by Julie Hyzy
I almost didn’t want to turn back to Dan’s station. But I cut the sound, glancing at William as I did. “So,” I asked, “you seeing her?”
His eyes flicked over to Tammy’s sorrowful face, then came back to mine as they registered my query. “No.”
“Good,” I said.
Bruno came on, Dan seated across from him. I didn’t recognize the lavish surroundings of the room they were in. Purple velvet draperies hung heavy over windows in the background behind Bruno’s pudgy smiling face. The walls were pale gold, and those furnishings I could see onscreen, ornate. Could be the Cardinal’s residence, or some other fancy church meeting place. I knew it wasn’t Bruno’s rectory.
Dan’s handsome face smiled, taking up the whole screen. “We’re here at the Vatican Embassy in Chicago, speaking with The Reverend Father Bruno Creighter …” he went on. Listening, I had to grudgingly admit that he did a decent job of setting the story up and making reference to Bruno’s former position as media spokesperson for the Chicago church. After a brief interchange of small talk, Dan directed the conversation to matters at hand.
“I soundly deny all allegations of the Church’s involvement in this affair,” Bruno said, answering Dan’s inquiry. His fat hand played with something. The lighter, I supposed. But he evidently opted not to smoke on camera.
Dan pressed the issue, asking him how this latest scandal would affect the credibility of the Roman Catholic Church.
Bruno smiled. “Mr. Starck,” he said in that patronizing voice of his. “All organizations of any merit, or any significance, occasionally have a bad apple infiltrate their midst.” I’d gotten to know this man so intimately that I could feel his need for a cigarette. “Father Carlos fled the country. Rodero, unfortunately, has gone to God and cannot be here to defend himself. But like any other eminent organization, our mother Church will survive the few who would use her protection for their own evil devices. Remember, Mr. Starck, Rodero, and Emil were merely employees. Their actions cannot reflect upon our mother church.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” His hands moved again, and his lower lip worked. His eyes, his face, his body language, exuded calm, but I knew he forced it.
“What about your involvement in the prostitution scandal?”
His hands fanned outward. “I am but a supernumerary in this little drama,” he said, smiling. “That means ‘bit player,’ you know.”
A second camera flashed Dan’s reaction. Dryly, he answered, “Yes, I’m familiar with the term.” The first camera focused on Bruno again as Dan asked, “Father, I have another question for you.”
Here it comes, I thought.
Damn, damn, damn. This was my story. I should be the one nailing this guy.
“Yes?”
“Do the words, tabula rasa mean anything to you?”
Father Bruno blanched. His mouth moved as if to speak, but no words came out.
“Let me play you a tape, Father.”
Dan had handled the trap perfectly. Just like I would have done.
We listened.
I replayed the scene in my mind as the words came through—with utter clarity. Just like Jeff had promised. I became aware of my own breathing as I remembered the terror that had followed Bruno’s admission.
Dead silence for a long moment after the tape ended.
“My associate, Alex St. James from Midwest Focus conducted that interview,” Dan said to the camera before turning back to Bruno. “Do you have any comment, Father?”
Associate. That burned.
Bruno shook his head, stood. “I’m finished here.”
The camera angle widened to capture both men.
I ached. It should have been me on this story. It should have been me. I must have said it aloud, because Bass grunted, “Yeah, this is the kind of story that could wins journalistic awards.”
“Not quite,” Dan said, standing with him. “We’ve notified the authorities, and word is that your rectory assistant, Emil Schober is ready to turn state’s evidence. There are rumors flying about a warrant being issued for your arrest.”
“I don’t think so,” Bruno said. I swore a smile twitched on the man’s pudgy lips. “I’m quite innocent of all the charges. And I would be gratified to be able to address these issues. Alas, I’m scheduled to return to Italy tomorrow. And, unfortunately, as a citizen of the Vatican, your laws have no jurisdiction to hold me.”
My jaw dropped. I looked over to William and Bass, feeling hot angry frustration sear through my body. “That bastard.”
* * * * *
The hub long silent, I worked within the warm comforting beam of my tiffany lamp, paying no attention to the bright night lights of the city outside my window. I wanted to get all my thoughts, all my impressions down in my journal before this day was through.
Bass stopped by, leaning into my office, his hand on the doorjamb. “Got a minute?”
I waved him in.
He wore his charcoal gray wool overcoat, it fell far enough below his kneecaps to make him appear even shorter than he usually did. “Your buddy William stop by yet?” he asked.
“No.”
He shrugged, then leaned back to look across the hub. Peering over him, I could see William’s office light spilling onto the floor outside his door. “Said he was going to come talk to you.”
“Yeah?”
“If you two …” he pointed his head toward William’s office. Then fixed me with a meaningful stare, “You know …”
I shook my head. Let him say it.
“Well,” he pointed a finger at me, “just be discreet, okay?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you came in to tell me?”
Bass heaved a huge sigh. “No,” he said, grabbing the back of one of my chairs.
“You look tired,” I said.
He sat, making the seat “huff” as he did so. “I am tired. I spent the whole goddamn week fighting with the GM of Up Close Issues over their underhanded ways of stealing our scoop.” Frustration worked over Bass’s features and he looked away, as though reliving some of the discussions. “We shoulda had that one to ourselves. It would of put us on top. Right on top.”
“Where’s Jeff been through all of this, anyway?”
Bass shot his attention back my direction. “Fired him,” he said. “Soon as he came sniveling in with his sob story.”
That, at least, was good news.
Bass rearranged himself in the seat, but he looked even less comfortable after squirming. “What I really came in here to tell you is that I can’t fire Fenton.”
That one kind of took me by surprise. “I didn’t expect you would. He’s got connections.”
“He’s useless. Spent the whole week whining that we should of kept him involved. Told me he’d have never let us lose the story. Yeah. Right.” Bass grit his teeth and shook his head again. “You know,” he said, sighing deeply. “I should never have taken you off the Milla Voight story in the first place.”
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “You are tired. And delirious. That almost sounded like an apology.”
He gave a weary chuckle. “Yeah, well. Tell anyone I admitted that and I’ll deny it.”
“Thanks, Bass.”
“I should have stuck to what I know.”
“You mean …” I couldn’t resist, “You should have remained faithful to your regulation?”
He shot me a look of dripping disdain as he stood. “I’m outta here.”
* * * * *
I packed it up just after nine o’clock. Shut down the computer, and tugged the pull switch of my lamp. Dragging on my brand new down coat, I locked my office and headed out.
Almost as though he’d been waiting, William met me at my door.
“I lost this one,” I said.
“No, we lost it. All of us. It was a group effort.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
We walked through the shadowy darkness of the quiet newsroom toward the doors. What a co
uple of weeks it had been. I glanced over to William. Had I only known him two weeks? I blew out a breath. Two very full weeks.
“So … what do you have planned for the weekend?” he asked as we pushed open the newsroom doors to enter the brightly lit hall. Our security guard wished us both a good evening and moved to lock up behind us.
“Visit my sister. I need to catch up with her.”
“Sister, huh? She live nearby?”
“No. Pretty far, actually.” I gave a wry smile. “Lucy lives in a home for … special folks, in southern Illinois. I’m heading down there in the morning.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I’ll be back at work Monday. I’m just planning to stay there overnight. Take her out. Do a few things.” I pressed my lips together a moment. “I’d hate to think that if something ever happened to me she wouldn’t know how much …” I let the thought hang. I’d been given another chance to avoid regrets. I didn’t want to look back, ever, and wonder, “what if …?” But I stopped myself, shaking off the melancholy with a shrug. Time to stop being consumed by the past. Time to look to the future. Even if I never found out who my birth parents were, I had my family, and they meant more to me than the world. “Maybe make plans to have her come up here one of these days.”
William nodded. “You’ll be gone all weekend, then?”
“Pretty much.”
We both headed for the stairs. His question was friendly; nothing in his tone, nothing on his face conveyed more than polite inquisitiveness.
I wondered if he was considering asking me out.
Another missed opportunity?
We continued to the bottom of the stairs in silence.
Then again, maybe he harbored no romantic feelings for me. Maybe he would be shocked by any overture on my part, and politely decline. Maybe I would then have to work with him for the rest of my life feeling the sting of embarrassment from his courteous but pointed rebuff.
But maybe I needed to sail away from my safe harbor and take a chance, for a change.
“Will,” I said, touching his arm.
“Yes?”
“Would you like to go somewhere tonight? Talk about all this?”
When he smiled, my stomach did its responding flip-flop.
“You know,” he said, “I’d like that very much.”
THE END
Connect with Julie Hyzy online at www.juliehyzy.com
or
http://juliehyzy.blogspot.com/
Books by Julie Hyzy
Artistic License
Alex St. James series
Deadly Blessings
Deadly Interest
White House Chef Mysteries
State of the Onion
Hail to the Chef
Eggsecutive Orders
Manor of Murder Mysteries
Grace Under Pressure
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Eighteen
