there.”

Ned Harris examined her closely and then nodded. “I should suspend you for going to a crime scene alone, especially without a weapon since yours are still in the armory. I repeat. What the hell were you thinking?”

“That I had no one to send and someone had to go,” she admitted. “As it turned out, I did the right thing. I broke the rules, yes, but Ned, what I saw is way worse than whatever Jack may have printed.”

He frowned. “Just how half-baked are his allegations?

She shrugged. “It depends what you mean by half-baked. Is there a monster on the loose in Brooklyn? Most definitely, but I doubt the son of a bitch is a werewolf or any other supernatural being.”

“Okay. Start at the beginning. Tell me about what you found in Brownsville.”

“It’s all in my report,” she stammered. “I sent it to you a few minutes ago. You should have it by now.”

“I don’t care what you sent me, Beth. I’m sure it’s thorough, but I know it’ll lack the emotional details I need to keep the Chief of Detectives from roasting you alive. I want to know what you saw, and why I was sandbagged by an army of reporters on my way in.”

She nodded slowly, knew what he meant, and wished she didn’t. It had happened every damn day in Boston. Thankfully, she hadn’t been the one to face the Press.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.