Murdered by News

by Dianne Harman

  “Not necessarily. I just mean he’s going to milk this cow dry, and it has nothing to do with you. You can’t blame him. There’s no space for two Golden Boys, and you can plan on him riding this wave as long as he can.”

  “So, I’m destined to be invisible for the next how long?”

  “Unless…?” Rowan trailed off.

  “Unless?” Mickey asked, hopefully. He’d turned his brain inside out trying to come up with solutions to his problem, and he’d gotten nowhere.

  “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” Rowan said.

  “Spit it out.”

  “Unless… you can get rid of him. Somehow.”

  Mickey spoke in hushed tones. “Tell me more.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Blaine sat in his office, arranging his papers for the meeting with the assistant district attorney and the chief of police.

  “May I get your usual?” his secretary Carly asked, popping her head around the door to his office.

  Blaine couldn’t help but smile at the upbeat attitude in her voice. Her sunny presence always lightened up the office atmosphere which could be quite heavy, given the nature of his work. “I’ve had too much already,” he said. “Instead of an espresso, I think a cappuccino would be better for me, thanks, Carly.”

  “Hmm, a cappuccino. Sounds good. I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”

  He smiled at her, a smile which was slightly tempered by the fact he was a little stressed about the meeting. “Me neither,” he said.

  She returned in a few minutes with his drink, and a blueberry muffin. “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you, Carly.”

  She put her hand on her hip and frowned at him. “Are you doing okay, Blaine?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” he said. “I’m just a little more tense before these meetings than I used to be, given the stuff that’s happened recently.”

  “Well, you’d have to be a robot not to be. When I get stressed, I try to take a little ‘mental break’ for a couple minutes. I think about something exciting, something I’m looking forward to. What have you got to look forward to? There must be something, Blaine. Remember what they say about all work and no play?”

  “I remember. It makes Jack a dull boy, but since my name isn’t Jack, I’m clear,” Blaine said with a smile. “Kat’s very good at keeping me from being a workaholic, and Lacie’s graduation’s coming up.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Carly said. “She’s pretty smart, isn’t she?”

  “That she is,” Blaine said, feeling very proud of her. Then he remembered Tyler, which automatically made him think of Ashlee Nelson. Whenever he thought of that woman, he felt pain in his temples, and this morning was no different.

  Carly took her job very seriously and knowing how her boss was doing was a big part of it. “What is it, Blaine?”

  “Well…” He debated for a moment whether or not he should tell her. “Lacie’s seeing someone.”

  Carly rolled her eyes. “Uh-oh. Does that mean he’s totally unacceptable to you and Kat?”

  “No, not at all. He’s a good, solid young man. He’s studying to be a veterinarian, but here’s the hard part. He’s Ashlee Nelson’s younger brother.”

  Carly’s eyes widened into saucers. “He’s not.”

  “He is.”

  “Wow,” Carly said. She paused a moment to take in the news, but then there was the sound of voices in the outer office. “That’s probably the people for your meeting. I’ll go bring them in.”

  The meeting started off well, and Blaine began to wonder why he’d been so nervous about it. Before the whole Ashlee Nelson incident, he’d rarely let anything rattle him. The whole thing had just been so unexpected that he had begun to feel spooked and was always wondering what nasty surprise he’d find around the corner.

  He and the chief of police, Frank Moore, went way back, and were close friends. Blaine’s assistant district attorney was Ryan Walsh. After Blaine hired him for the position, Blaine hadn’t been completely sure he’d made the right decision. Ryan seemed to be a little more tentative than he would have preferred. But Ashlee had also accused Ryan of being involved in the killing of Judge Dickerson. The whole experience was a blow to Ryan’s self-confidence, but he seemed to have recovered admirably. Going through that together had given the men a bond, a special trust and respect for each other that made them a better team than ever.

  As Blaine sipped his cappuccino, he felt relaxed. He looked at Frank and Ryan as they talked about the cases and wondered what he’d been so anxious about. It seemed like everything was back to normal now. It looked like there were no horrible surprises lurking around the bends, after all.

  The meeting was interrupted when Chief Moore’s phone rang with a loud shrill. He raised his eyebrows and looked at the screen. “Excuse me, guys. I have to pick up this one.” He stepped out into the hall while Ryan and Blaine sat in a comfortable, companionable silence waiting for him to return.

  “Well,” Chief Moore said when he came back in the room. “Isn’t that something?”

  Blaine didn’t like the way the chief’s brow was furrowed. “Something wrong, Chief?”

  “Perhaps. It’s hard to tell. That’s the third time Chance Nelson has called me. He’s getting anonymous threats over the phone. The first time he called to tell me about them, we tried to trace the calls, but we couldn’t. Evidently the culprit’s using some kind of a scrambler, making it impossible to trace them. My first thought was that some kids were messing around, but…”

  “But kids messing around don’t usually have scramblers,” Blaine finished for him.

  “Exactly my thought,” Chief Moore said.

  “Well, maybe they’re very advanced kids. You can buy scramblers on the internet these days. They’re not exactly the high-tech criminal kit item they used to be.”

  “You can get just about anything on the internet these days,” said Chief Moore. “It’s making law enforcement’s job a lot tougher. Criminal technology items are so easy for people to get their hands on now it’s almost a joke. Credit card duplicating machines can be bought with a click of a button.”

  The chief rolled his eyes. “Those relay gadgets crooks use to steal cars are for sale online for less than two hundred dollars apiece,” He continued, “Back in the day, people needed links to become criminals. Mentors. Sources for their equipment. Smarts. It was a much more difficult operation then. Now all you need is a computer and the will to do a little research, and you’re well on the way to becoming a career criminal. Crime pays, and it seems like everyone’s lining up for a piece of the action.”

  “And it’s happened so fast, too,” Ryan mused. “In just a few years, the entire landscape has changed.”

  “You’re right about that,” Chief Moore said. “And the problem is, we’ve got to keep updating our own methods to keep up with the crooks.”

  Blaine began to think about who would want to hurt Chance. “Do you think it’s someone jealous because he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize?”

  Chief Moore nodded. “That’s possible. After all, it means a lot to Lindsay. Everybody’s talking about it. We’re hoping it’s just someone trying to hassle him because they’re envious of him winning. You know, spoil his golden moment by injecting a little fear into him. Not intending to actually harm him, just to rattle him.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Ryan said.

  “We’ve told him to have the receptionist screen all of his calls and not put any through unless he knows them.”

  “I would have thought that was already standard procedure,” Blaine said.

  Chief Moore smiled for the first time. “Chance is a dynamo. He always picks up the phone without looking to see who’s on the other end. He doesn’t want to miss a chance to get a story.”

  “Which is probably why he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize.” Blaine said.

  “We’re beefing up the security around the newspaper office and his and Ashlee’s home,” said Chief Moor
e. A sly grin spread across his face. “I know the two of you aren’t her biggest fans because of what happened with Judge Dickerson.” He glanced at Blaine and Ryan over his coffee cup as he lifted it to his mouth. “I don’t have to run surveillance on you two reprobates, do I?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Momma?” Randy Bryan said into his cell phone when his mother answered his call.

  “Randy, sweetie love. How are you doing?”

  “Not too good, Momma,” Randy said. He bit on his fingernails, which were already little more than slivers on the hardened stumps that were the end of his pudgy pink fingers. He was splayed out on the bed in his home, talking to her on his cell phone.

  He knew that on his day off he should be hitting the gym to fight his growing flab, or at least getting some rays to liven up his pasty-colored skin, but his bed was just too comfortable to get out of. Besides, he was stewing, and when he was stewing, he didn’t feel like doing anything except lazing around, eating, and thinking about some sort of brilliant revenge plan.

  “What’s wrong with my baby boy?”

  “It’s just not fair,” he said with a pout. His voice had more than a hint of a petulant child about it.

  “What isn’t fair?” Celia Bryan asked, her voice taking on that familiar tinge of panic he loved so much. He always felt so safe when he spoke to his mom. “Is someone hurting you, honey?”

  “No,” he said. “Well… kind of.”

  “Just a second,” his mother said. “I’m outside gardening, sweetie. Give Momma two minutes to put her gloves down, wash her hands, and sit down on the couch. I want to give you my full attention.”

  “Okay, Momma.”

  “Are you eating enough, Randy?”

  Randy looked at the pile of candy wrappers and empty Pringles cans on the side table. He’d have to put them in the trash when he got out of bed. Usually he let the house become a complete mess, then he went on a cleaning binge for a couple of days until it sparkled. “Yes, I am.”

  “Okay, but make sure you have something good to eat if you’re feeling a little down. We don’t want your blood sugar to get too low, do we? That can make the very best of us grouchy. Okay, sweetie love, give Momma a moment, I’ll be right back.”

  While she was gone, Randy found enough energy to reach for the last candy bar in his stash. By the time she was back, it was all gone.

  “Are you there, honey?”

  “Yes, Momma,” Randy said, through the last mouthful of candy. It occurred to him with a flash of annoyance that he was going to have to get up if he wanted more food. Even if he ordered take-out, it would involve walking down the hallway to open the door to the delivery guy.

  “Good,” she replied.

  He imagined her settling onto the couch in her perfectly tidy great room. Looking at the current squalor of his bedroom, he was overcome by a wave of self-disgust, and vowed to himself to start one of his intensive cleaning rituals tomorrow.

  “Now tell me what’s been going on, sweetie. Tell momma everything.”

  He hesitated a moment, wondering how he should phrase it. She couldn’t always be trusted to side with his ambition. When he’d gone to California to try to make it as a celebrity newscaster, she’d been positively brutal. She’d told him he was her handsome boy and her begging him to stay had quickly degenerated into telling him he was way too fat and ugly to make it out there.

  But Momma couched all of it in the nicest possible terms. “They want Ken dolls,” she’d said, as she looked him up and down, “and you certainly aren’t one of those.” Even though she’d said it with a smile, as if it were a compliment, it still had made Randy feel bad.

  He’d ignored that and all her other thousand reasons why he shouldn’t leave Lindsay to seek fame and fortune in California. As it turned out, she’d been right. He’d been told by one casting agent that he had, “a radio face… and a radio body.” Through some braggadocio, a few white lies about how beloved he was back in Lindsay and splashing a lot of cash on his credit card, he’d managed to get a wannabe actress to fall in love with him.

  They’d gotten married in a quickie wedding in a rundown Hollywood chapel. This was a great consolation to his mother, who could then brag to her neighbors that, “My Randy’s gone to California and married himself an actress,” which sounded wonderful.

  The reality was somewhat different. The monthly allowance he’d agreed to pay his new wife, Bella, as part of their pre-nuptial agreement was more than he earned as a runner at a radio station. Over time, Bella’s interest in him diminished in direct proportion to his rapidly dwindling savings account.

  Celia had made sure (with a few well-placed questions here and there) that this spouse wasn’t an emotionally invested wife. When she learned about the monthly allowance, she knew Bella and Randy certainly weren’t swapping childhood stories and crying into each other’s arms about their past traumas. The relationship seemed superficial and shallow, which was perfect. That way she wouldn’t be losing her sweet little son to an actress with any depth. Judging from her daughter-in-law’s Internet Movie Database profile, Bella had none.

  It wasn’t long before his new wife unceremoniously dumped him. He’d married her because she seemed to be the only one who believed in him. According to her, she believed in his ability to land a celebrity reporter job as much as he did. But after five disastrous screen tests, even she lost hope, called him a ‘Lindsay-loser’, and told him to get out of her sight. The split coincided with Randy’s savings running out, leaving him wondering if Bella had ever loved him at all.

  A quickie uncontested divorce followed and that had been the end of that. With his tail between his legs, Randy had returned to Lindsay and his momma’s loving arms. Celia had been delighted to have him back in Lindsay under her watchful eye and nurturing hand. Of course, she knew what was best for him, and he was pretty much incapable of doing much for himself. Bella was never mentioned again.

  He turned the cell phone over in his hand, wondering if she would be supportive of what he was about to tell her. “Momma, you believe in my dreams, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, sweetie. I’m also here to pick up the pieces when things don’t go right for you.”

  That got under his skin. “What if things do go right?” he asked tersely.

  “Don’t get an attitude with me, Randy,” she fired back, and then she softened her tone. “Honestly, sweetie, you’d think you were talking to your enemy. This is me you’re talking to, your momma. Now, be your nice usual lovely self, and tell me what’s going on.”

  That was clearly an order, not a request. Still, he hesitated.

  “Come on, Randy,” she said. “Who’s bothering you?”

  “Ashlee Nelson.”

  “Oh, her,” his mother replied, as if Ashlee Nelson was the name of some horrible infectious disease. “What is that awful woman doing now?”

  “Just being herself,” Randy mumbled grumpily. “She’s getting all the plum assignments, Momma. They just stick me with the leftovers. It’s so unfair.”

  “I agree. That is totally unfair. They should give everyone an equal chance.”

  “I know, right?” Randy said. “It’s not like I’m asking for preferential treatment or anything. I just want an opportunity to prove what I can do instead of being stuck reporting about someone opening a new handicraft store on Main Street, or whatever.”

  “There’s a new handicraft store on Main Street?”

  “Momma!”

  “Sorry, sweetie. Well, we know she obviously gets the plum assignments because she’s so mouthy and aggressive. If you ask me, it’s just a horrible way for a young woman to act. Really, it’s so unattractive.”

  “I know,” Randy said. He got a little thrill from hearing his mom trash talk about Ashlee. “And the one time I tried to get aggressive like her, they said I was intimidating.”

  “That’s double standards,” his mother said quickly. “That’s sexism. They only said that because you’
re a man.”

  “I know.” He didn’t tell his mom that actually it had never happened. He didn’t have the nerve to get assertive with the station manager, much less be aggressive.

  “It wasn’t Tommy who said that, was it? I’ll have a word with Jeanie about it.”

  Tommy was the station manager, and Jeanie was his mother. That’s how Randy got the reporting job in the first place. Celia played bridge with Jeanie on Tuesday nights, and they were very good friends.

  “No, don’t do that, Momma,” he said quickly. “They’ll think I’m a whiner. Tommy always says he can’t stand whiners. When the people in the cafeteria complained they weren’t getting paid enough, he slashed all their hours and brought in new people.”