by Diane Capri
Her phone rang. It was Claire.
“Yeah,” Jordan answered, all the heat gone and the hurt right on the surface.
There was a slight hesitation on the other end. “You know, you were kind of egging him on.” Her voice was soft.
Jordan kicked the dirt and swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know. I know. I said some mean things and I might be sorry. I haven’t decided. But to be fair, so did he.”
“Well, come back and apologize and maybe he’ll do the same,” Claire’d been a peacemaker as long as they’d known each other. “We can’t fix it without you, Junior Psychologist.”
Jordan could hear Claire’s smile and a bit more tension deflated. She hated fighting with Claire. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
But she paced a while longer first, to wear out the rest of her disquiet. Something was going on with Sal and it was spilling over onto Claire. Jordan could spend a few hours guessing, or she could just do what good reporters do and find out for herself. She was pretty sure the problem would turn out to be related to the drug cartel.
“Don’t borrow trouble, Jordan. Find out what it is first. Then deal with it.”
When she returned to the bleachers, she and Sal exchanged almost-pleasant expressions. Not quite smiles on either end, but civility. Jordan watched his behavior, which didn’t improve toward the players on the field, though.
The rest of the first half passed with decency, and even friendliness between them. Looking for a safer subject, Jordan told Claire about her Instant Pop Star dilemma.
“Oh but that show is the best.” Claire clapped her hands like a delighted child. “You should totally do it. I’d go to Jacksonville with you. We’d have a blast.”
Jordan’s eyebrows shot up. Maybe she’d been wrong about what was bothering Sal. Claire hadn’t offered to go anywhere with Jordan in quite a while, but it wasn’t like her to desert Sal when he needed her. “What about Sal? Would he want you to go with me?”
Claire smiled. “Oh, he’s going out of town on business, too. He won’t even know I’m gone.”
That explained Claire’s offer. She didn’t already have plans with Sal and she knew he’d be busy. Jordan felt a little deflated. She shook her head. “Tempting. But I can’t do it. You know I can’t handle that IPS ridiculousness,” Jordan said.
“Oh, Jordan. You can be so stubborn.” Claire wrinkled her nose. “None of us knows what tomorrow will bring. Have a little fun, why don’t you? You’re allowed, you know.”
An announcer interrupted their conversation to begin introducing the halftime entertainment. Jordan had seen in the program that Dominique Wren would perform a bit later. She tuned the rest out.
“Hey,” Claire whispered, putting her hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “We’re gonna sneak off to the concession stand. Want anything?”
“No, I’m good.” They walked away and Jordan found herself sitting there alone. Perhaps she’d been relying on Claire too much. She needed to make more of an effort to hang out with other friends, too. Not to replace Claire, but to give her more space and to be less dependent. Because while Jordan and her dad were far from enamored with Sal, Claire remained enthralled. It might be years before she emerged from that cloud, if she ever did.
Whether Claire saw it or not, something was definitely wrong with her boyfriend. Sure, he was handsome and wealthy, but Jordan’s gut said Claire was investing too much time in him. Sal was thirty. Eight years older. Yet, during their argument today and at other times, too, he didn’t act like a mature man at all. He seemed unstable and had a hot temper. He also had a lot of legal problems following the murder of his soccer coach. Jordan hadn’t been following up on that situation, but it couldn’t be good news or Claire would have already told her everything.
Something not right was going on with Salvador Caster. As soon as she had the time, Jordan meant to find out what, exactly, that something was. She just hoped the problem didn’t blow up before she could deal with it.
CHAPTER 6
Jordan watched the student standing in the middle of the field in a gold dress, looking like a younger Beyoncé. Gold tassels adorned her dark black hair. She held the microphone, waiting while the announcer introduced her.
“Dominique Wren is a sophomore at Plant University. Her father, Dr. Peter Wren, is a physician for the Plant University Soccer team. He’s also a doctor at the Plant University Health Clinic on campus. Dominique is pursuing her undergraduate degree in Musical Composition and Performance. Please welcome Dominique Wren, singing her own original composition, The World Awaits.”
The crowd quieted and Dominique centered up. She was now the only person on the field. She lifted the microphone, closed her eyes, and began to sing, a capella.
In every life there comes a time
When things must begin to change.
On the third line, the recorded orchestra accompaniment came in.
It may catch one by surprise
But the message is still the same.
It was a simple song, but Dominique sang it with such passion and clarity that the whole rowdy crowd fell completely silent.
Thanks to the simple beauty of the song and its uplifting message, any lingering anger Jordan still harbored against Sal for the argument had almost evaporated by the time he and Claire returned with their concessions. What must this song mean to Dominique that gave her performance such conviction?
As the second half started up, Jordan examined Dominique’s formal biography in the program. Plant University journalism club. Enjoyed running in her free time. Her mother died when she was a child, the biography stated, and when she was nine years old, her father brought her to Florida. The short personal statement Dominique had written included a note about being grateful for the opportunity to attend school in America because her father attended medical school here.
Intriguing history, and Dominique’s interests were similar to Jordan’s. Dominique had entered the Instant Pop Star auditions, which would give Jordan a chance to find out more about her. Dominique might be the perfect subject for the human interest story. She seemed full of spirit as well as talent.
Jordan spotted Dominique sitting in the current students section. She told Claire, “I’ll be right back.”
Jordan ascended the steps intending to introduce herself. But as she got closer, she saw that Dominique was at the center of a group of friends. Too many people. Jordan wouldn’t be able to make her way through the crowd without drawing too much attention. She’d do something else.
Back in her seat, Jordan sent Dominique a text message to the cell number she’d included in her Instant Pop Star application:
Outstanding performance at the game today. I’m a reporter at Channel 12. I’d be interested in coming to your next performance. Maybe we can feature you in a news story with a human interest angle.
Jordan couldn’t promise that feature, but her offer wasn’t completely out of the question.
Jordan, partially bored with the soccer match and partially following her natural curiosity, searched on her phone for Dr. Peter Wren—Dominique’s father. She found a few items about him along with a couple of old photos. He was living in Haiti when Dominique was born. Dr. Wren continued to take frequent mission trips to a clinic that treats impoverished Haitians in Sabatier. The clinic was supported year-round by several American doctors, including Dr. Chelsey Ross, a name that triggered memories, some of which Jordan preferred to forget.
Dr. Chelsey Ross had been one of Brenda Fox’s good friends, and she’d helped care for Nelson after his stroke. Before Jordan’s mother died, Dr. Ross had been a frequent dinner guest, too. She often told them about her medical mission trips to Sabatier. As a teen, Jordan had found the stories equally fascinating and frightening.
Jordon followed a link to a news article about Dr. Wren in Sabatier. The article mentioned a nurse, a Haitian woman named Estelle Marcon, who was kidnapped in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, ten years ago and hadn’t been seen or heard from again.
The article didn’t explain her relationship to Dr. Wren.
Dominique was currently a sophomore in college. The math worked. Dominique would have been about nine years old, and still living in Haiti at the right time. The kidnapped nurse could have been Dominique’s mother. That tragic history, if true, would add the level of poignancy to Dominique’s story that Instant Pop Star viewers craved.
If Dominique’s mother wasn’t Estelle Marcon, maybe Dominique knew something about the nurse’s story anyway. At a minimum, Dominique or her father more than likely knew something, or knew someone who did. Especially since Estelle Marcon had also worked in the medical field. That and Dominique’s local Tampa connections and her father’s humanitarian efforts should be enough to get Richard and Patricia on board for featuring Dominique.
Banishment to Jacksonville with a constant headache from those auditions might be avoidable after all if she’d already found the best human interest story right here in town. Jordan was feeling proud of herself about it, too. She grinned.
But her grin vanished as fast as it appeared and Jordan shuddered. Jordan had admired Dr. Chelsey Ross’s selfless work in Haiti. If Dr. Ross had been there when the nurse was kidnapped—Stop that! Dr. Ross wasn’t taken and she’d been back to Haiti many times since then.
Still, she’d like to ask Dr. Ross about the kidnapping case, which fascinated Jordan the more her imagination ran away with it. She’d ask Dr. Ross about Dominique Wren, too, if Dominique panned out for the Instant Pop Star story.
Something big must have happened on the soccer field because Sal jumped up and cheered and the entire student section did, too. The noise was enough to bring Jordan back to the present. She missed whatever the excitement was, but noticed she’d received a response from Dominique.
Thank you. I’m singing at the University production of RENT starting Tuesday at the Straz Center downtown. ill be playing Mimi. any publicity you can provide is a big help. i hope you can make it! id be happy to meet with you.
And just like that, her plan might actually work.
CHAPTER 7
“Earth to Jordan?” Claire gave Jordan a little push on her shoulder. “Did you come here with us or are you on a date with your phone?”
Jordan grinned. That was the kind of thing Claire used to say. Maybe things were getting back to normal after all. “Sorry. Work. But I’m back now.” Which was at least partially true.
As the remaining minutes ticked by, Sal continued to perch on the edge of his seat. Some incredible play happened and Sal and the entire fan section jumped to their feet.
“Did you guys see that?” he said still standing, looking down where Claire and Jordan sat. His face had almost returned to its normal color, but he still looked a little flushed. “We actually scored.”
“Is that unheard of?” Jordan asked, a bit more sarcastically than she’d meant to be.
Sal didn’t rise to the bait this time, though. “The team’s best forward, they call him Power Paxton. He almost couldn’t play today. He’s been sick. So to score that goal? By Power Paxton? At a time like this? That’s huge.”
“Power Paxton?” Jordan scanned the field until she found the player in question. “Sounds like a comic book super hero.”
“He is a super hero. He’s the team’s best forward and he’s the best player we’ve got. Straight A student, too. On the Dean’s List all three years so far. All-around top performer,” Sal said, sounding like some sort of proud papa instead of just a fan. “So everyone was freaking out when he was sick. Plus, we’ve already been on edge because so many Plant U Soccer players have been getting sick this season.”
Sal turned his gaze from admiring Power Paxton on the field and looked at them, beaming. When neither Claire nor Jordan beamed back, his quizzical expression was almost funny. “You two have no clue what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Sorry, Sweetie,” Claire said.
“It’s early for flu season,” Jordan said. “What’s the problem?”
“Who knows,” Sal said, returning to his seat long after everyone else in their section had already calmed down from the big play. “Several of the guys have had breathing problems, vomiting, one even passed out last game. It’s been crazy.”
Jordan almost felt her reporter nose twitching. She recognized a good story when she heard one, even if she didn’t know a thing about soccer.
“Could be food poisoning. Do the players eat at a separate facility from the rest of the students?” Jordan asked.
“They can, but most of them don’t. Maybe they’re staying out too late and partying. Coaches usually won’t put up with that at the college level, though.” Sal sounded very worried now. More worried than he’d sounded when Jordan’s house was bombed. “Whatever it is, hopefully they shape up and get it figured out by next game.”
“It’s really just a game, Sal,” Jordan said. How could he be so concerned about soccer players and so clueless about his own issues?
“I don’t think you understand.” Sal gazed at her and patiently explained. “Plant University could lose its shot at the Conference Championship if they don’t win.”
Jordan lifted both shoulders and flashed him a quizzical look.
“That would weaken Tampa’s upcoming bid for the World Cup.” His tone implied the word duh.
“Too bad for Tampa, but what does Plant U care?”
Sal shook his head as if he couldn’t believe her ignorance of the monumental importance of the soccer world. “If Tampa gets the World Cup,” he said very slowly, “it means Plant University would get an incredible, very expensive upgrade for the World Cup athletes to use as their practice facilities.”
Jordan tried to look like a light bulb had gone off in her brain. She widened her eyes. “Really?”
“I know, right? Think of the economic impact to all of Tampa,” Sal said, as if a very dim student had finally figured out that the earth was not flat. “Plus, right now Plant U has a grant from the state funding the school’s soccer program in hopes of strengthening Tampa’s World Cup bid. If Tampa gets the bid, the state could continue to fund the soccer team for the next ten years. We need a winning season to have a prayer of getting all that. See?”
She did see. A little. Maybe. At least, she understood the belief that major sports events held in Tampa seemed to bring a shot in the arm to the local economy. She wasn’t all that sure about soccer. She didn’t know much about soccer at all except that it wasn’t as popular as, say, baseball or football with the locals.
At the last second, the Winter Park Whitecaps scored, winning the game.
Sal stood up with about ten thousand other fans and booed. “Power Paxton Party Animal!” he screamed out. “You SUCK!”
Jordan kept her mouth shut. For now. But what about all those sick players? Party animals? Or was there something more to that story? Could be a follow up plan if Dominique’s feature wasn’t enough to keep Jordan out of Jacksonville. And sports stories seemed to get a lot of attention at Channel 12.
CHAPTER 8
Jordan left Claire to deal with a very frustrated Salvador, and headed straight to work without another sighting of Dominique. It was Saturday, so there’d be no Afternoon Meeting, and she didn’t have to show up with a pitch. That was one nice thing about working weekends.
While the facts were still fresh in her mind, and to put off the IPS assignment as long as possible, Jordan walked down the hall from the newsroom to the sports cave. Miles Pike, the weekend sports reporter, should have some insight about the soccer team’s illnesses.
She’d never actually been into the sports cave before and when she opened the door she walked into a dark, dimly lit room. The floor space was crowded. Four desks, two couches, an armchair, and multiple TVs and monitors filled every inch. Sports reporting awards and signed sports balls adorned the desks and walls.
In the suffocating dark closeness, Jordan couldn’t see whether Miles was present or not. “Miles?” No answer. She looked at a digital cloc
k on the cave wall. Two-forty-four. He should be there. But he wasn’t.
Jordan walked back to the newsroom, open-air with wall-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hills River that seemed like a completely different world. She joined the two reporters working the weekend nightside shift. After a casual conversation in the middle of the newsroom, they agreed that Antonio would handle a heartbreaking murder-suicide witnessed by a child last night. Of course, Drew offered to tag along.
Theresa, the other weekend nightside reporter, would pursue an escaped convict. After Antonio and Drew left, Theresa said, “Jordan, you coming with me on this one? Come help me find the escapee. I need you.”
Jordan sighed. “As unappealing as that sounds, I’d actually rather do that than what I have to do here.”
“They’re making you stay here?” Theresa asked. “What for?”
Because Jordan was told to keep her assignment on the down-low, she said, “I have to prepare for some stupid human interest story I’m doing next week.”
“All right. When I get kidnapped by the escaped convict, I’m blaming you for not being there to back me up.” Theresa flashed a sneaky grin on her way out the door.
Jordan returned to the edit bay and continued the work she’d started Friday, which involved listening to the worst version of Blondie’s “One Way or Another” she’d ever heard. Ever.
After two hours of sampling audition tapes, Jordan’s ears felt like they might fall off. She needed a break. She stood, stretched, and moved into the newsroom. Ah, the glorious absence of terrible music.
Jordan spotted Drew in the empty conference room watching TV. She meandered over to him. “I thought you left.”
He didn’t look up from the screen. “Nah, we’ve been making calls and doing research. Our interview isn’t ’til six.”
“You got an interview? That’s impressive.”
“Yep. With the shooter’s brother.”
