Scoop

by Rene Gutteridge

  He located a folder three folders under her main “Office Memos” folder. It read simply “For reference.” That folder opened up to twenty or more folders, one for every person in the office whom Gilda dealt with.

  “How’s it going?” one of the detectives asked.

  “Give me a few more minutes,” Ray said. “I’m making progress.”

  He glanced up and noticed one of the detectives heading toward Tate and Hayden, who were still on the newsroom floor.

  He scrolled down to see if any name caught his eye. There were so many, all people he knew, including himself. He decided to check out Hugo’s folder. He’d been reluctant to run the story at first. Maybe there was a reason.

  Nearly five hundred e-mails filled the folder. Ray groaned. There was no time to go through them all. He scrolled down, hoping something significant would hit him. But each folder contained multiple e-mails. There was no time.

  Then he saw Chad Arbus’s folder. It felt a little strange to peek, since he was the big boss man and there was bound to be some information in there that no one but Gilda should look at.

  That twinge of guilt didn’t stop him, though. He clicked on it, and to his surprise, the folder was completely empty. How could that be? There were no fewer than twenty e-mails in every folder, and most of them contained hundreds.

  Ray stared at the white space in front of him. Something was wrong. This folder should not be empty. Ray knew he had received at least forty or fifty e-mails from Arbus in the last couple of months, and Gilda was the lead anchor.

  “Anything?” the detective behind him asked. He was starting to sound agitated.

  Ray clicked on another folder quickly, scanning each e-mail to make it look like he was doing something. “I’m not finding it,” Ray said, trying to sound disgruntled even though he felt rather optimistic.

  The other detective approached. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lead.”

  Ray’s ears perked up as he turned. “What lead?”

  “Thanks for your help,” the detective said, and within a minute, the police were gone. Ray glanced around and saw Jill staring at him from her desk across the newsroom. She smiled.

  Ray didn’t smile back. Instead, he decided to leave. He had to do some heavy thinking, and Jill wasn’t helping him concentrate. Ray switched off his computer, grabbed his keys, and turned around to find Sam right in his path.

  “Hey,” Sam said, his voice heavy. He slumped a little.

  “Hey, Sam.”

  “Nuts, isn’t it? Tonight, I mean.”

  “Yeah. Crazy. Well, have a good night.”

  “What are you doing right now?” Sam asked. “I mean, you got a hot date or anything?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Yeah, me either. You want to go hang out? Maybe go to a sports bar, get some nachos?”

  The Ray that attended church on a regular basis knew this was an opportunity to “minister.” Sam was lonely, looking for a connection. He’d been clear about how disgruntled he was. And now he was asking for Ray’s attention.

  This was exactly how they described the “searcher” in the book they were studying in their Sunday-school class. And the five steps to converting the searcher included spending quality time with the person. Sharing nachos qualified.

  “I’m beat,” he said carefully. Dejection smothered Sam’s expression. Ray wanted to kick himself—one, for caring so much and, two, for being a schmuck and not caring enough.

  Ray glanced away and saw Jill, still watching him. How could he have been so clueless about Jill’s feelings for him all this time? Maybe it had been buried in the competitive nature of their business. Whatever the case, Jill was definitely not his kind of woman. But…

  “Hey, Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Listen, you may not have noticed, but I think Jill is interested in you.”

  Sam’s eyebrows popped up. “Jill Clark?”

  “It’s just a feeling,” Ray said. “But look, she can’t take her eyes off us.” Sam slowly looked over. Jill smiled. “Maybe you should go over and chat with her. You know how women are. They play hard to get, but it’s worth a try.”

  Sam grinned widely. “She’s hot.”

  “And has such a great personality,” Ray said with a straight face. Well, what could he do? He wasn’t a saint. Sam charged off, and Ray rushed toward the side door and out into the cold night air.

  He fumbled with his keys while taking long strides toward his car. His mind was racing in a thousand directions, but each thought orbited a single source: Chad Arbus.

  What was he getting himself into?

  He unlocked his car door, and as he heard it click, he also heard someone behind him.

  Chapter31

  Ray’s heart had finally slowed to a normal pace after he arrived at Hayden’s apartment, only to start beating abnormally fast again when he realized he would be near her outside of work.

  Mack had stopped him in the parking lot and told him to meet them at Hayden’s apartment in half an hour. She handed him a piece of paper with the address and walked away. The whole affair had a quasi-cloak-and-dagger feel to it, so once again Ray was confused about the intent of the gathering. He didn’t want to assume it was a date, but if it was, he wanted to be fully prepared, so he stopped at Walgreens and bought some cheap cologne and hair gel. He’d gone on air without looking his best, but reporters weren’t known for their glamour. He’d been focusing so hard on the story, he’d forgotten to check on his hair. It looked a little funky, and Ray wasn’t sure hair gel was going to do much to help, but he blobbed some on anyway.

  He found the apartment. The lights were on. That was good. Ray didn’t want to be loitering awkwardly at the front door. Hayden answered his knock quickly and greeted him with a large smile. She was still dressed in the suit she’d worn on air, and she looked as radiant as if it were nine in the morning.

  “Come in!” she said.

  “Thanks.” Ray stepped in and took in the decor. A Yankee candle aroma filled his nostrils. The drapes were blue and matched the chambray couch. A small television sat on a small table next to a large, old-looking trunk. The kitchen was tidy, as was the breakfast table that sat next to it.

  “Nice place,” he said.

  “Sit down,” she said. “I know its late, but I’m glad you could come over.”

  “Me too.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. The rule was that you were supposed to play it cool when you were around someone you liked, but part of Ray wanted to gush. And gushing could not be inserted in any way into the definition of “cool.” But Hayden wouldn’t stop smiling, so Ray could only return the favor.

  “You found the place okay?”

  “Yes.” He glanced down the hallway. “Is Mack here?”

  “She’ll be right back. She had to run an errand. I’m baking brownies.”

  “Great. I love brownies.” Ray watched her wrap an apron around her waist and pull on two oven mitts. Could she possibly be any more adorable?

  “Crazy night, huh?” Ray said, strolling to a bookcase on the far wall of her apartment. He studied some of the tides. There were a lot of older books that looked like they might fall apart if touched, so he kept his hands off of them.

  The front door opened and Mack walked in, carrying some groceries. “Hi, Ray,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  He wondered if Trent had been invited. But he didn’t have to wonder long. Mack said, “Okay, we have a lot to talk about. I’ve been investigating your anchors disappearance.”

  Ray joined them at the kitchen table. “Really?”

  “Yeah. As you know, her makeup was missing, and I’m speculating that some summer clothes were taken as well. That tells me the woman left and had enough time to think through what to pack. It also tells me her plan was to go somewhere warm.”

  “I just can’t see Gilda, at least in her right mind, packing up and leaving without telling anyone.”

  “Exactly. I thought it was also odd that Gilda
’s suitcases were still sitting in the middle of her closet. The first thing I noticed was that her apartment was very neat and organized. It seemed to me that the suitcases were left out intentionally, so the first reaction would be to rule out the fact that she’d gone somewhere. And then there’s the fact that the back-door lock was picked.”

  Ray nodded. Mack seemed pretty perceptive, and he didn’t want to spill Roarke’s secrets. He averted his eyes, which he was sure made him look spectacularly uncorrupted.

  “I checked flights and rental cars, but nothing came up with her name on it. I also checked her credit cards, which haven’t been used, and her bank account, which has had no money withdrawn from it for over a week. Something’s not right about it. If she’d decided to leave intentionally, she would’ve used money. But if she left by force, why would she take the time to pack summer clothes and her makeup?”

  “Hayden told you about her embarrassing Botox incident?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Hayden said. “I thought she might’ve just wanted to get away from it all.”

  “But you have the back-door lock that has been picked. I looked at it, and it was picked recently. Some traces of metal shavings were on the concrete. Whoever picked the lock had no idea what he was doing. It was definitely amateurish. In fact, I think whoever opened the door finally just got fed up with it and yanked it open, which isn’t hard to do if you don’t have a safety bar, which this sliding door did not.” She glanced at Hayden. “Please tell me you have a safety bar.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” Mack sighed. “So I’m really at a loss, but something tells me that there’s someone else involved.”

  Ray stared at the table, trying to decide how much information he should divulge. Sharing that Roarke had picked the lock would be helpful, but it would also spill Roarke’s secret, which he had sworn he wouldn’t do. Instead, he decided to tell Mack and Hayden what he knew.

  “I found something odd today,” Ray began, as Hayden stood to cut the brownies.

  “About Gilda?”

  “I think so.” He didn’t know where to begin, but he started by telling them about the Electric Horseman and the information he’d given concerning the plant explosion. He ended by explaining what he’d found on Gilda’s computer in Chad Arbus’s file.

  “Strange,” Mack said, scratching her temple.

  Ray looked back and forth between the two sisters. They were both walking clichés, in a sense, and yet had no idea they should be concerned about it. How could they be clichéd and genuine all at the same time?

  He tried to focus on the problem at hand. “You know,” he said, “before the police left, one of the detectives said they’d gotten a new lead. What do you suppose they found?”

  Mack shrugged. “I don’t know. I did notice they left quickly.”

  “Me too,” Hayden said. “In fact, they were kind of rude about it.”

  “What do you mean?” Mack asked.

  “Well, they were right in the middle of asking Tate and me questions, and then suddenly the detective snapped his notebook shut and walked away. He didn’t even say thank you,” Hayden recalled. She looked at Mack. “I know you would’ve at least thanked us for the time.”

  Mack, however, didn’t seem too hung up on the thank-you portion. “Tell me what the detectives asked you.”

  Hayden stirred her second bowl of brownie batter. “Gosh, there were so many questions. Tate answered most of them, I think. Things like, when was the last time we’d seen Gilda, was she acting strangely? I mentioned the Botox incident, but they already knew about that.”

  “When did the detective close his notepad?” Mack asked. Ray was beginning to think Mack would make a good investigative reporter. She asked all his questions.

  Hayden stopped stirring and thought for a moment. She seemed to be running through a list in her head. Then she said, “I know.”

  “What?” Mack asked, leaning forward just like Ray.

  “Hold on.” She held up a finger. “I’ve got to pour this batter into a pan.”

  Ray could only laugh, and as he glanced at Mack, she smiled too, and gave Ray a knowing glance. They watched Hayden carefully pour the batter and smooth out the top. Ray whispered to Mack, “Is Hayden always this laid back?”

  Mack nodded. “Most of the time. I’ve only seen her really uptight once.”

  “Really? When?”

  “It was shortly after our parents died, and our brother, Mitch, announced that he was selling the family business. Hayden was devastated.” Mack looked toward the kitchen as Hayden prepared to stick the pan in the oven. “And look at her now. Our parents would be so proud. I always knew she would be something big, but she never believed in herself. She always felt second-best because of her clown phobia.”

  “She’s a really special woman,” Ray said, glancing at Mack before bowing his head in embarrassment. This woman turned him into a gusher! If Roarke had witnessed this, he would’ve stuck Ray in front of a television and made him watch an ultimate fighter marathon.

  Roarke! He’d forgotten that he’d promised Roarke he would come over after the show. Ray slapped his hand to his forehead. Not only was he a gusher, but he was now officially a loser friend.

  Mack took notice of his distress and was about to say something when Hayden finally replied, “Okay, got the brownies going. Now, the detective asked both of us if we knew of anybody at the office who had taken a sudden interest in Gilda. Tate said he hadn’t noticed.”

  “And what did you say?” Ray asked.

  She grinned. “Well, isn’t it a little obvious?”

  Ray and Mack exchanged glances.

  “Obvious? What’s obvious?”

  Hayden took off her oven mitts and came to the table. “Anyone want milk with their brownies?”

  “Who did you say was interested in Gilda?” Ray said, trying to get her focused.

  Hayden sat down. “You don’t know, Ray? Maybe it’s because I’m a woman, but it seemed fairly obvious to me.”

  “Who, Hayden?” Mack asked, and Ray was relieved he wasn’t the one to have to push her along.

  “Roarke, of course!” She giggled. “I noticed it when I first came to the station. He has a huge crush on her. He’s always watching her like she’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.” She smiled, but it lessened as she looked at Ray. “What’s the matter?”

  Ray had a hard time getting any words out. “You told them Roarke had a crush on Gilda?”

  “It wasn’t a big deal. I figured they were just trying to find out who liked Gilda and who hated her. Obviously, Roarke likes her.”

  Ray stood, making a small circle near the table as he tried to think. “I need to use your phone.”

  “What’s the matter?” Hayden asked, handing it to him.

  Ray dialed Roarke’s home phone number as Mack explained why the police might suddenly be interested in Roarke. As the ringing started, he heard Mack having to explain it further. Obviously Hayden had never seen any kind of crime drama on television. Roarke’s voice mail picked up, and Ray hung up the phone. He dialed Roarke’s cell but got his voice mail too. As he was trying to think of what to do next, he heard Hayden ask Mack, “So you think they went to Roarke’s home to question him?”

  Ray turned away. Her naiveté wasn’t quite so charming anymore. He decided to check his messages at home, if he could remember how to access them. As he dialed the number, Hayden was by his side, grasping his arm. “Ray, I am so sorry. I had no idea that this would make Roarke a suspect.”

  Ray tried to smile and nod, but he could only think of Roarke right now. He punched in what he hoped was his four-digit password. He held his breath, hoping and praying he would have a message from Roarke.

  The rigid female voice announced plainly, “You have eighteen messages.”

  Hugo entered a completely dark house. Normally Jane left a living-room light on and sometimes even the television, muted. But there was no sound nor sight in his home. He f
elt for the light switch in the kitchen and flipped it on. He’d lost his appetite, especially when he realized he wouldn’t be able to come home right after the show like he’d promised, but he peeked in the fridge for his dinner plate anyway.

  To his surprise, there was nothing there. They’d had a lot of fights over the years, but Jane had never thrown his food in the garbage. Come to think of it, the kitchen didn’t have the normal, lingering smell of dinner in the air. Maybe Jane and Kaylin went out. But even then, she always ordered him something to leave in the fridge.

  Hugo sighed. If he ate, it would only be to get his mind off his troubles. So maybe he should figure out how to get out of his troubles so meals could be meals instead of distractions.

  He laid his things on the table then decided to scoop them up and take them upstairs like Jane liked for him to do. She had this pet peeve about things left on the table, but most nights Hugo was too tired to organize. He never understood why he couldn’t do it the next day.

  He climbed the stairs, another reminder of their differences. Hugo had wanted a house without stairs, while Jane had insisted on two stories.

  He normally checked on Kaylin, but he wanted to talk to Jane, even if he had to wake her up. This couldn’t wait until morning, and he could only pray that she would understand what kind of night he had had.

  That’s the sad thing he thought as he plodded down the hallway toward his bedroom. He needed someone to talk to about tonight. Hugo had awakened Jane on only a few occasions, but she’d always listened, even with her eyelids halfway drawn.

  Yet even the dilemmas at work paled in comparison to the state of his marriage. Something told him he could save it if he would just listen to her, try to figure out where things had gone wrong. Maybe it was as simple as leaving socks on the floor. Or maybe it was more complex, since he knew he’d seemed distant the past few months. But Hugo knew every problem had a solution. It was just a matter of finding it.

  He walked quietly across the dark bedroom toward the bathroom, his eyes barely adjusting to the darkness. He had always wanted a night-light so he could see better coming home, but Jane had a list of criteria that had to be met for her to sleep soundly, and one of those was a pitch-black room.