by Stacy Juba
Praise For Stacy Juba's Novels
"Twenty Five Years Ago Today is an intriguing mystery that should not be overlooked." Midwest Book Review
"With just the right blend of mystery, romance, and danger, Twenty Five Years Ago Today will be thoroughly enjoyed by anyone who is smart enough to pick up a copy of it." Lynn Cunningham, Fresh Fiction
"Stacy Juba has written a page-turner! This has to be one of my favorite mystery books that I've read this year. The characters are well written and have so much depth that it feels like this has actually happened … Book club groups will enjoy this book because there is so much that happens between its pages." Book Club Queen
"Being on a hit reality show not once, but three times, made Sink or Swim really hit home for me. I could identify with Cassidy on many levels. This novel was so entertaining and suspenseful and had me so on the edge of my seat that I read it in one plane ride from Philly to Vegas. It was an easy read and extremely well written… I would love to see it come out as a movie one day!" Stephenie LaGrossa, owner of GiGI Restaurant & Lounge, Philadelphia PA, Television personality and fan favorite Survivor: Palau, Guatemala, Heroes vs. Villains
"After being on a reality show, Big Brother 10 on CBS and Showtime, reading Sink or Swim made me feel like I was Cassidy. People don't ever know what happens behind the scenes. I thought it was a great read and kept me in suspense." Michelle Costa, contestant Big Brother 10
"Once again author Stacy Juba has penned a novel that is definitely not going to sink, it will do more than just swim: It will rise to the top with no lifeboats needed. Read this outstanding second novel by the author of Twenty Five Years Ago Today to find out what happens to Cassidy. Walking the plank is dangerous and sinking to the bottom even more." Fran Lewis, Bookpleasures.com
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO TODAY
By Stacy Juba
Smashwords Edition
This title is available in trade paperback
through Mainly Murder Press.
For twenty-five years, Diana Ferguson’s killer has gotten away with murder. When rookie obit writer and newsroom editorial assistant Kris Langley investigates the cold case of the artistic young cocktail waitress who was obsessed with Greek and Roman mythology, not only does she fall in love with Diana’s sexy nephew, but she must also fight to stay off the obituary page herself.
Copyright 2010 by Stacy Juba
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
Discover other titles by Stacy Juba at http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stacyjuba
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Bonus Features
Please note that this edition contains excerpts of Stacy Juba's books Sink or Swim and Dark Before Dawn.
Chapter 1
Kris Langley stared at the bright newsprint lit up on the microfilm reader. The top headline leaped off page one. "Missing Barmaid Murdered." She squinted over the story of Diana Ferguson, a young woman found bludgeoned to death in the woods. In little over a week, it would be the twenty-fifth anniversary. A quarter of a century ago, Diana must've dressed and driven out as always. An evening like any other. By the end of the night, she was dead, her life extinguished like the other victims on fate's hit list.
Most people had forgotten Diana by now. In the black and white yearbook photograph, she didn't smile. Straight dark hair curtained her serious oval face. Diana had her arms crossed on a table, slender fingers too delicate to protect her from a killer.
Kris flipped to a blank page in her notebook, scribbled "Diana Ferguson" and stopped writing. Resurrecting the tragedy in her "25 and 50 Years Ago Today" column would catch readers’ attention, but it seemed inappropriate.
She jumped as Dex Wagner, the seventy-year-old editor-in-chief of the Fremont Daily News, slapped a rolled-up newspaper against someone’s desk. "Jacqueline, why the hell didn’t we have this theater group feature? The Fremont Community Players are in our own backyard."
Suppressing a grin, Kris swung around in her seat. She could use a distraction right about now. Dex waved the competition paper in the air, red circles and slashes marking half the page. In her three weeks as editorial assistant, Kris had enjoyed Dex’s tantrums. So far, none had been directed at her.
Managing Editor Jacqueline McCormack tossed back her blonde ponytail, gathered in a tan fabric scrunchie. She owned a world class selection of ponytail holders that complemented her designer wardrobe. Kris couldn't help thinking of her as a thirty-five-year-old cheerleader. Corporate Barbie.
"We ran a story last week in our entertainment section," Jacqueline said. "They got the idea from us. Gosh, Dex, are you trying to blind me with that underlining?"
Dex paced to the oak bookshelves and back to Jacqueline's neat desk. His stomach bulged under a rumpled gray suit and his wrists hung out of jacket sleeves a couple inches too short. "I think we missed it."
"Trust me," Jacqueline said. "I put a headline on it myself. You do read beyond the front, don’t you, Dex?"
Grumbling under his breath, Dex opened The Greater Remington Mirror, a large daily that covered the ten towns in their readership area and more. Kris saw another column ballooned in red marker.
He pressed his index finger against the lead paragraph, his penguin-patterned tie flapping as he stooped forward. "What about the stabbing of that Miles kid? We should be talking to his family and we haven't even contacted them. For Christ's sake, do I have to keep track of everything?"
"Relax, I'm working on that," Bruce Patrick, the police and court reporter, said from the doorway. He swaggered over and hopped onto the edge of Jacqueline's desk.
"I just got off the phone," he said. "The parents are basket cases, but the siblings said I could come by tonight. And it's an exclusive."
A 19-year-old college student had murdered his classmate, Scott Miles, in a fight that went too far. Kris had edited the obit, stomach queasy as she cut "beloved son and brother" out of the text. Dex insisted such phrases only belonged in paid death notices.
Unlike the Diana Ferguson case, there was no mystery to this homicide. Many young people had witnessed the brawl, which started over a girl. It had lingered in her memory, though, a teenage boy who went to a party and left dead in an ambulance. Another individual singled out by fate, never suspecting he had no future. He picked the wrong girl. For that, he died.
Kris shuddered despite the heat in the newsroom. The family members must feel like their world had spun out of control. She remembered the grieving process well: walking around as if in warm Jell-O, arms and legs heavy, head difficult to hold up, and crying until numbness froze the tears. Forgetting had disturbed her the most, slipping away into the calm relief of sleep, then jolting awake in cold horror.
Jacqueline's ponytail bounced in glee. "They'll talk?" She turned to Bruce. "Terrific. Have you assigned a photographer?"
Bruce rested his notebook on his thigh. "You bet. I didn't mention the photos, but once we're there, I'm sure they'll go along with it."
"Get two or three color shots for the front," Jacqueline said, a lilt in her voice.
Kris abandoned
her quiet corner of the newsroom and strode over to the group. Bruce and Jacqueline had never suffered tragedy in their lives, or they wouldn't act so blasé.
No one noticed Kris’s presence. She spoke quickly, before she lost her nerve. "I know you want a good story, but have a little sympathy. Sending a photographer unannounced would be taking advantage of these poor people."
Her co-workers regarded her with blank expressions.
"Why?" Bruce asked. "The kids are of age. It’s not like we’re exploiting pre-schoolers."
"If they're inviting a reporter into their home, they should realize we intend to play up the story," Jacqueline said.
"They'll be emotional," Kris said. "A photographer will make them feel worse. The least you could do is prepare them."
Jacqueline folded her arms, covering a horizontal row of gold buttons on her biscuit-colored blazer. "I'm sure they expect it, but Bruce was smart in setting it up this way. If they have doubts, they'll be more likely to say yes once our staff has had a chance to develop a rapport. If the pictures bother them, the family can always decline."
"They'll feel pressured," Kris said. "They have enough to deal with right now. You’ve got your exclusive. Why can't you just run photos of the boy who died?"
"Kris, this is our job, not yours." Coldness had replaced Jacqueline's lilt. "This paper tells it like it is. If you can't accept that, then maybe you shouldn't work in a newsroom."
"Maybe you should treat your sources like human beings."
"Why don't you stay out of things that don't concern you? As I recall, you have no news experience. I'm not even sure why you were hired in the first place." Jacqueline glared at Dex.
They all knew the answer to that. The previous editorial assistant had quit on Jacqueline's vacation. Dex grew impatient and placed a classified ad. Kris admitted she preferred the dreaded four-to-midnight shift, and he hired her on the spot. His judgment wasn't good enough for Jacqueline, who had reminded him of the three-month probation for all employees.
Dex's shaggy salt and pepper eyebrows curled downward. "Kris does fine. She's bright and talented. Give her a chance to learn." He glowered at Bruce. "Next time you're working on a hot story, check with me."
He stalked to his desk, leaving the others gaping after him. Her neck and shoulder muscles tense, Kris released a deep breath. She needed this job. Like it or not, she was stuck working with Barbie. "Sorry if I offended you, Jacqueline. I just wanted to give you another perspective."
Jacqueline ignored her and gestured to Bruce. "Come on, let's discuss tomorrow's budget."
He snapped to attention and followed her into the conference room. Jacqueline carried herself with the posture of a model, her back straight and an upward tilt to her chin. Jacqueline and her budget. Kris had once asked Dex if the paper was in okay shape, money-wise. She’d assumed Jacqueline was obsessed with the editorial department’s finances. Dex just laughed and said, "That’s news lingo for story line-up."
As others in the newsroom headed out, Kris drifted back to the microfilm machine and her research. Her editors demanded eight historical facts per issue. Dex told her to play up light local fluff as people liked seeing their names in print, while Jacqueline said to emphasize hard news. Kris found herself trying to please them both.
At first, she had enjoyed exploring the older editions. Fifty years ago, chunky blocks of type took up the front page. Most articles came over the wire and staff-written pieces had no bylines. Dex had explained how reporters worked for "the paper" in those days, not for the recognition. But now if Kris spent too much time on the machine, the scrolling of the film gave her motion sickness. The focus lever didn't work right, so she'd press her finger over the tape, holding it in place.
Frowning, Kris stared at the bold black headline splashed above the subhead "Body Found In Fremont State Woods." For the second time, she skimmed the article about Diana Ferguson.
FREMONT - A 21-year-old cocktail waitress reported missing was found bludgeoned to death Saturday night in the woods behind the Fremont State College baseball field. Police have identified the victim as Diana Marie Ferguson of 22 Hutchins Circle.
Ferguson, daughter of Irene and the late Joseph Ferguson, had been missing for two days. She waited tables at Rossi's Bar, and apparently left work early Thursday night to meet friends at Campus Pizzeria on Robinson Avenue, police said.
She was last seen alive shortly after 9 p.m., when witnesses said she left the pizzeria with a former boyfriend, Jared Peyton, a senior at Fremont State College.
A student discovered the body while walking in the woods. Police responded to a call at 11:30 p.m. and removed the body, which was wrapped in a garbage bag.
Ferguson's car, a 1975 Chevy, was found behind the former Salvatore's Restaurant on Purchase Street. The restaurant has been vacant for a year.
According to Detective Gerald Frank, Ferguson had been hit in the head with a blunt object. Police believe she was killed at another location. There were no traces of sexual assault, police said.
"She wanted to be an artist," said her sister, Cheryl Soares, a substitute teacher at Fremont High School. "She had all these plans. Diana was such a good person. I can't believe she's dead."
According to Soares, her sister had been due back Thursday at midnight and never stayed out late without calling. By 2 a.m., her mother grew worried, telephoning friends and co-workers.
Ferguson is survived by her mother, sister, several aunts, uncles and a nephew. Funeral arrangements are incomplete and under the direction of the Bellwood Funeral Home. Police are investigating the case. Frank says he does not recall any other murders in the history of the town.
Dex cleared his throat from behind Kris. "Sorry you dislike the pictures of that kid’s family, but most readers want this. It sells papers."
Rubbing her blurry eyes, she turned to face him. Another month of poring over old news stories and she’d need reading glasses.
"I realize I'm in the minority," she said. "Thanks for sticking up for me. I don't think Jacqueline is too happy."
"Miss High and Mighty will get over it. Let me know if she gives you a hard time." Leaning forward, Dex read over her shoulder. He had pulled off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. "Is that the Ferguson case? How the hell did you dig this up? Christ, has it been twenty-five years already?"
"You remember it?"
"Who do you think covered the story?"
Kris peered up into his grizzled face. "You're kidding."
"Reporters swarmed the scene. The cops brought us back to the police station and issued a statement. I was ticked off because Saturday's paper had gone to press and we didn't have a Sunday edition back then. We got scooped by the Globe, the Herald and the TV guys on our own territory."
Dex touched the first line of the article, his palm shadowing the light. Liver spots stamped his swollen knuckles. "I'll never forget how the editor changed my lead, calling her a twenty-one-year-old cocktail waitress. And then that headline, 'Missing Barmaid Murdered.' It put a negative slant on her. I made them take off my byline."
"Wasn't this a big story?"
"Yeah, but my daughter, Sadie, knew Diana in elementary school. Diana used to bring her dad to father-daughter banquets. She was shy, but she'd jabber when her dad was there. Used to amaze Sadie."
Kris stared at Diana's photograph. "Did Diana stay shy as she got older? As a teenager?"
"I don't know. Sadie went to Fremont Catholic so the girls lost touch." Dex combed a finger through his mussed white hair. "It was tough calling Diana's house after the murder. Her mother was a wreck, couldn't get out a word without crying. Diana's sister took the phone away and gave a comment. I told her I'd known Diana as a little girl. The sister trusted me."
"Did the police solve the murder?"
"Nope. For a long time, the mother would run an obit page ad on Diana's birthday. I can almost remember it word for word. It said something about how life would never be the same without her, but that Dian
a’s soul and spirit would live on. She wrote that the family wouldn’t give up until justice prevailed. It was the same boxed ad every year."
"It’s amazing the desperate measures that will make you feel better," Kris murmured. "It’s like the friends and relatives who leave wooden crosses and flowers at an accident scene. You can’t demonstrate your love to the person directly, so you find other ways."
Silence dropped over them, not awkward, but Kris didn’t know how to fill it. Dex scrutinized her with the intensity of a lifelong journalist. "How you doing, Kid? You like this job? Even the nutty hours?"
Kris gave him a rueful grin. Something about Dex made it easy for her to open up. "That's the best part. It’s so quiet. Plus working late makes the night go faster. I'll go home, read or do housework, then go to bed around 6 a.m. I have trouble sleeping at night."
"Insomnia? That's too bad. Ever tried medication?"
"Nothing helps."
"Don't let Jacqueline work you too hard. Make sure you take a dinner break." Dex rustled his New England Patriots jacket off a plastic hanger in the closet.
"Hey, Dex? Is it okay if I don’t put the Ferguson case in my column? I know it ought to be included, but I’m worried about Diana’s family seeing it. If the mother stopped running those ads, maybe she’s finally come to terms with it."
He stuffed his arms into the coat and shrugged. "Hell, I’m probably getting to be a softie in my old age, but I don’t see the sense of dredging it up either. Not for a blurb in the ‘25 Years Ago Today’ column."
"Thanks, Dex. Have a good weekend."
