Читать книгу: «Deadline»
“Quit sulking,” Spencer told Tess as he drove along the interstate, heading for the Mississippi prison where her father had spent the last twenty-five years of his life.
“I’m not sulking. I just don’t understand why you insisted on coming with me. I don’t need a chaperon or a bodyguard. I have been inside a prison before, you know.”
“I’m sure you have. But I’m not here as a chaperon or a bodyguard. I’m here to help you get some answers.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, Spencer, I’m an investigative reporter. I know how to get answers.”
“I know you do,” Spencer told her, and bit back a grin. She’d pitched a fit when he’d shown up that morning, insisting on accompanying her to the prison where her father had been incarcerated. “But getting those answers may not be as easy as you think.”
“Would you stop treating me like I’m some kind of…cream puff? I know how to conduct an interview and find out what I need.”
“Oh, don’t go getting your panties in a wad, Tess. There’s no chance I’d mistake you for a cream puff. But you’re not dealing with a bunch of politically correct socialites down here. You’re dealing with die-hard, Confederate-flag-waving Southerners who will see you as a Yankee not to be trusted.”
“And you think you can do better?” she challenged.
“Sure,” he said confidently. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a homegrown boy. I’m one of them and I can be trusted. Unlike a Yankee like you!”
Also by METSY HINGLE
FLASHPOINT
BEHIND THE MASK
THE WAGER
Deadline
Metsy Hingle
www.mirabooks.co.uk
In memory of my beloved aunt Doris Hingle, whose love lives on in the hearts of all who knew her.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
While writing this book, I relied on both the technical and emotional support of many people to bring it to fruition. Without them, I would have been lost. My heartfelt thanks go out to the following people for their help in bringing life to Deadline:
Valerie Gray, my editor and friend at MIRA Books, whose insight and help truly make me a better writer.
Dianne Moggy, Editorial Director of MIRA Books, for her trust in me and support.
Karen Solem, my agent, for her unending support.
The amazing MIRA staff, who continue to astound me with their support.
Sandra Brown, my dear friend, for her friendship, love and for allowing me to bounce my story ideas off her.
Hailey North, my dear friend and fellow writer, for her friendship, support and e-mails.
Bill Capo, TV investigative reporter for Channel 4 News in New Orleans, for his friendship and support, and for answering my questions about the inner workings of the newsroom.
Marilyn Shoemaker, my fan and researcher, for digging out all those tiny details that helped me create the town of Grady, Mississippi.
Bill Greenleaf, press communications specialist with the Mississippi Department of Corrections, for answering all my questions about the inner workings of the state prison systems.
A special thank-you goes to my children and family, whose love and support enable me to spin my tales of love, hope and happily-ever-after.
And, as always, to my husband, Jim, who is my love, my family and all things to me.
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for picking up a copy of Deadline. I hope you find it to be a real page-turner, and that it keeps you on the edge of your seat.
If this is the first time you’ve read any of my work, I do hope you enjoy it. For those of you who are familiar with my books, you won’t be surprised to find that Deadline is set in the South. This time I’ve moved the setting from my hometown of New Orleans to my neighboring state of Mississippi in the fictional town of Grady.
As always, one of the greatest joys for me as a writer is hearing from readers, and I’d love to hear from you. Your comments, opinions and feedback on my books mean a great deal to me. So please keep those letters, cards and e-mails coming.
In fact, as a special thank-you I’ve created two gifts for you—a commemorative bookmark for Deadline and a recipe card for the mint julep that’s mentioned in the story. While supplies last, I’d be happy to send both the bookmark and the recipe to each reader who writes and requests them. Simply either write or e-mail me and say that you’d like one of my commemorative Deadline bookmarks and the mint julep recipe used in Deadline.
Until next time, happy reading!
Metsy Hingle
P.O. Box 3224
Covington, LA
U.S.A. 70433
www.metsyhingle.com
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Prologue
“It wasn’t a suicide.”
Skimming over her notes for Channel Seven TV’s noon news report, Tess Abbott barely registered the caller’s comment. Instead, she shifted the telephone to her other ear and underlined the alarming statistics that she’d uncovered in her investigation on plastic surgery being performed on teenage girls.
“Did you hear what I said? It wasn’t a suicide,” the woman repeated, her Southern drawl even more pronounced. “He was murdered.”
Suddenly Tess jerked her gaze away from her notes and gave her full attention to the caller. “Who was murdered?”
“Jody Burns.”
Every muscle, every nerve in Tess’s body went still at the mention of her father’s name. Two months ago when the news broke about her father’s suicide in prison, the media had been all over the story—especially the tabloid bottom-feeders. They’d come out of the woodwork, dogging her at the news station, pestering her grandfather at the Capitol. They’d even staked out her apartment on the outskirts of Washington, D.C., in an effort to get some reaction from her. As an investigative TV reporter, she had understood the media’s frenzy over the story. After all, the death of the man who had killed the only child of the powerful senator from Mississippi twenty-five years earlier was news in itself. Coupled with her grandfather’s outspoken views on stronger penalties for criminals, the suicide of Jody Burns was all the more newsworthy. While the reporter in her had understood the hunger for a juicy story, the child in her who had lost both her parents that long-ago night had resented the intrusions. She resented it even more now, she realized, her jaw tightening, because she’d thought all the hoopla over Jody Burns’s suicide was finally behind her. “Listen, I don’t know who you’re working for and the truth is, I really don’t care. But I’ll tell you the same thing I tell everyone else. No comment.”
“But—”
“And unless you want me to file harassment charges against you and whatever outfit you’re working for,” Tess barged ahead, “don’t call me again. Ever.”
“Wait! Please, don’t hang up! I’m not a reporter. I swear it!”
There was just enough desperation in the woman’s voice to pique Tess’s interest. She hesitated a second, then said, “All right. Then who are you and why are you calling me?”
“I am…was a friend of your father’s,” the woman corrected. “And I’m calling you because Jody didn’t kill himself like they said. They murdered him and made it look like a suicide to keep him quiet.”
Tess squeezed her eyes shut a moment, fighting back the images that flashed through her mind—images of herself awakening from a bad dream, of entering the den and seeing the father she adored kneeling over her mother’s body, covered in her blood. Shaking off the memory, she said, “How Jody Burns died is of no concern to me.”
“But he was your father.”
“He ceased being my father the night he killed my mother,” Tess informed her, making her voice as cool as her heart for the man she’d once called “daddy.”
“But he didn’t kill her.”
Tess started to tell the woman that she was wasting her time, that Jody Burns was no innocent. After all, she should know, Tess reasoned, since she was the one who’d found him still holding the bookend in his hand that he’d used to smash in her mother’s skull. But before she could get the words out, a knock sounded at her office door.
“Hey, Tess,” Jerry Wilson said, sticking his head inside the door. “You’re up in fifteen.”
“I’ll be right there.” When the door closed behind him, she said, “I have to go.”
“But what about your father? Don’t you want justice for him?”
“Some would say he got the justice he deserved—even if it came twenty-five years late,” Tess countered, recalling her grandfather’s words when they had first learned of Burns’s death.
“Then they would be wrong,” the woman insisted. “Jody Burns didn’t belong in that prison. He was not the one who killed your mother.”
“A jury thought otherwise.”
“The jury was wrong. And your father was going to prove it, too. That’s why he was killed and it was made to look like a suicide.”
Jerry tapped at the door again. “Tess.”
“Coming,” she said.
Regretting that she’d allowed the conversation to even get started, and aware that she needed to get to the set, Tess said, “Listen, I have to go.”
“That’s it? Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“No.”
“I would have thought you would want justice.”
“I’m all for justice. But there’s nothing I can do.” Softening, she said, “Listen, if you really believe what you’ve told me, then you should contact the police.”
“The police! They’re the last ones I can go to. Oh, God, this was a mistake. I never should have called you.”
“Wait!” Tess had been an investigative reporter long enough to recognize panic in the woman’s voice. “What do you mean you can’t go to the police?”
“Because I can’t risk it. If he was to find out that I knew…No, I can’t take that chance.”
Oh, what she wouldn’t have given to see the woman’s face, Tess thought, to be able to look into her eyes, read her. “Listen, if you’re in some kind of trouble—”
“I’m not. At least not yet. But if he finds out that I know and that I called you, God knows what’ll happen to me.”
Tess could practically taste the woman’s fear. “If who finds out? Tell me who it is that you’re afraid of.”
“I can’t. I’ve already said too much.”
“Then tell me who you are, how to reach you,” Tess said. “I’ll help you.”
“The only way you can help me is if you finish what your father started. Don’t let him get away with murder again.”
“Again?” Tess repeated.
“God, don’t you understand? The person who had Jody killed is the same one who killed your mother. And unless you do something, he’ll get away with it this time, too.”
But before Tess could demand more information, the connection was severed and a dial tone buzzed in her ear.
Chapter One
“Good afternoon. This is David Rabinowitz with the noon report for Channel Seven News. At the top of our news is this morning’s emergency landing of an American Airlines 747 at Reagan International Airport following reports that a bomb was on board.”
Veronica “Ronnie” Hill sat back in her chair in the control room at Channel Seven News and studied the studio monitors. As the show’s producer for the past ten years, she watched the broadcast with a critical eye. The new anchor was a good choice, she decided, satisfied with his delivery. While his boy-next-door good looks would certainly appeal to the female viewers, the fact that he’d reported sports for a rival network would draw in the male viewers. All in all, they were counting on seeing a jump in the ratings with the new guy on board.
“To give us an update on the situation, we’ll go live to Reagan International Airport where Tess Abbott is standing by,” David said.
Ronnie frowned when it took an extra two seconds for the monitors to do a split screen. Then the screens split in two with a view of David seated at the studio news desk on the left, and a view of Tess standing outside the airport complex on the right. But it was Tess on whom Ronnie focused. She made a dramatic image, Ronnie thought, with her booted feet planted firmly on the ground. An early-October wind whipped her mocha suede skirt against her legs and her dark hair swirled about her face and shoulders. Behind her, crash trucks zoomed by, followed by a swarm of military vehicles and more cars with flashing lights. To her left a jumbo jet bearing the American Airlines logo sat idle and detached from the jetty. Hordes of personnel flocked around the plane.
“Tess, this is David in the Channel Seven studio. Can you give us an update of what’s going on out there at the airport?”
“Well, David, as was reported earlier, an American Airlines flight that was en route to La Guardia Airport in New York made an emergency landing here at Reagan International around nine-fifteen this morning after a passenger on the plane informed a member of the airline’s flight crew that there was a bomb aboard the aircraft,” Tess began her report.
“All right, go to a full screen of Tess,” Ronnie whispered.
As though the cameraman could hear her, the monitor switched to a full-screen view and zoomed in on Tess. Holding the microphone in front of her, she ignored the noise and activity behind her and looked directly into the camera. “My sources tell me that it appears that the bomb threat was a hoax. No bomb or any explosives were found on board the plane. I’m also told that the passenger has since confessed to being despondent, having recently broken up with his girlfriend. He now says he claimed to have a bomb on board in order to get his estranged girlfriend’s attention.”
“That’s some attention getter,” David remarked.
“Unfortunately, it’s probably going to get him the wrong kind of attention,” Tess replied. She pushed the hair that blew across her face out of her eyes. Without missing a beat, she continued. “Because the federal authorities now have him in custody and will be charging him.”
“Do we know who the guy is?” David asked.
“The authorities haven’t released his name yet,” Tess said, her voice strong and sure above the scream of the wind and the noise around her. “But according to an unnamed source, the person in custody is a thirty-two-year-old male who boarded the flight in Virginia.”
“What’s it like there inside the airport, Tess?” David asked.
“I’d call it controlled chaos, David. As a safety precaution, two of the terminals were vacated before the American flight landed, and all incoming and departing flights were suspended.”
“There must be a lot of unhappy travelers, not to mention some crazed ticket-counter agents,” David commented.
“Well, as I said, it’s chaos, but it’s controlled. In addition to the displaced passengers from the American flight that was deplaned, we have a lot of passengers whose scheduled flights have been suspended. So there are a lot of people waiting inside the terminal,” Tess explained with a nod of her head to the airport complex. “And they’re unsure if, or when, they’ll be able to continue with their travels.”
“Are tempers running high?” David asked.
“Surprisingly, no. Most of the people that I spoke with were concerned, but very understanding. I think the feeling is that they would rather be safe than sorry.”
“Any idea how long before flights will be under way again?”
“The last report I received said that all flights were still suspended, but…just a moment, David.”
While Tess pressed her free hand against her headset and listened, Ronnie studied the young woman she’d worked with for the past three years. Despite her initial misgivings when Tess had been hired, the girl had proven herself to be more than just another pretty face. She was bright, hardworking and easy to get along with—something that Ronnie couldn’t say about all of the reporters under her direction, or even the news anchors for that matter. No, Tess Abbott was a good one, she mused. While very little impressed her in this business, Tess had. Somehow the girl had managed to keep her cool and do a good job even during the circus atmosphere following her father’s suicide and her grandfather’s appearances on Capitol Hill. Never once had she brought anything personal into the newsroom. In short, Tess was a real pro. That’s why seeing the shadows under Tess’s eyes now, and remembering her distracted demeanor all week at work worried her. Something was wrong.
“David, I’ve just been told that the airport has been cleared for incoming flights again,” Tess reported. “And all other flights will resume within the hour. It’s suggested that anyone who is either meeting an incoming flight, or scheduled to fly out this afternoon, check with the airlines first for updated arrival and departure times.”
“Thanks, Tess.”
She nodded. “Reporting live from Reagan International Airport in Washington, D.C., for Channel Seven News, this is Tess Abbott.”
The screen switched from Tess back to David in the studio. “In other news today, the president addresses the nation tonight. Among the key topics will be the nation’s economy.”
Tuning out the rest of the news report, Ronnie drummed her fingers on her desk and considered the best way to approach Tess. She liked the girl, considered her a friend. And because she did, she needed to get Tess to open up and tell her what was wrong so they could fix it. Never very good at mind games, Ronnie picked up the phone and dialed Tess’s cell phone.
“Tess Abbott,” she answered on the third ring.
“Tess, it’s Ronnie.”
“Hi, Ronnie. Hang on a sec, will you?” she said. “Eddie, I’m going to head over to the theater to do the interview with that playwright. I’ll just meet you there.”
“Do I have time to grab some lunch?” the cameraman asked.
“As long as it’s a quick one,” Tess replied. “Okay, sorry about that, Ronnie. What’s up?”
“Tell Eddie to take a long lunch and see if you can push your interview back a couple of hours,” Ronnie instructed.
“Why?” Tess asked, her voice wary.
“Because you and I are having lunch. I’ll meet you at Vincent’s in thirty minutes.”
“What’s going on, Ronnie?” Tess demanded suspiciously.
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
And before Tess could argue, Ronnie hung up the phone. After making a quick stop in her office for her car keys and purse and to advise her assistant where she’d be, Ronnie headed out of the station, intent on getting some answers.
“All right, Ronnie,” Tess said once the two of them had been seated at a table and placed their orders. “What are we doing here?”
Ronnie reached for the basket of crackers on the table. “Well, since all I had for breakfast was coffee and a bagel, I’m hoping we’re about to have lunch because I’m starved.”
Tess eyed her skeptically. “You and I both know that you don’t ‘do’ lunch without a reason, Veronica Hill. And if you think that by feeding me you’ll be able to convince me to pull another weekend shift as news anchor, I’ll save you the trouble. The answer is no.”
“My, my, you are a suspicious one,” Ronnie said as she began to butter a cracker. She glanced up, looked across the table at her from behind the tortoiseshell-framed glasses. “As it so happens, the weekend news shifts are covered.”
“All right. I’ll bite. What are we doing here then?”
“I’m your producer. Can’t I ask you to lunch once in a while?”
“You can, but you don’t. Not without a reason,” Tess told her.
Ronnie sighed. “Sometimes I think you know me a little too well.”
“It works both ways. That’s why we make a good team. So why don’t you tell me just what it is you want.”
“I want to know what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” she replied. Yet even as she made the statement, Tess knew it wasn’t true. She’d been bothered a lot lately. First by the anonymous phone call claiming Jody Burns’s death hadn’t been a suicide. And now by the response from the Mississippi prison system after she’d made some inquiries about his death. According to the medical examiner and the review board’s reports, Jody Burns had been greatly depressed the week prior to his death—which in itself seemed odd since he was up for parole. But, following an investigation, his death had been ruled a suicide due to strangulation by hanging in his cell.
The waitress arrived and served Tess her minestrone soup and Ronnie her green salad. Once she was gone, Ronnie said, “Then explain to me why you look like you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week?”
“Gee, thanks, Ronnie. I think you look nice, too.”
“Oh, don’t get all pissy on me,” Ronnie told her as she dragged the strip of lettuce through the side of creamy Italian dressing. She paused, glanced up and met Tess’s gaze. “On your worst day, you look better than most of us do after a week at a health spa. Now quit pretending you’re insulted and tell me what’s wrong.”
“I told you, nothing is wrong.”
The waitress who’d taken their orders stopped at the table again and topped off their ice water. She eyed Tess curiously from beneath lashes thick with blue mascara. “Excuse me, but aren’t you that news lady? The one from Channel Seven who does those investigative reports?”
“No, that’s her sister,” Ronnie offered before Tess could respond.
“Oh,” the waitress replied, her expression falling. “I guess that explains the resemblance.”
Tess bit the inside of her cheek at the fib. She didn’t kid herself. Unlike some of the reporters on the show, she never for a moment believed herself to be a celebrity simply because she appeared on television to report on a story. And although it didn’t happen with great frequency, she was occasionally recognized.
“People confuse them all the time,” Ronnie told the girl. “But Tammy here is actually Tess Abbott’s older sister.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I can see that you look older than the lady on the news. But your sister’s good. I liked her report on the plastic surgery stuff.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell her,” Tess managed to say.
“You do that. Your orders should be up in a minute. Can I get you anything else?” she asked over the din of voices.
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” Tess said.
“Me, too,” Ronnie echoed.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Tess admonished once the waitress had moved on to the next table.
Ronnie shrugged. “If you’d told her the truth, we’d have had half the people in this place craning their necks and stopping by the table to chat with you.”
“I’d think that would make you happy. You’re the one always looking for ways to pump up the station’s ratings. The truth is, I’m surprised you didn’t get her to swear she’d tell everyone to tune in to the show tonight.”
“I considered it,” Ronnie advised her. “But if I had, we wouldn’t have been able to finish our little chat. Now, are you going to tell me why you’ve got circles under your eyes that look like they belong to a raccoon? Or am I going to have to torture you to get the truth?”
She’d probably do it, too, Tess thought. Despite her small stature, the feisty redhead in the chic navy suit had the heart and soul of an army drill sergeant. One of the first things she’d learned about the producer was that the woman didn’t know the meaning of the word no. Still, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to share with Ronnie, or anyone, the reason behind her sleepless nights. Instead, she said, “If I’m looking tired, it’s probably because you’ve been working me too hard.”
Ronnie waved aside her comment. “You’re an investigative reporter. You’re supposed to work hard. It’s in your contract.”
“Funny, I don’t recall seeing that particular clause.”
“Oh it’s there all right, buried in the fine print.”
Tess lifted her eyebrow skeptically as she added more sugar to her tea.
“Trust me, the boys in black make sure it’s standard in everyone’s contract,” Ronnie explained, referring to the top brass at Channel Seven News.
She could almost believe it, Tess thought. She had covered as many stories during the past few months as she had for the entire previous year. The primary reason was that they’d been short staffed after losing a veteran reporter to a news station on the West Coast, and another reporter had been placed on doctor-ordered bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. As a result, Tess had been forced to pull double and sometimes triple duty working as the station’s investigative reporter, society reporter and occasionally filling in as news anchor.
“Just be glad you’re not a producer. Producers have to sign the thing in blood,” Ronnie claimed before taking another bite of her salad.
“In that case, I’ll stick to reporting.”
“Smart girl. It’s probably what I should have done. If I had, I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to find out why my top reporter looks like hell and has been moping all week.”
Ignoring the accusation, Tess said, “You love working in that pressure cooker and you know it.”
Ronnie curved her lips into a smile. “True. But if I’d known it was going to take over my life so completely, I would’ve at least held out for more money. A word to the wise, kiddo. If Stefanovich ever shows up at your desk singing your praises and dangling a fancy title at you, run. Otherwise, he’ll reel you in like a fish. And before you know it, you’ll be working eighteen-hour days and making the same money you did as a reporter.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that.” The truth was, she hadn’t really minded the extra workload during the past few months. Work had kept her too busy to think much about Jody Burns’s death or the ending of her year-long romance with Jonathan Parker. But now with David in the news-anchor spot and Angela due back Monday from her maternity leave, her days weren’t nearly so busy, Tess admitted. Neither were her evenings now that Jonathan was out of the picture. As a result she no longer dashed out of the station to attend some event, or dragged herself home late at night to crawl into bed and collapse. No, now she lay awake at night and thought. And the one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about was that phone call she’d received and the woman’s claim that Jody Burns’s death had been murder. Mostly, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the woman’s claim that someone other than Jody Burns had killed her mother.
“Earth to Tess.”
Tess yanked her attention back to Ronnie. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
“You’re really starting to worry me, kiddo. That’s the second time you’ve zoned out on me since we got here.”
Tess set her soupspoon aside and sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
“That’s obvious,” Ronnie reminded her. “This trouble sleeping wouldn’t have anything to do with Johnny, would it?”
“No,” Tess replied, not bothering to remind Ronnie, again, how much Jonathan detested being called Johnny. She’d long suspected that Ronnie only called him that because she disliked the man and wanted to irritate him. “As I told you at the time, we ended our relationship amicably. He and I are still friends.”
“Uh-huh.” Ronnie reached for her glass of tea and took a sip. “So he didn’t come by the station yesterday to try to get you to change your mind about marrying him?”
“No. He didn’t. If you must know, he came by to pick up the key he’d given me to his apartment.”
“Any second thoughts about turning down his proposal?”
“None,” Tess assured her. “You were right. Jonathan and I were all wrong for each other. I just can’t believe it took me so long to see it.”
She patted Tess’s hand. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We all make mistakes—especially when it comes to men.”
“Easy for you to say. I dated the man for nearly a year and not until I was faced with the prospect of marrying him did I realize that he and I would never work. You, on the other hand, knew it almost from the start.”
Ronnie smiled—the smile of a woman who had lived nearly fifty years and was wiser for it. “That’s because I wasn’t emotionally invested in the relationship. You were. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that when it comes to the male species, women don’t always see things clearly—especially if our emotions are involved.”
But she should have seen it, Tess thought. Yet, despite the fact that she enjoyed Jonathan’s company and being with him was easy, there had been no real passion between them. It wasn’t until he’d surprised her with an engagement ring for her birthday that she’d been forced to face the truth. She didn’t love him. At least not in the way you should love someone you married. “That still doesn’t make it right. It was unfair of me to lead him on the way I did.”
“Come on, Tess. Johnny’s a big boy. I don’t recall you holding a gun to the man’s head and forcing him to go out with you.”
“I know. But it was still embarrassing for him. He’d told his family and friends, even my grandparents, that he was giving me the ring. They were all expecting an engagement announcement, not a breakup.”
“So he was embarrassed,” Ronnie conceded. “From what I saw of him yesterday, he didn’t appear to be suffering from a broken heart.”
It was true, Tess admitted. Her refusal had appeared to bruise Jonathan’s ego far more than his heart.
“He’ll get over it,” Ronnie assured her.
Tess had no doubt that he would. Jonathan knew what he wanted—a dutiful wife whose dreams and desires mirrored his own—which was to see himself in the White House someday. But that woman wasn’t her. It could never be her because she had her own dreams, her own desires, and she had no intention of abandoning them. Nor did she want to be with a man who would expect her to do so. “Still, I can’t help wishing I hadn’t let things reach that point.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe the reason you let things reach that point was because you knew it’s what the senator wanted?”
“It wasn’t my grandfather’s mistake. It was mine.” Although the senator had introduced her to Jonathan and hadn’t hidden the fact that he’d welcome the up-and-coming attorney as a grandson-in-law, he hadn’t forced her to go out with the man. “As you pointed out, no one held a gun to his head and forced him to go out with me.”
“So I take it the senator isn’t giving you grief for breaking up with golden boy?”
“He’s not happy about it, but he’s accepted it,” Tess replied. And she hoped that was true. Her grandfather had been furious with her over her decision to end things with Jonathan. If there was one thing she’d learned in the years since she’d come to D.C. as a four-year-old to live with him and her grandmother, it was that her grandfather did not like it when things didn’t go according to his plan—be it on Capitol Hill or in his family. Her turning down Jonathan’s proposal was not part of his plan. But marrying the man was not part of her own plan.
“So no more schemes by the senator to throw you and Johnny together?”
“I made it clear to my grandfather that I’m not going to change my mind,” Tess informed her. The final straw had occurred ten days ago when she’d arrived for her weekly dinner with her grandparents and had been advised that Jonathan would be joining them. Her grandmother had been clearly distressed by the senator’s announcement, but Tess had been furious with him for, once again, trying to run her life. As a result, she had left the restaurant, leaving him to explain her absence to Jonathan.
“I can imagine how that went over. I got the impression at that charity dinner last month that the senator had earmarked Johnny boy as his future grandson-in-law.”
“He may have, but it wasn’t his decision to make. It was mine, which is what I told him.” The day after the scene in the restaurant, she’d threatened to sever all contact with her grandfather if he continued to interfere in her personal life.
Ronnie arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “And what was the senator’s response to that?”
“Let’s just say, he wasn’t thrilled with my decision.” The truth was, she and her grandfather had barely spoken since that night. “And I’d really like to drop the subject.”
“Sure,” Ronnie told her as she slathered butter on another cracker. She paused, looked up at Tess. “So if it’s not the senator or Johnny causing you to lose your beauty sleep, what or who is?”
“Ronnie,” Tess said, making no attempt to hide her exasperation.
“Two chicken specials,” the waitress declared and Tess was grateful for the interruption. After the young woman removed the salad plate, she placed the plate of grilled chicken with a rice pilaf in front of Ronnie. She paused at the sight of Tess’s soup, which had barely been touched. “Something wrong with the soup?”
“No. It’s fine, but I’ve had enough. You can take it,” Tess told her.
She added the soup plate and cup to her tray and promptly served Tess her own plate of chicken. “You ladies let me know if you need anything else,” the woman declared and hustled off in the direction of the kitchen.
“This looks good,” Tess said as she picked up her fork.
“If that’s your subtle way of ignoring my question, you should know me well enough by now to realize that I’m not going to stop hounding you until you tell me what’s wrong.” When she said nothing, Ronnie asked, “Is it work, Tess? I know sticking you with Kip on that last assignment wasn’t fair, but I didn’t have a choice. The jerk’s uncle wields a lot of power around here.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with work. It’s personal.”
Ronnie paused, and a concerned look came into her hazel eyes. “All right, Tess. I’ll back off. But as your friend, I have to tell you that I’m worried about you. I’ve never seen you this stressed out before—not even when all that crap was going on about your father’s suicide. Just so you know, if you need to talk, I’m here.”
“Thanks, Ronnie. I appreciate it.” Yet Tess wasn’t at all sure she wanted to share with anyone the thoughts that had been running through her head since she’d received that phone call. But mostly, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to voice aloud what had been really troubling her—the idea that perhaps someone other than Jody Burns might have been responsible for her mother’s murder.
Chapter Two
“I’m so glad you called,” Elizabeth Abbott said that Saturday morning when she greeted Tess at the front door of the elder Abbotts’ town house. “I do hate it so when you and your grandfather are at odds.”
“I know, Grams,” Tess said as she returned her hug. She drew back a fraction. “And I’m sorry that you’re the one who always gets caught in the cross fire.”
Her grandmother reached up and brushed the hair back from Tess’s face. “Don’t worry about me, dear. I’m a lot stronger than you think.”
“I’ve never doubted your strength,” Tess told her and she meant it. Her grandmother was a strong woman in her own way, having handled the loss of her only child, battled breast cancer and remained married to a strong-willed man like Senator Theodore Abbott for more than fifty years. “But sometimes I don’t understand how you can put up with Grandfather when he gets in one of his moods.”
“By one of his moods, I take you mean his being out of sorts because things haven’t gone as he planned?” her grandmother asked, a twinkle in her blue eyes as the two of them headed toward the breakfast room.
“Yes,” Tess replied. In truth, out of sorts was a mild description. Her grandfather was dictatorial and often nasty when he failed to get his way. She took a seat at the glass-and-rattan table where colorful place mats had been laid out with coffee cups and sterling.
“It’s called marriage, dear. When you marry someone you take them—warts and all.” She poured Tess a cup of coffee. “He’s a good man, Tess. He’s done some remarkable things in his life. And he only wants what’s best for you.”
“I know, Grams. But that doesn’t give him the right to try to manipulate me and decide who I should marry.”
Her grandmother took a seat at the table next to her. “He just doesn’t want you to make a mistake.”
“You mean the way my mother did?” Tess asked. “Maybe marrying Jody Burns was a mistake in Grandfather’s eyes. But it was her choice. Not his. And whomever I marry, it’s going to be my choice, not grandfather’s.”
“You’re so stubborn and righteous. Even more so than your mother was.” Her grandmother sighed. “Sometimes, I wonder if things would have turned out differently if you and your mother had taken after me more instead of your grandfather.”
With the morning light spilling in from the window across her grandmother’s face, Tess noted the lines bracketing her eyes. The tasteful short coif of hair that had once been blond had given way to a lovely silver. Despite her seventy-plus years, Elizabeth Abbott’s skin remained smooth, her face lovely. “You’re stubborn in your own quiet way, Grams.”
“Yes, I suppose I am,” she conceded. She reached over and patted Tess’s hand. “So, are you going to tell me why you needed to talk to your grandfather and me?”
Tess was tempted to tell her grandmother, to confide in her all the questions that had been running through her head since receiving that phone call and the decision she’d finally reached. “I think maybe it’ll be better if I talk to the two of you together. When will Grandfather be home?”
“He had an early golf game with Senator Wilke. I expect him home any minute now.”
Any minute turned out to be nearly an hour later. And when her grandfather entered the breakfast room, the entire house seemed more alive. “Tess, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” her grandfather said gruffly, and Tess knew from his tone that he was still miffed at her over walking out on him at dinner more than a week ago.
“Tess called after you left this morning and asked if she could come by, Theo,” her grandmother explained as she poured her husband a cup of coffee before resuming her own seat.
A big man with a head of thick silver hair and skin darkened by hours spent golfing, her grandfather remained a formidable man even at the age of seventy-five. Ignoring the coffee, he popped a stick of the cinnamon-flavored gum that he favored inside his mouth. A onetime smoker, Theodore Abbott had kicked the habit some twenty-seven years ago, but he had taken to chewing gum. Since then, he was never without a packet of gum stuffed inside one of his pockets. Taking the silver foil from the gum, he proceeded to tie it into a knot. It was a ritual that she had watched her grandfather perform thousands of times. After a moment, he said, “If you’ve come to apologize for your rude behavior last week at dinner, you should know that I’m still quite upset with you, young lady. Your grandmother and I brought you up to behave better. You also owe Jonathan an apology.”
“Jonathan and I have already spoken, Grandfather.”
He pitched the knotted wrapper beside his coffee cup and sat back in his chair. “I’m pleased to hear that,” he said, sounding somewhat mollified.
“Don’t be, because I haven’t changed my mind about marrying him and I didn’t come here to apologize for walking out on your little setup at the restaurant to get us back together.”
He scowled. “Then why are you here?” he demanded.
“To let you know that I’m planning to ask the station for some time off.”
“Why, I think that’s an excellent idea, Tess,” her grandmother said, cutting the tension that permeated the air. “I was just telling your grandfather that you’ve been working too hard. It’ll do you good to take a little vacation.”
“Your grandmother’s right. Perhaps a few weeks’ rest will improve your disposition.”
“I won’t be taking a vacation. But I will be traveling to Mississippi. I’ve been in touch with the prison where Jody Burns died. I’m not sure his death was a suicide. I intend to look into it and his murder trial.”
Her grandfather slapped his hand down on the table, rattling the coffee cups and silver. “You will do no such thing. I forbid it!”
“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Grandfather.” Tess stood. “I just wanted to let you both know where I’ll be so you don’t worry about me.”
“You expect us not to worry when it’s obvious that you’ve lost your mind?” her grandfather fired back.
“Calm down, Theo,” her grandmother soothed. “Remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure.”
“To hell with my blood pressure,” he shouted. His face turned bright red. “I would think you’d be glad that the man was dead. Need I remind you that he killed your mother? That you were the one who found him over her bloody body holding the weapon in his hand?”
Tess heard her grandmother’s gasp, saw the horror register on the older woman’s face. Tess looked back at her furious grandfather. “I was four years old. A child,” she reminded him. She had never seen Jody Burns following his conviction, and had long ago written him off as her father. But since that phone call, claiming his death hadn’t been a suicide and that someone else had been responsible for her mother’s murder, she had been plagued with questions. More importantly, she had begun to question her own memories of what had happened that night. “What if I was wrong about what I saw?”
“You weren’t wrong. He killed her,” her grandfather insisted.
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
And despite her grandfather’s angry protests and her grandmother’s dismay, Tess was determined to do just that.
“Okay, Tess, I need you to give me that sign-off again,” the sound engineer told her in the news studio the next day as she completed the edits on the piece she’d done on a local playwright.
“Reporting on ‘What’s New in Entertainment This Week’ for Channel Seven News, this is Tess Abbott.”
“That should do it,” the engineer advised her.
“Looks good. The guys upstairs are gonna like this one,” the cameraman told her.
“Let’s hope you’re right, Bobby,” she replied with a smile. She couldn’t help noticing Ronnie watching her, that worried look in her eyes again. It was a look she’d seen several times since their talk over lunch last week. She could only hope that telling Ronnie about her plans would go smoothly.
And there was no time like the present, Tess decided as she unclipped the microphone from her jacket. Dodging the booms of the cameras and lights, she sidestepped the trail of cables that snaked across the small studio where they’d been taping. She started over toward Ronnie, who was tossing out directions to the assignment editor, production assistant and technician.
Without even taking a breath, she turned her attention to the news anchor. “David, we’re going to lead with the story on the three-alarm fire downtown and move the president’s speech to second,” Ronnie instructed him while she continued to scribble notes that she handed off to her assistant. “We should be able to run Tess’s piece on the playwright near the end of the news hour, right after the weather.”
“Got it,” the news anchor replied. “I’ve reworked the copy some on the lead-in story, punched it up a bit.”
“Let me take a look,” Ronnie said and took the script from him.
Tess stood back and waited for Ronnie to finish. But in typical Ronnie Hill fashion she multitasked, flicking a glance up at her even as she scanned the script changes. “This looks fine. Go with it,” she said as she handed him back the script.
When the anchor left, Tess moved closer. “When you’ve got a few minutes, Ronnie, I’d like to speak with you.”
If she was surprised by the request, Ronnie gave no indication. “Now’s good for me. Why don’t we go to my office.”
Tess followed the other woman down the hall to the place where Ronnie spent the majority of her time. The room was a reflection of Ronnie—neat but lived in, and a testament to how busy she was. The mahogany desk was covered with stacks of papers, videotapes, folders and two phones. One wall was filled with framed awards and certificates interspersed with photographs—Ronnie with D.C.’s governor, Ronnie with a Hollywood celebrity, Ronnie receiving an award from the station’s president, Ronnie with the White House press secretary. Another wall was dominated by three television sets and another with an eclectic mix of watercolors that included a Monet copy and an abstract by a local artist. Still another wall featured a huge write-on calendar that was filled with information. Beside it was a graph charting the station’s ratings. A ficus tree added a splash of green in one corner and a potted marigold-colored mum brightened a corner table.
Evidently Ronnie read something in Tess’s expression because she paused at her desk and buzzed through on the intercom. “Patsy, I’d like you to hold my calls for the next thirty minutes.”
“Sure thing, Ronnie,” the assistant replied.
“Why don’t we sit over there,” Ronnie suggested, indicating the sitting area where a small navy couch and two covered chairs had been positioned around a coffee table that sported a hardcover picture book of Washington monuments, an art book and issues of the New York Times, the Washington Post and USA Today.
Tess chose one of the overstuffed chairs. Clasping her hands together, she wondered exactly where to begin. She opted to just be direct, “Ronnie, I—”
“Wait,” Ronnie said, holding up her hand. “If you’re here to bitch at me for sticking you with Kip on that school-bus story next week, let me tell you right now that it wasn’t my idea. The word came down from Stefanovich himself. According to him, we’re not giving his nephew enough camera time. Of course, I couldn’t tell him the little prick is an idiot and doesn’t know one end of the microphone from the other.”
Tess almost laughed at Ronnie’s frustration with the station manager’s nephew whom they had been asked to hire during the summer. An aspiring television reporter with a communications degree, Kip Edwards was pleasant enough and eager to be a part of the news team. Unfortunately, the man was a total klutz who could—and had—wiped out hours of work by just walking across a room. Whenever he was assigned to a story, the engineers safeguarded their equipment and the reporters their persons. Kip also came up short in the personality department—a fact that was apparent whenever he was on camera. As a result, no one was eager to work with him, and Ronnie was stuck with the unpleasant task of using him.
“Anyway, Stefanovich asked for a copy of the assignments and decided Kip should do the piece with you. I’m sorry, kiddo. My hands are tied. I’m afraid you’re stuck with him on this one.”
“I understand. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. I need some time off. There’s something personal that I need to take care of.”
Ronnie seemed to relax a bit. She sat back on the couch, some of the stiffness leaving her shoulders. “Well, I don’t see where that should be any problem. David seems to be working out fine, and now that Angela’s back from her baby break, I can probably clear you for a few days at the end of next week.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to need more than a few days. Actually, a lot more.”
Ronnie narrowed her eyes. “How much more?”
“I’ve got a month of vacation time and sick leave due. I’d like to take it.”
“A month!” Ronnie whipped off her tortoiseshell glasses, pitched them to the table. “You’ve got to be kidding! You can’t honestly expect me to approve a month’s vacation for you. Not even the anchors get that much time off all at once.”
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Ronnie stood up and began pacing about the room. “It’s out of the question. You’re my best reporter. I can’t have you taking off for a month.”
“It’s not impossible,” Tess argued. “You said yourself that David’s on board now and Angela’s back from maternity leave. So you’re fully staffed again.”
“We won’t be fully staffed if you’re out.”
“You’ve also got Kip,” Tess pointed out.
Ronnie glared at her and sat down again. “You’re not helping your case here, kiddo.” She shook her head. “No. There’s no way I can spare you for a month. A week maybe, but not a month.”
“Then I quit.”
“You can’t quit. You have a contract.”
“My contract’s up for renewal at the end of next month. I’ll ask the GM to release me early,” Tess told her, hating that it had come to this. She liked her job, liked Ronnie and the people she worked with, but she had to find out the truth. And to do that she was going to need time to go back to Mississippi. She stood. “I’m sorry, Ronnie.”
“Oh, stop with the dramatics and sit down.” Once Tess had done so, Ronnie said, “Now tell me what in the hell is going on and why you’re threatening to quit on me.”
“I don’t want to quit,” Tess told her. “But there’s something I have to do, something personal, and I need the time off to do it.”
“That’s it? That’s all the explanation you’re going to give me?”
“I told you. It’s personal.”
Ronnie leveled a “give me a break” look at her.
Tess sighed. “It has to do with my mother, about when she died. And about my father’s suicide,” Tess said finally.
“So that’s what’s been bothering you,” Ronnie said, and Tess suspected the remark was more to Ronnie herself. “Which I suppose is understandable. I mean, it hasn’t been all that long since that stuff happened with your father. I’m sure that whole suicide thing brought up some bad memories for you.”
“Yes.”
“But, kiddo, instead of taking off you should be keeping busy, and trying to put all that stuff out of your mind.”
“I can’t,” Tess told her.
Ronnie narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Have those dirtbags from the tabloids been hounding you again? Because if they have—”
“No. You know how this business is, everyone’s moved on to the next scandal and forgotten all about me and my family.”
“I would hope so,” Ronnie told her. “You poor kid. All that mess, then breaking up with Johnny and me loading you down with work. No wonder you’ve been having trouble sleeping. It’s a miracle that you haven’t been having nightmares.”
But there had been no nightmares. At least not in a very long time. That hadn’t always been the case. For months after her mother had been murdered, she did wake up screaming, unable to get the image of her father kneeling over her mother’s body, blood on his hands and shirt, the bloody bookend in his hand, out of her mind. But with time, the nightmares had grown fewer, the memories less sharp. Thanks in large measure to the psychologists her grandparents had insisted she see when she first came to live with them in D.C. Also, it had helped that she’d been so close to her grandmother, a bond that had only strengthened when she had feared she might lose the older woman to cancer. Thank heavens Grams had beaten the disease. But in those months and the years that followed they had clung to each other.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Then they talked about it. Tess began by telling Ronnie about the phone call she’d received claiming that Jody Burns’s death hadn’t been a suicide. She told her about her own inquiries at the prison, about the questions that had been running through her mind since then. Questions that she found she could no longer ignore.
“I don’t know, Tess. It all sounds pretty far-fetched to me, you getting a call out of the blue like that. I’d be willing to bet that woman was a reporter working for one of those supermarket rags. She probably told you that garbage hoping to get a story out of you,” Ronnie reasoned.
“I thought so, too, at first. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more convinced I am that she was on the level. I can tell you for certain that her accent was real.”
“A lot of people can fake a Southern accent,” Ronnie pointed out.
Tess shook her head. “My grandparents are from Mississippi and I’ve met enough people from there over the years to recognize a Mississippi drawl when I hear one. Hers was genuine.”
“That still doesn’t mean she was legit. You and I both know it wouldn’t be the first time a tabloid has used an out-of-state stringer to pull a fast one in order to nail a story.”
“I know. But my gut tells me she was telling the truth.” Tess recalled the fear she’d heard in the woman’s voice when she’d mentioned calling the police. “She wasn’t acting, Ronnie. She was genuinely afraid.”
“Of what? You said the report from the prison ruled your father’s death a suicide.”
“I know what it said. But after talking to that official at the prison and reading the report, I don’t know, something just doesn’t feel right.”
“Is that the reporter in you talking, or the child who’s lost her father?”
“Probably a little of both,” Tess admitted. “All I know is that if the woman was telling the truth and Jody Burns was murdered, then I have to ask myself why. And why try to make it look like a suicide?”
“You’re making some pretty big leaps on the basis of one anonymous phone call, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. But what if she was telling the truth? What if he didn’t hang himself in that cell? What if someone else did it for him? Think about it, Ronnie. He was coming up for parole in a few weeks and he stood a good chance of being released. So why, after all these years, would he decide to kill himself? Why now, when he was so close to gaining his freedom? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Neither does murder,” Ronnie pointed out. “Yet people keep on committing it.”
“There’s also the woman’s claim that Jody Burns wasn’t the one who murdered my mother,” Tess reminded her.
“Tess, I’m sorry. But you seem to be forgetting one very important fact.”
“What?”
Ronnie stared into her eyes. “You were the one who told the police that he killed your mother.”
What Ronnie said was true. And her accounts of finding her father over her mother’s dead body had been recounted in the press again when the report of her father’s suicide had hit the airwaves. “I was four years old at the time,” Tess defended. She dragged a hand through her hair. “I was a child. A child who woke up because I heard loud voices and a woman’s scream, then stumbled out of bed and found my father kneeling over her body. But I never saw him actually hit her with the bookend. I just assumed that he did it because he was the only one there,” Tess argued. “Suppose I was wrong? What if he didn’t kill her? What if he came in and found her dead, just the way he claimed?”
“I don’t know, Tess.”
Tess read the pity in Ronnie’s face. “You think I’m wrong, don’t you? That this is all some Freudian thing that’s going on inside my head where I’m having to deal with my mother’s murder again because my father is dead now.”
“You know me better than that. I don’t buy into all that psychobabble stuff. So don’t go putting words in my mouth.”
It was true. When she had done a story on how up-bringing factored into the problems of today’s young adults, Ronnie had been the first to scoff at the notion of blaming the parents for everything that went wrong in a person’s life. “Then what do you think?”
“Exactly what I said. That you shouldn’t jump to any conclusions based on a single phone conversation with a stranger.” Ronnie sighed. “Look. You said yourself you had no contact with the man, not even a letter or a phone call from him for over twenty-five years. How could you possibly know what his state of mind was—whether he was suicidal or not?”
“You’re right. I don’t know. And that’s why I want to go to Mississippi, so I can find out the truth.”
“As your friend, I’m telling you I think your going there is a mistake.
“But, as your producer, I say if you need to, take a few days off, go see the people at the prison and satisfy yourself that your father’s death was a suicide. Then put it behind you and come back to work.”
“It’s not just the people at the prison I want to see. That’s why I need more time off.” She wasn’t sure how much more she would be able to learn from the prison staff. “I want to talk to the people who were involved in my father’s case—the prosecutor, the witnesses who testified against him at his trial and the attorney who handled his defense. If my father did find some evidence that could prove he was innocent the way the woman claimed, the chances are he contacted his attorney.”
“Tess, I don’t know what you hope to accomplish, but I can tell you right now no judge is going to reopen a twenty-five-year-old murder case based on an anonymous phone call.”
Ronnie was right. The claims made in an anonymous phone call and her own gut feelings weren’t evidence. “I’m an investigative reporter, remember? I know how to look through things, dig up information. I can find the truth.”
“And suppose what you find out is that your father really did kill your mother and that he really did commit suicide? Will you be able to accept that?”
“I’m not looking for redemption for my father or myself, Ronnie. I just need to know if I’ve spent the better part of my life hating and blaming the wrong person for my mother’s death.”
“And if you did?”
“Then I want to see the person who was responsible pay for stealing both of my parents from me.” She met Ronnie’s gaze. “Will you help me? Will you give me the time off?”
“I can’t approve a month’s leave for you,” Ronnie told her. “But I may be able to explain your absence if you’re on special assignment. Of course, that means you’re going to have to come up with something damn good when you get back or it’s going to be both of our butts on the line.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Tess told her, touched by the woman’s gesture.
Ronnie waved the comment aside. “I’ve been in trouble before.”
“Suppose I actually make my investigation the special assignment?” Tess offered as an idea began to form in her mind. “What if I do a piece on prisons and suicides, one man’s road down that path?”
“It’s a good idea, but you could do that right here. Just pick a prison close to home. No trips to Mississippi. No extended time away from the station.”
“What if I were to give them a story with a personal angle? What if I give them Jody Burns’s story?”
“I’ll admit that story would be an easier sell because of who you are, and who your grandfather is. There’s been a lot of viewer interest since the senator’s press conference following the man’s suicide and his push for tougher penalties on criminals. It could certainly be a ratings winner for the station. But what about you, kiddo? Do you want to open yourself up to that?”
“No. But it would be an easy way for me to explain my interest in my mother’s murder and the trial. And it might even open a few doors.”
“What about the senator? What will he say?”
“I’ve already told him.”
“And?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’s having a new will drawn up as we speak.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” Tess admitted, recalling how furious her grandfather had been when she’d left yesterday. To have his granddaughter turn the cameras on the man responsible for killing his only child and possibly even garnering sympathy for Jody Burns infuriated her grandfather even more. “I wouldn’t put it past him to try to stop me by going to the board of directors,” Tess admitted. She didn’t doubt for a moment her grandfather would seek out the station’s board members to prevent her from working on the story. “That’s why I’ll need the station to hold firm on me doing the report. Do you think Stefanovich will go along with that?”
“Are you kidding? If he thinks it would mean a jump in ratings, he’d defy the pope.”
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