by Lisa Rusczyk
PARKER
Someone knocked three times on Parker’s door. He said, “Go on.”
Cleo cocked her head to the side. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
They heard, “Mahhhh,” from the doorway. Jack was interested in the strange sound of fist on wood.
Parker shook his head and said, “They’ll go away,” as the knock came again.
Cleo sipped from her wine glass. “Afraid the neighbors will know you are indulging,” she tapped the glass, “In the middle of the day?”
“I don’t know any of my neighbors. Continue with your story.”
“Mahhhh-brrrrahhh!”
Whoever it was rapped a third time. Cleo sipped again and looked away from him with tight lips. She wasn’t going to talk until the knocking stopped.
“Okay, one sec.” He left the kitchen and went to the front hall. He nudged the cat aside and opened the door to see Loretta Jones in a navy blue business suit and smiling like she knew everything that was going on inside Parker’s apartment.
“You have a loud cat, Mr. Townes.”
Parker shoved at the cat again with his foot to keep it from running out, and entered the hallway of his apartment building, closing the door behind him. “What the hell are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”
“I came by to make you an offer. About that story you wrote.”
Parker took a deep breath to keep from yelling at this intruder. “I told you I’m not interested at the moment. What I can’t figure out is why you would come all the way to my private home and badger me about it.”
Loretta smiled again. “Well, it’s not really that private, now is it?” Her news report voice was completely gone.
Parker’s eyes narrowed. He heard Jack howl at the door behind him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I happened to be in the neighborhood earlier today and saw a woman leaving your building. I thought it was very interesting that she matched the description of Cleo in your article. I also found it intriguing that she came back with groceries and a litter box. What do you think about that?”
Parker came up with an excuse as quickly as he could. “Probably someone in the building just happens to look like her. It means nothing.”
“Mahhh,” from the other side of the door.
Loretta licked her lips. “Is that a new cat?”
“Had him for years. His name’s Jack.”
“You’ve had a half grown kitten for years? I would like to know where you got such a strange breed.” She put her hands on her hips like she was putting her guns in a holster after firing a bull’s eye.
Parker rubbed his face. “What do you want?”
“I want to interview you about your story. It’s making a buzz in the media. It’s not such an unusual story, perhaps, but it’s the way you put everything in words. People want to know more. I want to know more.” She smiled sweetly at him, reminding him of a prom picture face.
“And if I don’t?”
“Well, I hate to reduce myself to threats, but I happened to meet a nice young woman yesterday. She’s looking for her mother, who disappeared two decades ago. She happened to mention your name.” She tapped her lips. “I think you know the rest of what I am saying.”
Parker folded his arms and leaned against his door. Thankfully, the cat had stopped yowling. If Loretta told Belle that Cleo was at his house, there would be all kinds of problems. Mainly, he wouldn’t get the rest of his story. On top of that, Belle would be furious with him for not telling her that he knew where Cleo was, and Cleo would be horrified to have her daughter walk through Parker’s door. Sure, he didn’t know what happened to make Cleo leave her family behind and move to the streets, but he knew instinctively that bringing Belle to her could have a devastating effect.
His anger at the newswoman in front of him almost bemused him. He had used such tactics plenty of times in getting a good story. Maybe he was just a reporter like Cleo said, and not a writer at all. But he wouldn’t think of pushing a reunion that wasn’t consensual, and he would put all his money on Loretta Jones doing just that for a story. And Parker would never, ever steal someone else’s story. How could Loretta have figured out…Then it hit him. Fred had been in the Dean’s office when they were on the phone talking about Cleo being at his house. It had crossed his mind briefly when it happened, and the sleazy writer was trying to sabotage his story.
Parker was furious, but kept his cool as he said, “What exactly do you want?”
“I want to interview you tomorrow on the nightly news, exclusively. And I want you to tell me the whole story, or else today Ms. Huntington might get the phone call she’s been waiting for almost her whole life.” Loretta knew she had him, and every angle of her gym-worked body showed it.
Parker would never give that interview. This was his story. Obviously, Loretta knew something about Cleo that he didn’t, such as who, exactly, her family was and what this could mean. The implications were completely obvious to him. He deduced in his head exactly how much longer Cleo had to give him the rest of her life story. It would have to be a late night. He told Loretta in his most humble voice, “What time do I need to be there?”
“Four. And if you don’t show, what will your readers think when they find out you could have helped this poor woman reunite with her family? That would be hard on your reputation.”
A shiver ran up Parker’s spine at this. He valued his audience, but even more than that, he hated threats. “I’ll be there.”
She held out her hand. He shook it loosely. “You won’t regret this, Mr. Townes. It will help both of our careers.” Then, thankfully, she left. He watched her go, not able to believe how hardnosed she was.
Parker went back inside to the kitchen, the cat trailing after him. Cleo asked, “What was that about?”
“A neighbor complained about the cat meowing too loudly. Don’t worry about it.”
Cleo poured herself another glass of wine. “You seem bothered.”
“Having neighbors complain about a noisy cat that I didn’t even want can do that.”
Cleo waved her hand as though it held a magic wand and smiled. “You wanted him. You just don’t realize it yet. It’s lonely here. You need that cat. Besides, these walls must be paper-thin for someone to complain about our little Jack. Here, a refill for you.”
Parker’s head was hurting from two days of wine drinking, but he knew that Cleo wouldn’t open up enough without a drinking buddy. He thought of the zip-lock bag he had found in her clothes. Was she saving it for later?
He took a sip, trying to hide how small it was. “Mind if I make a quick phone call?”
“Not at all. Jack could use some attention.”
“Okay, thanks.” He got the phone and went into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He wondered what Cleo would do to give the cat attention. Pet him? Feed him more?
Parker was put through to the Dean’s office within a minute of waiting. The Dean greeted him with, “Guess you’re calling to hear what I found out. Didn’t want to call and interrupt in the middle of, well, whatever it is you’re doing over there.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. What do you know about the family?”
“A lot of money here. A lot, I’m saying. The husband is high up in politics in Philly, got a mansion and all. Never remarried. Wife disappearing is the only smear on his impeccable record. Your Cleo’s family in Birmingham’s loaded, too. Cleo’s uncle was in politics, famous around there. Whole family is. Including the daughter who disappeared. Big rewards offered to anyone who found her years ago, but looks like it’s pretty much forgotten now. Family in Birmingham wanted to have her declared legally dead, but the husband wouldn’t go for it.”
“I see,” Parker said. “I have a little problem.” He told the Dean about Loretta’s visit.
“Damn,” said the Dean. “You got to get this story finished. This Cleo sounds like she doesn’t need that kind of media attention. Get the story, get her out. Then
you’re clear.”
“That’s what I was thinking. If Cleo’s gone, then Loretta has nothing on me, even if she took pictures.”
“Cleo showed up in your car. Likely, you can say she lives in the area and you had nothing to do with it.”
Parker paused, and then said, “Do you think that will work?”
“Listen,” said the Dean, “You know I was all for the network attention on the magazine, but not if it’s extorted like that. I protect my writers from that kind of abuse. You do what you need to, and I’ll back you.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s nothing. But get your story.”
“Working on it.”
Parker went back to the kitchen. Cleo had a shoestring and was bobbing it in the air in front of the cat, who batted at it with his paws, whiskers wildly poking out and eyes dilated like he was drugged.
Parker sat down across from Cleo. “Just had a few things to take care of. Work-related stuff.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I took this lace from your shoe. You can buy another one. Cats love shoelaces and he probably would have torn yours up eventually, anyway.” She dropped it on the tile and the cat pounced on it, rolled on his back, and chewed on it as though it might get away. “You need to put your shoes away from now on. He’ll chew all your laces if you don’t.” She stood up. “I think I’ll heat up a little more quiche. Do you want some?”
His stomach was turning from all the wine. “Certainly.”
Once the food was on the table, Parker said, “On we go?”
“There’s not too much left, reporter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
