Death of A High Maintenance Blonde (Jubilant Falls Series Book 5) (8 page)

Chapter 13 Charisma

“Everyone, I need you to come into my office.”

It was Tuesday morning, just before we got going on that morning’s edition. Addison stood in the center of the newsroom, a coffee cup in one hand, her cigarettes and lighter in the other. There was pain in her eyes.

“What do you think it’s about?” Marcus Henning asked me as we filed into her office.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Addison was covering a homicide last night. I was here last night covering the fire, but I left before she did, so I don’t know any of the details.”

My thoughts centered more on why I said I’d let Dr. Huffinger shadow me.

Watching the inn walls collapse early that morning sent me again to that awful Baghdad roadside, but I wasn’t going to admit that to anyone. Back in the newsroom a couple hours later, I was thankful for the solitude as I sat at my desk, rocking back and forth until I was able to update the earlier fire story. After I finished, I tried not to appear intoxicated as I staggered home to my little apartment.

So what made me call him as soon as I got up the stairs?

Graham Kinnon shot a look sideways at me as we each found a place to sit. “It was a big one,” he said. “The arraignment is at eight, so I hope this doesn’t take long.”

Pat and Dennis were the last folks into Addison’s office. Pat had two cameras hanging around his neck as he closed the door behind him.

What made me call Leland Huffinger?
That wasn’t part of my plan at all. I groaned as I settled into my chair. Nobody was supposed to find me. I was going to stay here until I was stronger, until I could step out and let the world know I was back on my own terms.

But he’d found me—and easily. How ludicrous was it that I even thought I could disappear, especially when I was still in the news business?

And
what
happened when I started to cry? Of all the stupid, girly things…

He’d touched my shoulder and then what? Did he draw me into his arms or had I pulled him into mine? I don’t remember, but it wasn’t the feeling I had when Jean Paul held me, that feeling of first all-encompassing passion, the one great love that was supposed to last a lifetime and then didn’t.

This was different, warm and safe, with my head on his chest and his arms around me. I hadn’t felt like that for over two years. Was this what safe harbor felt like? Or was I simply so tortured that I welcomed the first man to put his arms around me?

Then, without thinking, as Leland spoke about his son’s death, and that single tear began to roll down his face, I’d reached up to wipe it away. How inappropriate was
that
? Thank god he’d reacted the way he did, saving face for both of us.

Addison cleared her throat. Tapping the end of her cigarette on her desk to pack in the tobacco, she began to speak.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts.
Focus,
I said to myself.
Focus.

“Last night, as some of you know, there was a homicide in Jubilant Falls. The body of a woman, Eve Dahlgren, was found stabbed in her vehicle at Shanahan Park. Eve is a native of Jubilant Falls who had just returned home, for what reason I don’t know.” Addison stopped and flicked her lighter a couple times, staring intently at the dancing flame. “Earlene has been arrested for the murder.”

Leland Huffinger was no longer the center of my thoughts as everyone, except Graham, gasped with a collective
“What?”

“The goofball with all the bad ideas actually killed somebody?” Dennis asked. He took on the tone of a silly teenage girl. “OMG, ya’ll! She would have, like, broken a nail or messed her hair up or something!”

Addison held up her hand for silence.

“Apparently, Earlene and Eve were out together this weekend. Earlene told me they argued that night and I stupidly told Gary.” Addison continued. “Police also have Earlene’s fingerprints on the steering wheel of Eve’s Lincoln. Graham and Pat will be covering her arraignment this morning.”

“What happens next?” Dennis asked. “Who’s acting as publisher while she’s in jail?”

“I don’t know. Watt could come in while Earlene is in jail, but that’s just conjecture on my part. He asked me to go downstairs and round up the rest of the staff and make the announcement to them. But before I do, here are the ground rules: Nobody is to speak to any other media about this case. Only Watt or Earlene’s lawyer are authorized to say
anything
about the case. We can’t tolerate any speculation or anybody’s comments showing up anyplace, not in another newspaper, not on somebody’s B roll on the six o’clock news. I don’t want the prosecutor or anybody’s lawyer screaming about us poisoning the jury pool or having either Earlene or her father coming in here pissed about something someone on the staff said. Am I clear?”

“Do you think that will be a problem?” Marcus Henning asked.

“I’ll bet you a dollar to a donut that every one of you will be approached by some out-of-town media. This will be huge news when it hits and we’re going to be in the center of it. You all keep your mouths
shut.
”

We all nodded somberly.

“We need to keep going, just like any other day. We keep doing a good job covering the news. And this story gets covered like any other—fair and impartially and without any kind of editorial commentary, however innocuous you may think it is. Graham, I need you to stay on anything that happens in court on this. I have a few things I need to look into on this story, so while I’m not here, Dennis is in charge, as always. Charisma, I’ll still need you to keep covering the night police calls. Marcus, you continue on as usual.”

“You want me to keep going on those unsolved murders we talked about last week?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Where are you on that?”

“I’m interviewing the old fire chief, Hiram Warder, this afternoon on the first murder. There’s also an old house that looks like it could have been there at the time of the murder. I’m going to see if anybody who lives there remembers anything. I should be able to have it for you for tomorrow’s edition.”

Addison nodded. “You’ve got the fire story, I’ve got the Eve Dahlgren murder and what else do we have for page one?” She looked pointedly at Graham.

“I have that story on the Jessop woman who sued the county commissioners,” he said. “The suit was thrown out after the jury couldn’t agree if the commissioners terminated her unfairly or not. I wrote it after I got home last night and then e-mailed it to myself here at work, so it’s done.”

She nodded tersely. “OK. I’m going to head downstairs now and talk to the other staff. Let’s do this, people. We got a newspaper to put out.”

Everyone returned to the newsroom to begin building today’s edition. Addison, looking somber and with her coffee in hand, headed downstairs toward the advertising and business offices. The newspaper didn’t open until nine—nearly an hour from now—so Addison had time to break the news before the public came through the door. Graham, with Pat Robinette behind him, en route to the courthouse and Earlene’s arraignment, followed behind her.

I sat down at my desk and turned on the computer. It came to life at the same time Marcus and Dennis’s computers did, the three of them chiming in a disembodied electronic chorus.

I didn’t have a whole lot to do that morning, just check in with the fire chief to see if they had a total on the damages, then check in with the Red Cross on where the former guests were housed and add that to my story.

But I was nowhere close to making that phone call.

I couldn’t have Dr. Huffinger following me around, not now; especially since there would be a good chance someone else might be dogging the staff about Earlene’s murder charge.

How long would it be before those reporters would start looking at me and asking questions about who I was? Could I keep my true identity hidden? Even more important, could I hold up under the stress?

I made him a promise that needed to be broken.

Dennis walked over to the television that sat on a wall shelf next to the police scanner and switched it on to catch the local morning news. The picture came into focus: it was a TV reporter standing in front of the
Journal-Gazette
, near the front door’s brass name plate.

“The publisher of an area newspaper is behind bars this morning, slated to be arraigned shortly on murder charges…” A sandy-haired, pie-faced young man looked straight into the camera, glancing down occasionally at his notes. Remote trucks from other stations could be seen in the background of his shot.

“Here we go,” Dennis said. “Let the onslaught begin.” He shook his head and returned to the copy desk as the pie-faced boy continued to talk and we headed for the center of a media maelstrom.

OK, this whole thing with Huffinger is definitely off, if reporters are already lining up outside the door,
I thought to myself. I dialed Leland’s cell phone number.

“Good morning,” he said, gently. “Get any sleep after I left?”

I ignored the too-familiar tone. “Listen, what we talked about last night, it’s off.”

“Off? Why?” The soft words were gone.

I turned to face the wall so no one could hear me. “Because the publisher here got picked up on murder charges and there’s reporters crawling all over this place, looking for whatever they can find,” I whispered. “They’ll figure out who I am.”

“Murder charges? You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve been through a lot of bizarre things in my career but no publisher I’ve ever worked with—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I can’t talk about it right now—I’m on deadline.”

“But you said last night—”

“Forget what I said last night. I was tired and stressed from the fire. I shouldn’t have promised you anything.” I disconnected the call as I caught a glimpse of Dennis walking toward me with a stack of papers. Quickly, I dialed the fire department to derail whatever conversation he might start.

“Hi, Chief, it’s me Charisma Lemarnier. I’m looking for a damage total on the fire at the Jubilant Country Inn,” I said. Dennis didn’t need to know I was talking to a busy signal as I took the stack of news briefs from him. “Uh huh. Sure. I’ll call you back.”

My other line began to ring as he walked away. It was Leland.

“You can’t do this to me! I came all the way from Philadelphia to talk to you!” he said.

“That’s your problem.” I hung up.

Dennis and Marcus stared at me.

“What was that about?” Marcus asked.

I shrugged. “Man problems.”

“We didn’t know you were dating anybody!” Dennis leered. He was single, but apparently had been dating Jane, the secretary down in advertising, for some time. While everyone else in the newsroom seemed to be content living out of each other’s pockets, easily sharing the daily details of their lives, I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—do that.

I heard all about Marcus’s wife and their three adult kids, Andrew, an air force pilot, Lillian, a new mother living with her stockbroker husband in New York City, and PJ, a senior journalism major at Ohio University. I knew all about Addison’s farmer husband and their daughter Isabella, Dennis’s dates with Jane and Graham’s baby daughter. I knew Pat’s wife Dorothy was close to retiring from teaching and after he retired from the paper, they planned to buy an RV and see all the national parks. When I was here at night, I listened to sports writer Chris Royal sweet talk his girlfriend Amy on his cell phone as he waited on wire copy.

They knew I was widowed. They knew I’d been injured. They didn’t need to know more.

How could I tell them on the eve of our second anniversary we’d argued and the next day, he was dead? How could I bring that up without depressing everyone in the room? Only Graham Kinnon seemed to understand why I never talked about it.

“I’m
not
dating
anyone
.” I said sharply to Dennis and turned back to my phone. I punched in the fire department number again, this time getting through. “Hi, Chief, it’s Charisma…”

The call was short—the chief had my numbers for me, which I plugged into the story. With another phone call to the Red Cross, I checked to see how many guests had taken the offer for a free night in the hotel and the story was done. With a few more computer strokes, I sent the story over to Dennis.

“I’m going out to grab some coffee and breakfast. I’ll be back in about half an hour.”

“Be careful.” Dennis pointed toward the television. “The vultures may still be out there.”

I slipped down the stairs and into the newspaper’s front lobby. Jane’s desk was empty; the meeting with Addison was apparently still going on. Outside, the pie-faced boy reporter had his back to the front door, talking to two other reporters in front of the paper’s plate glass window. Maybe it was better if I left by the employee entrance near the pressroom, then walked through the employee parking lot and taking the long way around the block to Aunt Bea’s, the downtown diner just a few doors from my apartment.

The pressroom, normally a hub of activity, was silent as well. They must be in on the meeting about Earlene’s arrest, too. I tried to be quiet as I slipped out the door, but the heavy metal door slammed.

“Hey! Look! There’s someone coming out the door!” The three reporters and their cameramen came around the corner of the building. Instinctively, I turned to run.

A man’s long thin arm grabbed me by my shoulders. I screamed as I was whirled around.

It was Leland, drawing me into an embrace as the reporters circled us, firing off questions.

“What do you know about Earlene Whitelaw’s arrest?”

“Are you an employee here? What has the administration told you about the murder?”

“Has the newspaper taken any official position on the publisher’s arrest?”

Fear bubbled up inside me—I wanted to scratch my way out of Leland’s tight embrace, to scream, to run, to hide.

“Ssshhh. Just go with me on this,” he whispered into my hair. He lifted his head and glared at the reporters. “Do you mind? My sister and I have just lost our mother and she was here to place the obituary.”