False Truth 4 (Jordan Fox Mysteries)

by Diane Capri

  All Dominique had left were a child’s memories, her love of music, and a small bottle of expensive gardenia perfume.

  And the constant, unrelenting terror that she would be the one Marcel Mesrine chose next.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tampa, Florida

  Deja vu. Jordan Fox was cutting it too close again.

  She glanced down at her speed and groaned. She shouldn’t be driving fifty on Bayshore Boulevard. Among other things, the area was notorious for speed traps. But she didn’t let up the pressure on the gas pedal.

  “Drew,” she said aloud as if he was in the car and could actually hear her, “Don’t you dare be sitting there in the Afternoon Meeting already.”

  Drew Hodges was her competitor at Channel 12, where they were both interning, competing for the next job that opened up at the station. And Drew was good. And he was never late.

  She had ten minutes. Even at this speed, she might not make it. She pushed Hermes, her little electric blue subcompact, into fifth gear and dashed as fast as she dared, practically staring into the rear view mirror to watch for cops.

  Jordan slowed down to pass through the green lights and kept a sharp watch for runners, roller bladers, bikers, and anyone else that used the linear park for a playground. Fortunately, there weren’t as many people out in the middle of the afternoon on a work day.

  She and Drew both worked the nightside shift, 2:30 p.m. until 11:33 p.m., Thursday through Monday, which meant no rush hour traffic, one small benefit of the strange hours.

  “You’re good, Drew. But I’m good, too. You’ll see.” She looked at the clock again. “Dammit!” She pressed the gas a little more. “It’s not enough to hurry, Jordan. You also have to start on time.”

  She’d tried every day to start out early, but something always thwarted that plan. Usually, the something was her wheelchair-bound dad. Or, as he preferred, Nelson Fox on Wheels. The title was temporary, not permanent, but Nelson Fox on Wheels and a few other Series of Unfortunate Challenges meant Jordan Fox’s life was a lot more complicated than Drew’s.

  Not that she resented Drew or her dad. That’s just the way it was.

  She had a lot more at stake than Drew did, too. She had to use the Channel 12 archives to find out who killed her mother. So far, she’d made almost no progress. She’d win against Drew because she had to stay employed until she completed her mission. Simple as that.

  “Not that I’m asking for special treatment,” she said. “I’ll beat you without any favors.”

  If Jordan didn’t arrive before Drew, it was only one-degree-of-bad under her measuring system. If she wasn’t on time for the 2:30 p.m. Afternoon Meeting though, that was like two-degrees-of-bad. “Early enough” meant arriving in time to get a chair at the table. There were the chairs around the table, and then there were the second-string chairs against the wall. Only latecomers and people who had stopped caring sat there.

  Somebody who had stopped caring. “Another thing on my long list that will never be me.”

  She had to stop talking to herself, too. But not right now.

  Three-degrees-of-bad was arriving after the Afternoon Meeting started. Never happened to her, but she’d seen her co-workers slink in late and it was impossible to do without scathing comments from the boss. No thank you.

  Jordan hustled in from the sixth floor of the parking garage, across the visitor’s parking lot, and across both lanes of Page Street to the News Center. Although there was an elevator, she ran the stairs to the second floor because her dad’s stroke taught her never to take for granted that she was Jordan Fox on Two Capable Legs.

  She checked the ginormous clock on the wall. Time was valuable at Channel 12. They sold it for millions of advertising dollars every day.

  2:29:05 p.m. A small miracle.

  Across the newsroom, she spied through the glass walls one empty chair at the conference table. In her imagination, she sprinted toward it in slow motion, knocking people down to get there like a sitcom-dream sequence. A point for each person down. In reality, she walked briskly and cheerfully to the last empty chair, which was almost as good.

  Jordan Fox: cool, calm, and mostly collected on the outside. Jordan Fox: a frazzled, motivated speed demon on the inside. The image pushed a grin onto her mouth and she left it there for a moment since Patricia wasn’t looking.

  Drew Hodges was already seated. Of course he was. Not only that, but he was one degree of even-better. He was leaning back in his chair smiling. Probably at life itself. Life had dealt him a stellar hand of cards. He had one card that allowed him to live closer to work. Another that made him suave and charming at all times. Or maybe those were two separate cards. Who knows what other wild cards Drew Hodges held up his sleeve?

  “Life’s not about the cards you’re dealt,” she said. “It’s about how creatively you use your wildcards.”

  “What did you say, Jordan?” Drew asked.

  Heat rushed up her face like a bad sunburn. I told you to stop talking to yourself! “Nothing. Sorry.”

  Drew laughed. Suave and charming. Yep. Drew held those cards in spades.

  One of Jordan’s wildcards had recently put her at a rave for work-related circumstances. At the rave, there had been an…incident. Jordan wasn’t entirely sure whether the incident had helped or hurt her chances of getting a steady job at Channel 12. But, just in case it had hurt, Jordan needed to try very hard today, this week, this month, and beyond, to make up for it. No, she didn’t need to just make up for it—she needed to do something that would blow her bosses away.

  Today was not the day, though.

  In the Afternoon Meeting, all nightside reporters were expected to pitch a newsworthy story, and producers and photographers could make a pitch if they had something worth mentioning. They went around the table, and one by one, everyone suggested a story that could be covered today.

  The only pitch she’d come up with was ordinary. A local woman who gave her preteen son whiskey and posted the picture on social media.

  Compelling, but not personally creative.

  After everyone pitched a story, Patricia Neil the Assignment Editor passed out the assignments, with guidance from Richard Grady the Assistant News Director. One by one, reporters left the room with their assignment to start making phone calls and taking action. Some reporters were assigned the story they pitched. Others got someone else’s pitch, or a story that had been on the docket already.

  She shifted in her seat. This wasn’t going well. Only five people remained. Patricia and Richard, Drew, Drew’s role model and fearless leader, Antonio the reporter, and Jordan.

  “Antonio,” Patricia said, “we’re gonna send you to talk to the fishermen who caught a 700-pound, nine-foot bull shark in the Gulf.”

  “Nice,” Antonio responded, pushed his chair back and headed out.

  “Drew, you can go with him,” Patricia said.

  “Sweet.” Drew turned up the corners of his mouth, a twinkle in his eyes. He followed Antonio.

  Were they trying to make Drew’s life even better? Jordan suspected Patricia of exactly that, but she’d hoped Richard could be objective. Now, as if Drew wasn’t cool enough—he’d be spending his day checking out a catch meant for the movies?

  “Would you close the door?” Richard asked Drew on his way out.

  Now it was just Jordan, Richard, and Patricia.

  This couldn’t be good. Her mouth was dryer than desert air. She took a sip of water from her big yellow bottle to prepare her for whatever was coming next.

  Richard pushed back from the table and crossed his legs. He looked relaxed. Comfortable. Maybe that was a good sign.

  Another sip of water.

  “We saved you for last today because we want to keep this assignment from becoming a three-ring circus,” Patricia said.

  If Patricia was behind this, it couldn’t possibly be anything good. Jordan arched her eyebrows and wet her lips, prepared to be enthusiastic.

  Richard added a decis
ive nod. “We want you to hit the road.”

  “It’s not a secret,” Patricia said, in her tired, cheerless voice. “But if too many people find out, they’ll be knocking our doors down.” Patricia rolled her eyes at the very idea. Jordan suspected Patricia enjoyed complaining because she grouched about everything. “Photogs claiming this story needs two photographers….” Patricia spoke in slow motion, bobbing her head from side to side at each possibility. “Producers insisting we need a field producer. You get the idea. So keep this to yourself.”

  “We’re confident you can handle the assignment alone,” Richard said, as if whatever he had confidence in Would Be So.

  So far, no one had asked her whether she was interested in an assignment out of town. Which probably meant declining wasn’t an option. Jordan raised one eyebrow. “So what is it? Where am I going?”

  “Jacksonville. To cover the national tour of Instant Pop Star auditions,” Richard said as if he’d just offered her an around-the-world luxury cruise on the Queen Mary. “One week from today. You’ll stay at a hotel, we’ll give you a stipend, and you’ll get a media pass to go backstage for all five days of the auditions. Interview local contestants and find someone interesting to focus on. Put together a human interest piece on that person. Or several people. Depending on what you find.”

  By sheer force of will, Jordan kept her mouth from curling into a snarl. Instant Pop Star was one of those reality shows where contestants sing and judges, combined with the public, decide on the best contestant. The winner gets a record deal or some cash. The show was wildly popular, a ratings juggernaut. Most of her friends loved it. But Jordan did not. Among other things, she didn’t like the cruel way they teased the bad singers who truly believed they had talent. The show was snarky and mean spirited. It reminded Jordan of throwing Christians to the lions.

  Channel 12 covered the auditions because the show aired on their network. The plan was to promote Instant Pop Star, people would watch it and then stay tuned for the news.

  This was nothing but a puff piece, all about ratings. Jordan didn’t want to be the “fluffy story girl.” If she started down that road, it would be a slog to get back to hard news.

  But, of course, she couldn’t tell Richard and Patricia any of that because Instant Pop Star was their network’s top hit. And their network was both their family and their livelihood. Besides, their plan would work if she did the assignment well.

  Jordan forced a smile and made her voice sound much more excited than she felt. “Thank you for the opportunity,” she said, avoiding commitment until she could figure out how to bow out without losing her job. “So, that starts in a week. What did you want me to work on today?”

  “We have files on a couple dozen audition contestants,” Patricia said. “They’re all hoping we’ll feature them, of course. They sent performance samples and life stories and all that. So go through everything and familiarize yourself with the contestants for a few days to prepare for Jacksonville.”

  Jordan’s head began to throb just thinking about spending days watching and listening to bad videos to choose the saddest story.

  Being away from the station for a week, for whatever reason, wasn’t a good thing unless she returned with some truly incredible material. And Jordan was confident she would not get that kind of award-winning stuff at reality show auditions. If she was in Jacksonville, she’d be out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind, and with the prep work this week, she’d be two weeks behind Drew. He’d have open access to everything exciting that happened for two full weeks. She couldn’t possibly compete with that at Instant Pop Star.

  Maybe they had already decided she couldn’t cut it in the newsroom.

  “Okay.” Richard stood and turned toward the door. “Let’s get to work. We’re counting on you, Jordan.” He left the conference room and Patricia picked up her files and walked out after him without another word.

  Jordan followed her nose straight to the break room next door, where the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee saturated the air. Caffeine was magical in so many ways. Maybe it held a magical solution to this massive problem. Or at least maybe it would fix her massive headache.

  How could she possibly get out of this assignment?

  Jordan didn’t have the seniority or status to persuade Richard the assignment wasn’t worthy. She could pretend to get the flu. Too risky. She could say she had to go to a relative’s funeral, but that would be a flat out lie and too easy an alibi to break.

  Nothing else popped into her head. She might just have to suck it up and do the Instant Pop Star assignment. Her head pounded as if it might literally explode.

  Jordan poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup, added sweetener and Hazelnut flavored cream. She was convinced that the act of making coffee alone was therapeutic. She raised the cup to her nose and inhaled. Aroma therapy. Coffee with sugar and hazelnut cream had been her mother’s favorite. Whenever Jordan needed calming comfort, this coffee recipe was her choice.

  She closed her eyes and sipped to calm her headache. She heard music in the distance. Probably Instant Pop Star auditions playing in one of the edit bays. After a few moments, she recognized a very odd version of John Lennon’s “Imagine.”

  She stirred the coffee for a good long while, at first thinking about how many dreadful renditions of Lennon’s song she’d hear in Jacksonville. It was a popular song. There were thousands of hopefuls auditioning. The odds were, she’d hear it way too many times.

  When she stopped obsessing over the Instant Pop Star assignment, the solution snuck up on her from the distance, like the music had.

  All she needed to do was come up with a better story to pitch. Something Richard couldn’t possibly reject. A simple but perfect plan.

  Yes! Jordan stirred her coffee too hard, splashing it all over her hand. “Ow!” She jerked her hand back and a glob of coffee landed on her foot. “Dammit!”

  Drew walked in just in time to witness it. “Hey fumble fingers, you spilled your coffee.” He was so charming, comments that would’ve sounded like an insult from anyone else sounded downright complimentary and nearly flirtatious from him. He was no chore to look at, either. Which was probably why Patricia had such a crush on him.

  Jordan sighed and shook her head at his sheer perfection. She put a bit of sarcasm in her tone, though. “I just can’t keep my cool around you, Drew.”

  He chuckled and swung open the refrigerator and grabbed a protein shake. He probably had already been to the gym today, too. Twice.

  Jordan pulled a wad of paper towels from the rod and knelt to clean her shoe and wipe sticky coffee off the floor.

  “Congratulations on scoring the awesome shark assignment.” She rose from her task and tossed the paper towel into the trash. She pulled another wad from the roll and dampened it. “That’ll look great on your reel.”

  “It’s such a Friday story, isn’t it?” He gave her a little wink. “Everyone’s lookin’ for something a little wacky.” He even accepted compliments well. Was there nothing the guy was less than stellar at? There’d better be or she was toast around here. With the recent budget slashes it wouldn’t take long to kick her out, either.

  He strutted off and Jordan knelt to wipe the floor with the wet paper towel. She finished the task and stood for a moment leaning against the sink holding what was left of her coffee.

  Commence mission: Find a great new assignment.

  There would be that pesky detail of talking her bosses into it…but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. If the pitch was good enough, persuading Richard wouldn’t be a problem. Big if.

  Meanwhile, she’d get to work on the assignment she’d been given. If that didn’t motivate her to find a better one, nothing would.

  CHAPTER 3

  Three hours and a half dozen files into her afternoon of Instant Pop Star research, Nick the photographer poked his head into Jordan’s edit bay. “You leaving for a dinner break?”

  Jordan was huddled in the freezing cold
darkness wearing the gray fleece jacket she’d stashed for just such situations. When the bright lights were off, the News Center was like a meat locker.

  She liked Nick just fine. But she had other plans for her dinner break. “I brought a sandwich,” she said. “I think I’ll power through these audition tapes while I’ve still got the energy.” She met his eyes and flashed a half smile.

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged and walked off.

  When the heavy metal door to the stairwell slammed behind him, Jordan closed the audition files and pulled her knees into her chest, pushing all the air and tension out of her lungs. She was alone now. This was her chance.

  She’d spent years preparing to breach the News Channel 12 archives for evidence that would solve her mother’s murder. Channel 12’s reporters were the best in the business. They would have left no stone unturned back then and the creepy things they’d found under the rocks were what she needed to know. This was what she’d been working for and now was the time to make it happen. Now was her chance to begin the real work she’d taken this job to do.

  Yet, she didn’t rise to her feet.

  Jordan swiveled her chair to gaze into the dark abyss that concealed the hallways where archive tapes were stored. The answers were there, practically knocking on the sliding glass door that separated her from the keys to the cold case. All she had to do was look.

  Still, she didn’t move.

  Jordan knew the precise spot to find the tape she needed in the dark back hallway’s vault of miniature tapes. Actually grasping the tape would be a separate challenge. Her palms were already moist just thinking about the first time she’d tried to review the newscast during her first few days at Channel 12. She’d located the tape and confirmed that it was still viewable.

  But that’s as far as she got. She couldn’t make herself watch that day. She wasn’t ready then. Patricia had been watching her like a hawk since she won the first week of the intern competition with Drew, so Jordan hadn’t been able to try watching the tape again. Right now was the first chance she’d had. Right now was the time.