Excerpt of Liver Let Die by Liz Lipperman

Jordan dropped her review on Dwayne Egan’s desk and stepped
back to await her fate. She’d spent the entire morning
researching foie gras on the Internet and had come away
outraged and ready to make a stand on the issue.

That was before Egan grabbed the report and lowered his eyes
to read, and all her bravado dissipated. Shifting nervously
and second-guessing herself, she tapped out the melody of a
rock song along the side of her slacks with her fingers.

Too late to change her mind as Egan motioned for her to sit.

She eased into the chair behind her, eyes fixed on the
editor while he finished the first page and flipped to the
second. Her nerves were like aliens ready to burst through
her skin.

"You actually ate this?" he asked, finally glancing at her
over the top of his silver-rimmed reading glasses.

"Yes and no," she replied. "Mostly, no."

Egan had already turned back to the report, re-reading the
first page. "And this is how they get the duck liver?"

Her eyes lit up. Maybe he wouldn’t scream at her after all.
"Yes sir. They force-feed the animals to fatten them up."
She paused, remembering how the pictures had sickened her,
how seeing the tubes shoved down their throats had nearly
made her gag. "The ducks are kept in tight cages so they
can’t exercise or even move around."

"Geez! And they’re serving this right here in Ranchero?"

"Yes," she answered quickly. "At a price that would water
your eyes." She stopped, not sure she wanted to remind him
how much she’d charged on the company card.
Egan dropped the report on his desk and leaned back in the
chair, hands behind his head, making his ears protrude even
more. "This is going to ruffle a few feathers at Longhorn
Prime Rib." He grinned, obviously pleased with his play on
words.

Jordan shifted in the chair. "I was totally complimentary
about the restaurant in general." She thought about the
Chocolate Decadence Cake that had doubled as breakfast that
morning. "The desserts were phenomenal and the service –
fantastic."

Egan studied her face, his head tilted as if in deep
thought. "I had you pegged for a simple meat and potatoes
girl. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you’d order
this when you’re obviously so outraged at how they get it."

Here it is! This was where she’d have to admit she was
clueless when it came to fancy food. This was where he’d
realize what a big mistake he’d made giving her the job.
"The waiter recommended it. Said it was imported from
Canada. Since I knew it was too expensive to ever try on my
own, I went with it."

"I still find it hard to believe you’d even order the dish,
knowing how you feel about it."

"I thought it was chicken," she blurted, looking away for a
moment, imagining the pink slip falling from this week’s pay
envelope.

Egan threw back his head and laughed. And continued to laugh
until Jordan finally gave in and smiled.

"So, let’s see," he began when he was finally able to speak.
"I have a culinary expert who has no idea what she orders at
restaurants." He slapped the desk.

"That’s rich. Loretta would never see the humor in that, of
course, nor would she be caught dead ordering anything but a
thick, juicy steak." He leaned forward and lowered his
voice. "And just between you and me, she wouldn’t know foie
gras from chicken piccata, either, even if it bit her on her
overpaid butt."

"I’m sorry, sir. Maybe you should give this job to someone
else."

His eyes bored into her. "Are you joking? This is going to
grab the attention of every animal lover in Ranchero who
probably has never even looked at Loretta’s column before."
He slid the papers across the desk. "Take this down to the
copy room ASAP. I want it in tonight’s edition."

Stunned, Jordan grabbed the report and headed for the door.

"Oh, and McAllister?"

She whirled around, expecting her little bubble of
excitement to burst like a piñata at a birthday party with
eight year old boys on a sugar high.

"From now on, you’ll do a bi-weekly column with recipes and
food information. Fancy food like this. A couple of exposés
would be great." He rubbed his hands together. "If my gut is
right, with the exception of the restaurant owner, the good
citizens of this fine town are going to love you."

"What about the Personals?"

He smiled. "Look at this as a freelance opportunity," he
said. "And the Personals as your day job. Now go."

Jordan wondered how he could say that with a straight face,
but she was too excited to care. She hurried out the door,
surprised to see Jackie Frazier smiling. She’d obviously
been eavesdropping. She imagined her, as Roseanne
Roseannadanna saying, "It’s always something," and she
smiled back.

Who knew fatty duck liver could wipe the sarcasm off the
secretary’s face and maybe even jump-start her career?