Deadly News

by Jody Holford

  “Okay. I’ll swing by after my shift.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  She hung up and noticed that Gretta had pulled herself together. She waved a hand around at the furniture and boxes. “I should just send it all to the Salvation Army. Don’t need none of it. That’s for sure. I’ll sell the house. I can’t stay in it if Vernon isn’t here. Guess I’ll have to go take care of Clay’s house too.”

  Molly scooted forward on the chair and leaned in. “I’m really sorry for everything you’re going through, Gretta.”

  “Thanks. You’d be about the only one. Not one other person has dropped by and offered to help.”

  Molly bit down on her guilt. Technically, she hadn’t come to help, either.

  “I need to get going. I’d be happy to pay you for the laptop if you’re going to sell it anyway.”

  Gretta looked up, her eyes brightening. “Sure. Don’t know what it’s worth.”

  “Well, it’s used and really, I just need the story off of it. But I could write you a check for a couple of hundred?” Something in her gut told her it would be money well spent.

  Standing up, Gretta put her hand out. “Deal.”

  Molly wrote the woman a check, got the laptop, and headed for home. She still needed to call Jill. At this point, she was ready to hire the woman over the phone just to make sure the Bulletin had some backup. She should do that before she started digging. Don’t get your hopes up. The police had checked the laptop, but their focus had been the emails…because Clay had sent them in that direction. Had he originally hoped Elizabeth would go down for the murder?

  Too many questions. When she arrived home, she made two phone calls. One was to Jill, whom she left a message for. She hung up, hoping she didn’t sound out of breath or frantic. Her pulse was determined to keep up with the racing thoughts in her mind. She hesitated on the next call, but couldn’t get several things out of her head. One in particular: Clay had told his mother it was time one of them did something for the other.

  Watching Tigger pounce around the backyard—knowing she owed the poor guy a walk—she dialed the number.

  “Officer Beatty.”

  “Hi Chris. It’s Molly. I wanted to let you know I was home, but I also have a big favor.”

  She hoped the pause she heard wasn’t him rolling his eyes on the other end. “What can I do for you?”

  “Did Clay say anything about the coffee mug that was used to kill his dad?”

  “No. Why?”

  Because maybe he didn’t know what had been used to deliver the final blow. “You said you follow your gut and I get why you’d be wary of mine, but I’m asking you to do me this one favor and I promise, if he gives the right answer, I’ll never stick my nose anywhere it doesn’t belong ever again.”

  His sigh was easy to hear through the speaker. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep. What do you want? I’m not saying I’ll do it, but what is it you want to know?”

  Molly took a deep breath. “Ask Clay why, when he’d already punched his father, did he then hit him with the glass paperweight.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Chris, I know I’ve been a pain in your behind. But I really, really need you to do this for me. I’ll bring you cookies for a month.”

  “Stop trying to bribe me with cookies, Molly!”

  She cringed at his tone. “Please? If he asks you what you’re talking about or says he didn’t hit him with a paperweight, end of story. But if he says something different, I’ll do my best to explain when you get here.”

  “I can’t decide if you’re crazy, quirky, or brilliant.”

  She didn’t get to offer an opinion as he hung up. Tigger came running in and she topped up his water, gave him some food, and a few good rubs.

  “Sorry, bud. I know I’m not being the best company, but we’ll hang out later. Go for a walk. Have some pizza. Well, you probably shouldn’t have pizza.”

  She booted up the laptop while Tigger whined at her, clearly disagreeing with her thoughts on his dietary restrictions.

  Molly’s fingers shook as she waited. To help keep them steady, she grabbed her notebook. Starting on a fresh page, she jotted down the things that were bugging her most.

  Vanessa Phillips acted almost scared to talk to me.

  Clara said she’d enjoyed the interview, so why would she be so abrupt when I went by?

  Who did Vernon phone and why didn’t he use his cell?

  Why didn’t Vernon bring the box of photographs into the house if he was working on the story?

  Why did Clay and Vernon really fight?

  When Molly brought up the internet and Microsoft Word, both programs alerted her that they’d been shut down improperly and did she want to restore?

  “Definitely,” she said, pressing enter to both.

  The police had been looking for the emails, thanks to Clay’s tip. She double- clicked on that. First the interview, then the browser history. She found it no problem and read it twice to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. He hadn’t been lying. It was boring. Lifeless. Straightforward answers with no deviation from the question at hand. Biting her lip, Molly pressed the back button several times. Nothing happened. This was the interview that was last saved. She opened up her own email and mailed it to herself for later.

  Breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth, she started to check the last pages Vernon had explored on the internet. The name Emilio Macintosh popped up in one of the searches. That name was familiar. Had it been on one of the letters in Vanessa’s box? Wait…Macintosh! The Post-it? Molly’s skin tingled. She’d thrown the note out, thinking it was nothing at the time. Maybe Vernon had been digging into a past flame? Several searches showed he’d been looking at the history of the Phillips family in the area: the brothers and their wives. He’d also done several searches on Vanessa’s family and her life before marrying Charleston Phillips.

  Molly was almost breathless when she clicked on the next bookmark. It was a Facebook page and Vernon had been messaging through it. Her eyes scanned the messages, trying to absorb the words and figure out if they meant what she thought they meant. The knock on the door jolted her out of her search with a frightened yelp. Tigger jumped up from his sleep and started to bark.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. Come on, let’s get the door.”

  Officer Beatty was standing on the other side, an unreadable expression on his face.

  “Hi. Come on in.” Molly shut the door.

  He did and crouched down to pet Tigger. “Hey, little guy. You’re getting big.”

  Tigger rolled over and Chris laughed, but it was a weary sound. He stood and followed Molly into the living area. She walked to the counter and closed the laptop.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  He shook his head. “No. Thanks. Let’s start with your Jeep. I talked to both Hannah and Savannah about the paint. They were both over at Savannah’s house, so it was one stop and their stories lined up. They borrowed the paint from the art teacher at school. When I stopped by said art teacher’s house, sure enough, there was extra paint. Looks like you were right. It wasn’t Clay on that score.”

  Molly’s brows scrunched together. “Okay. I’m not following. Who’s the art teacher?”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “Shannon Lester.”

  Molly groaned. Why would a woman she didn’t know damage her Jeep? Was that where he was going with this?

  “Okay, but Hannah and Savannah had access to the paint. Did they take it home? Could anyone at Savannah’s house have had access to it?”

  “Jeez, Molly. I don’t think the mayor has time to deface your Jeep. I found paint that matches the color. Do you want me to move forward and see if there’s grounds to press charges?”

  Molly shook her head. Her Jeep seemed like the least of
her worries. “No. What did Clay say about the paperweight?”

  Chris came around the counter so there was less distance between them. “What’s going on, Molly?”

  Her heart sped. “What did he say?”

  Irritation flickered in his brown eyes and he didn’t look even a little bit happy when he spoke. “He said that he couldn’t contain his anger so he picked up the first thing he saw on the desk and clocked his old man with it.”

  Molly sucked in a breath. “The paperweight?”

  Chris ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Damn it. Yes. The paperweight.”

  His eyes held hers and Molly’s heart skipped a full beat. “He didn’t do it. He doesn’t even know what killed his dad. He lied when he confessed. He didn’t kill Vernon.”

  “Then who the heck is he covering for?”

  “I think I know.”

  Chapter 24

  It was just after seven when Molly finished explaining everything to Sam. He paced the tiny square of her living room, running both hands through his hair, making it spike up at the front. Wearing jeans and a light gray sweater, he looked like the dark-haired boy next door. Looking at him reminded her that sometimes the best things came from what were perceived to be the worst. If she hadn’t left L.A., she wouldn’t be here.

  “I don’t like it, Molly. If all of this is true, meeting with a murderer doesn’t seem smart. It puts you in danger and I’d really like you not to be in danger.”

  He stopped in front of her, where she sat—surprisingly calm—on one of the stools at the counter. “This person isn’t a killer, Sam. They were pushed to their breaking point—maybe even one they didn’t realize they had.”

  Sam took her hands. “And if you push again? Even harder?”

  She turned her hands so their fingers linked. She liked the connection. “I need you to trust me. The wrong person has gone to jail.”

  Letting her go, he started to pace again. “Why would anyone do that? Why would Clay risk a sentence if he didn’t do it?”

  Molly slid off of the stool and walked into Sam’s path to stop his pacing. “My theory is he thinks he’s protecting someone.”

  “Gretta?”

  Molly nodded. “I’m not sure if I’m right, but that would be my guess.”

  Shaking his head and giving a sigh, Sam just looked at her. She knew he could see there was no changing her mind on this. On top of finding the truth, she needed the closure on this as much as the rest of the town.

  “I’ll be up at the house. The second it’s done, you call me.” His voice was thick with concern, which Molly felt bad for.

  Going up on tiptoes, she circled his neck with her arms. “Everything will be fine. I won’t be alone. Will you take Tigger?”

  Sam buried his face in the crook of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. “Sure. He can keep me company. We can talk about finding you a better hobby.”

  Tigger pawed at their legs when he heard his name. Molly laughed. “I really need to take him for a walk later.”

  Sam touched her chin. “We’ll do it together.”

  Her heart squeezed. “I’d like that. You need to go. The first of my two visitors is going to be here in ten minutes.”

  Sam’s frown returned. “And the second?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  * * * *

  Despite telling Sam she wasn’t nervous or scared, her stomach felt like a salad spinner. If she was wrong about this, she’d look like a complete fool and probably make a lifelong enemy. Molly pulled the cork from the wine to let it breathe and set out two glasses. Just after eight, a knock came. Gripping the counter’s edge, she counted to five, forcing herself to breathe. You’ve got this.

  When she opened the door, she hoped her smile hid her anxiety. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem. I meant it when I said if there’s anything I can do,” Clara Phillips said, coming into Molly’s small home.

  She took off her long, dark coat and handed it to Molly. After hanging it, they went into the kitchen.

  “Would you like a glass of wine? I was going to have one,” Molly said.

  Clara’s smile was easy and bright. “No, thank you. But please, go ahead.”

  Molly poured herself a glass. Clara looked around the small space. Dressed impeccably in a pair of dark gray dress pants, a pale pink blouse, and kitten heels, she looked out of place in the cozy surroundings. Did she ever just wear yoga pants and sprawl on the couch?

  “This is quaint. Katherine mentioned that Sam did a lot of the work,” Clara said, turning to face Molly.

  Molly didn’t hide her surprise. “I didn’t actually know that. I’m not surprised, though. He’s good with his hands.”

  Clara’s eyes flashed with amusement, making Molly realize what she’d said. Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t correct herself. “He fixed my Jeep up for me. It had to be repainted.”

  Walking to the counter, Clara set her purse on top. “I heard you had some trouble. That’s terrible. I don’t know what’s happening with this town lately. I swear, it’s always been a quiet, friendly little place. Officer Beatty came out to question Savannah and her friend about the paint.”

  Molly nodded, feeling as though the dance had begun. “Yes. He told me. Seems Shannon had the same paint at her house. They used it for signs for the pep rally. I guess she didn’t know what to do with the extra.”

  Clara’s lips tipped down and she gave a disapproving shake of her head. “Shannon has some troubles, I’d say. But don’t judge Britton Bay based on a few incidents.”

  Molly sipped her wine, her fingers tight on the glass. “I won’t. I’m happy here. I wasn’t sure if I would be after Vernon died. I couldn’t help feeling like I was sort of the catalyst of his death and that’s a heavy weight.”

  Her guest pulled out a stool and sat. “Why would you feel that way?”

  Taking a deep breath, Molly set her glass down. “I’m a big believer in signs, but not so much in coincidence. When he died after I pushed him to interview your mom, I just really felt like there was a connection.”

  Molly watched for any sign of reaction, but Clara kept her face passive. “That’s ridiculous, Molly. I’m so sorry you put that burden on yourself. As I told you, my mother enjoyed chatting with Vernon. You obviously read too much into the timing and even if you don’t believe in it, clearly it was just a coincidence. I can’t imagine how Gretta is feeling. And Clay. Can you believe it? But at least he was man enough to confess and do the right thing in the end.”

  Nodding, heart beating fast, Molly worked to keep her tone even. “It’s not always easy to own up to your mistakes. Especially if you made them during a moment where you weren’t yourself.”

  Clara’s eyes darted to the wineglass and she shifted in her seat. “Very true. Perhaps his willingness to plead guilty will make an impact on the sentence. I probably shouldn’t stay too late. You said you had something for me?”

  Molly smiled. “Yes. Let me grab it.” She went to the entryway where she’d left the small box on the little side table. She had to work at keeping her hands steady.

  “Oh. What is all that?” Clara’s eyes widened.

  Molly set it down between them. “It’s a box of photographs and letters from your family. Your mother gave it to Vernon when he went to interview her.”

  “Really?” The pitch in her voice was the only indication of the woman’s nerves.

  “Yes.”

  Molly kept one hand on it, waiting.

  Clara’s smile was tight as her gaze met Molly’s. “It’s quite odd the police would give it to you, rather than the rightful owner. Was it in his home?”

  “No. I stole it from his car,” Molly said.

  The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

  Molly shrugged. “I told you, I couldn’t help f
eeling responsible. I thought maybe there was something in this box that led to Vernon’s death.”

  Clara’s nostrils flared. Color darkened her cheeks. “So you just took something that wasn’t yours? You realize that makes you a thief, right? Which, in my books, is no better than a vandal.”

  Molly let the insult slide, but Clara wasn’t done, nor was she nearly as calm. Her fingers curled into elegant fists. “I really don’t understand you, Molly. There’s no connection between Vernon’s death and my mother’s interview. She didn’t even say anything of consequence, which I’m sure you know seeing as you’re his editor. And while I appreciate you returning this to me now, I don’t see how I can avoid discussing proper protocol and procedure with Sheriff Saron. In fact, you’ll be lucky if my mother doesn’t want to press charges. I don’t want to take that route, but it doesn’t seem like you realize the line you’ve crossed.”

  Molly let her hand slide off the box. “I’d wait on that.”

  Clara stood, reaching out and sliding the box close to her. Molly was near enough to see that her visitor’s hand trembled. “I don’t think I will. I’m not sure if there’ll be consequences for your actions, but I can’t abide this. These items should have been returned to my mother. You seem like a nice enough girl, Molly, but I won’t just pretend this is okay. You had absolutely no right.”

  When Clara rounded the counter, moving the box with her, Molly moved as well, blocking her path.

  “You’re very good at pretending things are okay, though, aren’t you Clara?”

  “What?”

  The beating of her heart was almost painful in its intensity. “I couldn’t let it go. I just felt like there was a connection. When Clay confessed, I thought, Well, so much for your intuition. But I still wanted the interview with your mom. Alan had the idea that we’d honor Vernon by sharing the last piece he’d written in addition to some of his older articles.”

  Clara’s eyes cooled and her voice heated. “Would you let it go? My God. Our family has been in this town since the beginning. People know the story and while it’s really nice you want to honor Vernon, I don’t even see the point. No one liked him. Not even his own son, obviously.”