Gossip (Desire Never Dies)

by Clara Grace Walker

  Chapter 9

  Peter Arnold went through his mid-morning grooming ritual, following nine holes of golf and thirty minutes in his private gym lifting weights. He shaved, brushed and flossed his teeth, and gargled down mouthwash. Normally he’d shower, too, but he was postponing that today; waiting for Gina to join him. Next, he checked his recent dye job to make sure no gray hairs had escaped the coloring process. None had. The red hair he’d been born with remained thick and full on top of his head.

  He looked good. Fit. Full of virility. Women still found him attractive. Unfortunately, the age of the women who found him attractive seemed to be increasing as the years ticked by. Mostly, they seemed to be in their early to mid-thirties now, and sometimes even their forties. He had no interest in women of that age. Liked them young. Always had.

  As he’d gotten older he’d had to keep his preferences secret. So-called decent folk were so fucking judgmental. He’d made one comment a few years back, about the hot ass on a seventeen-year-old waitress, and his golf buddies had reacted as if they never noticed the ass on anyone under eighteen. He’d kept his mouth shut after that, keenly aware of how much society disapproved of his sexual appetite.

  The intercom buzzed on his desk. “Mr. Arnold, Regina Mance is here to see you.”

  “Perfect, Andra. Send her in.” He’d been looking forward to this. Gina had been his conquest before she’d been Andy Clarke’s mistress. He’d shown her the pleasures of womanhood while she was drunk on champagne.

  Darla, of course, had thrown a fit about him spending time with her friends. Probably jealous she wasn’t getting all the attention anymore. His spoiled ass, so-called daughter was a drama queen and an attention whore.

  Gina walked in wearing a white, low-cut sheer blouse that showed off a lacy white bra underneath. Her gold, gauzy mini skirt gave new meaning to the word mini. She wore her brown, silky hair long and flowing with loose curls. Lots of eyeliner, too. Twenty-years-old now, she’d had a lot of experience since their first encounter. And it showed in the way she carried herself. He liked it. She still made for a great time.

  “Gina, baby. Thanks for coming.” He greeted her with a kiss, noting she tasted of alcohol. “It’s been way too long. Ready to have a little fun today?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are like, the horniest man I have ever met. Is there a girl on this planet you won’t have sex with?”

  “Yes. Ones that are ugly or over twenty-five.”

  She stared at him, giving him a coy smile. An intelligence people often overlooked shone in her eyes. She was not well-educated, having flunked out of two or three private schools, but she was not stupid. “Your wife’s over twenty-five.”

  He shrugged. Lisbeth was his third wife, and recently turned twenty-eight. “My wife’s mainly there for appearances’ sake, doll. And I don’t really spend time with her anymore.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “It shouldn’t. You know me too well, you little vixen.”

  He kissed her again, this time unbuttoning her blouse. She never protested. Not once. He liked that about her. He was pretty sure she enjoyed sex as much as he did. “You like it, baby?”

  Again, she rolled her eyes. “Not like I haven’t had my blouse unbuttoned a million times already.”

  “You’re as incorrigible as my daughter. It’s no wonder you two get along so well.”

  Her mouth puckered into a pout. “I don’t want to talk about Darla. She’s been all hot and heavy chasing after Vince Allan for the past three weeks.”

  He stopped his fondling. “Do I detect a little jealousy?”

  “As if.” She huffed the words out. “I have plenty of men who want to spend time with me.”

  She’d gone through lovers from here to Monte Carlo, according to Darla. He swatted her on the ass. “Of course you do, but I don’t want to talk about Darla either. We have business to discuss.”

  She cast him a quizzical stare. “Business?”

  “Why do you think I asked you here?”

  “For sex. Duh.”

  He grinned. “That, too, but right now I have a problem I need your help with.” The problem being how to get his hands on a copy of Janelle Tyler-Beck’s autopsy. Damn police had refused to give him one, claiming it might hinder their investigation, which made him suspicious. No doubt that cut-throat, ungrateful prick competitor of his had paid someone off. And paid them off well. No amount of money Peter had offered had been accepted. And that really pissed him off. Information always had a price. Nicholas Beck was hiding something. And he intended to find out what.

  He continued feeling up Gina. “I have a job for you.” She seemed to be staring off into space, like she wasn’t really listening. “Aren’t you going to ask what it is?”

  Her gaze snapped back to him. “Are you going to pay me?”

  “Of course I’m going to pay you.”

  “Okay then.”

  He still wasn’t sure she was really listening. “Okay? Don’t you want to know what I want you to do?”

  “Sure. Like, what do you want me to do?”

  “I need you to get some information for me.”

  She groaned. “How am I going to do that?”

  “You’ll probably have to sleep with a guy or two to get it.” He imagined her with two guys at once and it turned him on.

  “Okay, but you’re going to have to pay me a lot for that.”

  Saucy little tart. “You don’t mind then?”

  “Whatever. Just as long as you pay me.”

  “Gina, honey, you are an absolute gem.”

  “I know.”

  “Of course you do. Join me in the shower, honey. I feel like banging you in there.”

  Peter guided her to his office bathroom, still thinking about Nicholas Beck and the betrayal the cocksucker had dealt him over a decade ago. He’d shown that bastard everything about how to run a newspaper, only to have the man take off and start up a competing paper just as soon as he’d finished soaking up all of Peter’s hard-earned lessons. That was the thanks he got for making Beck his protégé; stabbed in the back. And Beck would pay for it. Janelle’s untimely death may have been bad luck for her and Nick, but it was proving to be great luck for Tidbits.

  He did Gina in the shower and left her there, soaking and washing her hair. Rod Skinner waited for him in his office when he stepped back in. He’d taken a seat on the leather couch, and sat with his gaze fixated on the floor.

  “Rod, buddy.” Peter went over to the bar and pulled out a couple of beers, handing one to his visitor. “Drinking today, right?”

  “You know it.”

  Of course he knew it. Rod was so predictable. “What brings you by this morning?”

  “Employee problems.”

  “Really? You need some advice?”

  “Love some.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. If there’s one thing I know about, it’s problems with employees. What’s going on?”

  “D-bag’s giving me trouble.”

  “D-bag? That doesn’t sound like him.”

  Rod shrugged, sucking down a good portion of his beer. “Not sure if I agree with you there, pal. Guy seems to forget his glory days in a biker gang are a road no longer to be travelled down.”

  Peter laughed. “You’re funny, you know that? That’s one of the things I like about you.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’re about the only one in this state who does.”

  “Come on, Rod. Don’t worry about the Preston Tylers of this world.” He did not want to attend another one of Rod’s pity parties. “I guarantee there’s a hell of a lot of movie viewers out there who think you’re a fucking hero.”

  “Right.”

  Fuck. The guy was going to start whining about respectability again. As if that somehow mattered more than making a buck. “What’s the problem with D-bag?”

  “He’s been coming to work late every morning, cutting out in the afternoon. Won’t stay for late-nigh
t shoots half the time; and I can’t get him to keep his hands off the actresses.”

  Peter laughed long and hard about that one. “Let’s see, the guy can’t keep his hands off a bunch of women he sees screwing men for money all day. There’s a surprise. Hell, Rod, the guy’s a red-blooded male. You expect him to film all those broads having sex and not want a piece for himself?”

  Rod wasn’t laughing. “A couple of them have complained.”

  Now he’d heard everything. Porn actresses complaining because a guy wanted to have sex with them. “I’ll tell you what, let D-bag know he’s free to have any woman that consents, just like in the real world, but he has to ask before he can so much as lay a finger on anyone. No pats on the ass. None of that crap.”

  “I’ll mention it to him. What about the lack of hours he’s putting in?”

  “Tell him you’ll use him as an actor in a few of the films if he straightens his act up. That ought to get him a little more interested in his work.”

  “Why can’t we just fire him? I don’t like the guy.”

  Fuck. This shit again. “I told you, Rod. I hired him because I owed someone a favor. Give it a few more months. If he doesn’t straighten his ass up, I’ll go back and see if I can re-negotiate the deal.”

  Rod finished off his beer and sat twirling the empty bottle between his knees, still not smiling. Peter found the guy’s lack of appreciation irritating. “Is there something else?”

  “I think he might be using drugs.”

  “Drugs, huh? What makes you think so?”

  “His behavior’s been erratic and his eyes are bloodshot all the time.”

  Peter shrugged. “Threaten to have him drug-tested. That ought to scare some better behavior into his ass.”

  “Thanks. I’ll try that.”

  Gina came out of the bathroom, still brushing her hair and looking ready to throw down with all over again. “Gina, baby.” Peter motioned her over, wrapping his arm around her waist when she sat down beside him. “Meet my buddy Rod. Rod, this is the lovely Regina Mance.”

  She smiled and nuzzled into Peter’s embrace. “Hi, Rod. Nice to meet you.”

  Rod grinned, recognition flashing in his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too. I knew your Aunt Elise.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes. Briefly. It was a shame what happened to her.”

  “Yeah. Like, she never should have blabbed about my affair with Andy Clarke. That was pretty stupid of her.”

  “Right.” Rod looked up at Peter and winked. “Fuck her once for me, okay?”

  That was more like it. Peter felt good. He was a stud among men. He squeezed Gina’s tit. “Pretty sure I can do that for you, buddy.”

  “Great. Well, I’ve got to get going.” Rod stood, leaving his empty bottle on the coffee table. “Thanks for the advice.”

  “No problem. Happy to help.”

  As soon as Rod was gone, Peter went over to his desk, grabbed a photograph, wrote a name and address on the back and handed it to Gina. “This is the guy you’re going to need to seduce. I don’t care how you do it, but you get me a copy of Janelle Tyler-Beck’s autopsy report from this guy. Think you can handle that?”

  She nodded. “You just leave him to me. I know exactly what to do.”

  Chapter 10

  It had been a long day and an even longer few weeks. Nick leaned back in the worn leather chair at his desk. Every muscle in his body ached. Even his brain ached. Being in his office felt strange. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he’d been happily sitting at his desk, looking over copy and making editorial decisions. A month ago he’d been a married man. More than likely, one headed for divorce, but still married. Now he was a widower. A widower. The word sounded foreign. Alien. Like a new identity thrust upon him. Closing his eyes, he thought about trying to will away the rest of the world, but knew it would still be there when he opened them, no matter how hard he wished to fade into oblivion.

  He should have gotten some work done instead of wasting the day away. It wasn’t like him to be so damn unproductive. People in this building depended on him. Depended on his not going off the deep end. He turned his attention back to work. In front of him lay two photos and accompanying stories. Only one would make the front page. Option A was last night’s arrest of action film superstar Earl Grayson for punching out his now-fired manager. Option B was last night’s celebrity catfight between Mindy LePage and Peter Arnold’s daughter, Darla. According to Danny, Mindy had dared to show up at Miami’s latest hot spot on the arm of Darla’s most recent love interest Vince Allan. Darla hadn’t taken it too well and had thrown a drink in Mindy’s face. The incident had ended in hair-pulling, face-scratching and torn clothes.

  Earl Grayson’s arrest was clearly the bigger story, and if he didn’t give it the front-page treatment, his would be about the only tabloid in the country to take a pass. On the other hand, plastering a photo of Peter Arnold’s darling daughter throwing a wicked left hook at Mindy had a certain personal appeal. Darla’s hair was disheveled, her dress falling off one shoulder, practically exposing her breast to the camera. She looked like she’d been on a three-day drunk. It was a great shot. One of Jamie’s best.

  Jamie. Thoughts of her bubbled once more into his brain. He couldn’t forget the day Janelle died. The day Jamie had followed him home and taken care of him. The kiss he’d given her and she’d responded to. The one he’d wanted to turn into something more. Since then, he’d found himself wondering about the smell of her hair, the taste of her skin. He thought about making love to her. Far too often.

  It was a complicated road his emotions wanted to travel down.

  He went back to looking over his front page options. Jamie had an amazing ability to capture the essence of a story in a single photograph. And an unbelievable instinct for knowing which celebrities were on the verge of a meltdown and where they might show up. Danny had written a great piece on Darla’s drunken tantrum. A light, entertaining read that warned parents of the dangers of too much freedom and too little discipline.

  To hell with it, he thought. Every other tabloid would be using Grayson for their front page. Never hurt to give the readers an alternative; stand out from the crowd. He’d made his decision just as a knock sounded on his door. Leaning forward, he attempted to look like he still gave a damn. “Yes?”

  Danny stepped through the door, hands waving in the air. “Hey, boss, you’re never going to believe the phone call I just got.”

  Déjà vu. The words popped into Nick’s head and he thought of the last time Danny had burst through the door excited about a news tip. Janelle’s murder had been the result.

  “You okay, Nick?”

  “Sure, Danny. I’m fine.” It even sounded like a lie.

  “You don’t look fine. Look like you need some sleep.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Nick rubbed his eyes as if to prove the point. “What’s up?”

  “I just got a call from some woman. Wouldn’t say who she was, but she sounded like one of them high-faluting ladies at that club of yours, you know?”

  He knew. Complaining. Condescending. Fond of the word marvelous. He could pick one out of a voice line-up with a single word. “What did she say?”

  “She said she knew who you should be talking to if you really wanted to find out who killed Janelle.”

  He tensed. Whatever inner peace he’d managed to summon dashed away. “Who?”

  “Rod Skinner.”

  Shock convulsed through him, followed quickly by anger. This was a new low, even for Rod. “That piece of scum. He’s been looking to get revenge on the Tyler family ever since Preston had him disbarred.”

  “So you want to go and talk to him?”

  Nick was already grabbing his car keys. “Yes. And you’d better call Jamie and ask her to meet us there. Just in case something happens that requires pictures.”

  “No need, boss. She’s in my cubicle dropping off some photos. I’ll ask her to ride along with.”


  Chapter 11

  Nick sat in the front seat of his Cadillac STS, tapping his pen on the dashboard. Danny had insisted on driving. Jamie sat in the back, plugged into her iPod. Asking her to come had been impulsive, and he had no real justification for it other than her offer to be part of his investigation team. It could also have been a mistake. She’d never met Rod. Didn’t know the man’s history.

  Danny knew, of course, having been with Nick since he’d bought The Tattletale thirteen years earlier. He’d covered all of Rod’s missteps. The affair with Taralynn Clarke. His sudden marriage to, and quick divorce from, Patrice McKenzie. Preston’s firing of him, and the contentious lawsuit that followed for violating the attorney-client privilege. And the final nail in Rod’s coffin, the revoking of his license to practice law. For at least a year, Rod had made for good headlines, only to slip out of the limelight nearly a year ago. Running a porn film studio seemed just the level to which he was destined to sink. Bringing Jamie into that environment, or anywhere near Rod Skinner, however, bothered Nick. He didn’t want Rod, or any of his low-life business associates, anywhere near her.

  She was a strong woman, he reminded himself. And not one to put up with lecherous remarks or come-ons. He once saw her smack a guy for patting her on the ass. Realistically, he supposed he should be looking forward to the inevitable moment Rod did put the moves on her. Should prove entertaining.

  Danny pulled the Caddy to a stop in front of a rundown, concrete building in one of Miami’s lesser neighborhoods. “We’re here.”

  Nick studied the building. Barred windows decorated the first floor. The second floor windows were dark, covered by some sort of black tarp or plastic covering. The street light they’d parked under was rusting and without a bulb. Garbage littered the gutters and sidewalks, some of it blowing aimlessly down the street. A handful of young men, jeans sagging past their boxers, loitered outside on the corner, a few blocks down. Across from the Caddy’s parking spot, neon signs proclaimed the availability of porn tapes and peep shows.

  Jamie pulled out her ear buds, started snapping pictures, and frowned. “Nice neighborhood. Didn’t you say this guy used to be your brother-in-law’s attorney?”