Maybe Wilson Banks should have picked up on the life-changing aspect of his new assignment when Jerry first mentioned it to him. Life-view-changing, anyway.

No, it was ultimately life-changing. Or both.

Regardless, he’d never considered things like extra-sensory perception to be true any more than he’d believed in the reality of many of the articles he wrote. This assignment was an annoyance to be ducked in favor of something—anything—that wasn’t such typical tabloid fodder.

“Come on, Jerry, I froze my ass off chasing quotes for that Yeti story eight months ago.” Wilson pulled out the pencil he had tucked behind his ear and pointed it at Sensational News’ (Never Fake! We Swear!) features editor. “Can’t you give me something else?”

“You want to interview all the victims of the chimney shitter in Boise?”

Wilson slumped. On the plus side—depending on one’s perspective—at least that story was true. Bigfoot? Not so much. Considering the speculation about the sample one of the recipients of the malodorous deposits had saved (“There’ll be DNA in those droppings!”), he cringed at the thought of chasing down the chimney shitter story.

He let out a long sigh. “How far back in the boonies is this hillbilly who says he trapped Bigfoot?”

“Nah, you’ll still be in civilization. It’s a quaint tourist trap in Northern California. I’ll put you up in a nice little B&B.”

Wilson shifted, pushing back in his chair. One of these days he was going to get into this office when Jerry wasn’t around and check out these damned chairs. It felt like Jerry had shaved down the length of the front legs to deliberately make reporters slither forward on the hard seat. The better to get them to agree to anything and rush them out of there?

“Besides.” Jerry tapped his middle finger on his desk calendar. “There’ve been multiple sightings over the years. We’ve tracked them down; you just have to sweet talk them. Get me some good soundbites and maybe a fuzzy picture or two.”

“A bed and breakfast, eh?” That did sound relaxing. He could deal with another round of interviewing loonies…er…confused people who apparently couldn’t recognize a bear for what it was if it happened to stand, in exchange for a little R&R in a pleasant setting during his downtime.

Jerry bounced back and forth against the tilt mechanism in the top-quality leather office chair in which he had his own rear parked. A slow grin spread across his face. “In an updated Victorian with all the amenities.”

Wilson grimaced as his butt slipped forward again. “Fine. Give me the Sasquatch story.”

It was doubtful he’d come up with images fuzzy enough to make a black bear look like Bigfoot—he shivered at the thought of getting close enough to snap a picture anyway—and he wasn’t going to fabricate one. He had his standards. But maybe he could find a nice footprint? If nothing else, he could photograph a few witnesses.

“Great.” Jerry was all business, sliding a manila envelope across the desk and leveling his patented squint at Wilson before turning to his computer. “See Mark on your way out. He’s got your travel itinerary.”

Wilson let out a long breath and heaved out of the chair. If Mark had his itinerary, then his airline and lodging reservations had already been made. He hadn’t really had the option of talking Jerry into giving him something less deceptive. Less…quintessentially low-brow sensationalism.

Not that it mattered. It all paid the same.