Scoop

by Rene Gutteridge

  “Yes, Mr. Talley?” she asked. He shut the door and told her to sit down.

  “Hayden, my marriage is falling apart.”

  “Mr. Talley, I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand. He took it and squeezed it. He didn’t care who saw or what office protocol he was breaking. He just wanted hope.

  “My marriage is the only thing I have left of who I was,” Hugo said. “It might shock you to know that I wasn’t always like this. I had ideals and convictions, you know. But after a while, you give in a little, and then you give in a little more, and the next thing you know, you can watch an entire family being brought out of a house in body bags with complete indifference. All you care about is getting it on the news first and making sure you’ve got the best pictures. I don’t need a stupid pill to numb me. I’ve been numb for a long time.” He wiped his tears. “Will you pray for me?”

  “Of course I will. I will pray for you as often as the Lord brings you to my heart.”

  “Will you pray for me now?”

  He could tell that surprised her. “It’s time I felt a little discomfort,” Hugo said.

  “Gilda?” Ray could hardly believe the sight in front of him. She stood in the doorway of her hotel room, decked out in a white bathrobe, her hair pulled back by a barrette.

  “How did you find me?” she whispered, then noticed Mack. “And who is this?”

  “We need to come in,” Ray said.

  Gilda looked reluctant. She opened the door and said, “The cleanest place to sit is the window sill.”

  Ray walked into the darkened room, lit with a single lamp. There was a crusty-looking bathroom and the lingering smell of pot that overflowed from the other rooms. A laundry bag sat on the chair next to the bed, and Ray could see the edge of what looked like a Hawaiian shirt poking out. The television was on, turned down low, and a few books were scattered across a filthy, but neatly made bed.

  “Are you okay?” Ray asked, turning to her.

  She nodded as tears flowed from her eyes. “You weren’t supposed to find me. What tipped you off?” she asked. Ray was about to explain everything when she said, “It was my accent, wasn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “I tried to hide it, but it’s hard to hide a southern accent.”

  Ray’s jaw dropped. “You’re the Electric Horseman?”

  “Isn’t that how you found me?”

  He shook his head, almost laughing. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

  “I bought the cheapest voice scrambler they had. I thought that’s what did me in.” She looked at Mack. “You look a little familiar.”

  “This is Hayden’s sister, Mack. She’s a police officer.”

  Gilda looked down. “Are you arresting me?”

  “I have no jurisdiction here, ma’am, though don’t tell anybody that. I faked my way into finding you.”

  Gilda looked at her. “Your sister, she’s got real talent. I’ve watched her every night she’s been on. She’s a natural. And really beautiful.”

  Ray leaned against the window sill on Gilda’s advice. “Tell me why you’re here. What led to all of this? Was it the incident Thursday?”

  Gilda scowled. “That’s what it was made to look like.” She sighed and threw up her hands. “I might as well tell you the entire thing. At this point, I don’t care if I go to jail.”

  “Roarke’s in jail,” Ray said.

  “Roarke?” Gilda looked astonished. “Roarke is the person of interest? Roarke is the one who’s been sending me the love letters?”

  “He didn’t mean any harm,” Ray quickly explained. “You know Roarke. He’s not weird. He just didn’t know how to tell you how much he liked you.” Ray felt his throat swell a little. “Let him off easy, will you?”

  “Easy? I’m not letting him off anything. That man owes me dinner and a bouquet of roses.” She smiled. “I’m glad it was Roarke. I thought it might be Tate or Sam, and that was really starting to worry me.” She shrugged. “You’re right, Roarke’s not really my type. But maybe that’s because I didn’t know what a romantic he could be.”

  Ray smiled, but Mack didn’t look as engaged. “Ms. Braun, we need to know how you ended up in this hotel. There are a lot of people who want to know where you are.”

  The joy in the room faded and Gilda slowly sat on the bed. “It started with someone sending me anonymous letters over the last two months about the wastewater treatment plant. I began investigating the claims and found two employees who had been fired. They worked in different parts of the plant and didn’t know one another. Both of them had been laid off’ due to budget cuts, but they both suspected that it was because of what they knew. One was in accounting and had raised questions about the exchange of money between the two companies. The other worked as a safety coordinator. Neither one of them, however, was the real whistle-blower.”

  “I read all your notes in a file called ‘Funny Forwards,’” Mack said. “You didn’t seem like the kind of person who would collect forwarded e-mails into a file.”

  “Actually, I like them. Roarke was always sending me the funniest—anyway, the file was originally named ‘Wastewater Notes.’ Then things got complicated.”

  “How so?” Ray asked.

  “I was floored at what I discovered. But all I had was personal accounts. I couldn’t pin down any hard facts. Still, I was pretty sure I had a story building, especially when I discovered Howard Crumm’s background. I put together what I had and asked to meet with Chad. I wanted to begin putting an investigative piece together. It had been years since I’d done anything like it, but I wanted everyone to see that I was a real news-woman, not just a talking head. If I couldn’t be beautiful like the other anchors, at least I would be smart. And make a difference. I went straight to Chad because I wanted the story to myself and I knew it would probably be reassigned if I brought it up in the meeting.”

  “What happened?”

  “Chad shot it down immediately. He told me it was ludicrous and then asked me what exactly I thought I’d be accomplishing by suggesting that there was a bit of scandal inside a sewage plant. He said, and I quote, ‘If it’s not sexy, lurid, horrific, or dramatic, there’s no need to waste airtime. There’s nothing sexy about sewage.’ And then he added that his sewage bill was down five dollars a month, so what did he have to complain about?”

  “When did this happen?” Ray asked.

  “A week before the plant exploded. The day it happened, I was furious. I sent Chad an e-mail and reamed him up one side and down the other. And that’s when it happened.”

  “What?”

  “He blackmailed me.”

  “How?”

  “Chad made the connection as to who P.G. was before I did, but when I told him we needed to go public with our information, he told me Green planned on suing our station and that I, personally, along with the station, was named in the lawsuit.”

  “He had to have made that up,” Ray said. “I visited Green, and he never mentioned it.”

  “Chad said that not only was my job on the line, but so was everyone else’s, and that if this lawsuit happened, he would make sure everyone blamed me for it. I was powerless. I didn’t know what to do. The conversation I’d had with Chad was in person, so I had no documentation proving he’d made the original call not to pursue the story.”

  “So he made you come here?”

  “He told me he wanted me to disappear for a week. One week. He said he would make all the arrangements and that I was to leave no evidence that I’d left in a planned manner. He just wanted it to appear that I’d vanished. After the week was up, I was to explain that I’d had a nervous breakdown and had gone to seek help.”

  “Let me guess,” Mack said. “You were under the impression that the boss was sending you to some resort in California.”

  Gilda nodded. “I thought I was going somewhere nice. And you have to understand what kind of mental state I was in. I wasn’t thinking clearly. After Chad rejecte
d my story, I felt useless. That’s when I went to get the Botox, and we all know how that went. So I thought it might be good for me to take a nice little vacation.”

  “Why did you think Chad concocted this plan?”

  “At first I thought he just wanted me out of there, to lay low, so to speak, and let it all pass over. But then I realized he’d planned all along for this to be a big story. He saw an opportunity to create buzz for sweeps week at my expense, and now, unfortunately, at the expense of others.”

  “So he was going to ride the wave of publicity through sweeps week,” Mack said, “then use you and your supposed mental breakdown as a scapegoat. Who cares how the story ends, right? As long as it was after sweeps week.”

  “Exactly,” Gilda sighed. “I’ve been sitting in this dungeon, hating myself for what I’ve done. But I couldn’t bear to show my face either. Watching your sister made me realize maybe it’s time for me to step down.” She glanced at the books on the bed. “I’ve been reading a lot of Dr. Phil.”

  Mack stood. “Well, Gilda, there’s a new story to tell, and it’s time you told it, starting with the police. There’s an innocent man behind bars who would probably stay there if he thought it would help you in any way.”

  Gilda’s lip trembled. “I’ll go to the police. But first, I want to settle a score. Let’s go pay Chad Arbus a little visit, shall we?” She walked to the door. “I’m glad I have my frown back.”

  Chapter 36

  Mr. Talley?”

  Hugo stopped clicking the Send-Receive button, which he’d been hitting every minute for the last hour, and waved Tate Franklin in. Still no reply from Jane. He had so much to do—scripts to write, loose ends to tie up—but he was waiting for a single e-mail.

  “Look, Tate, I’m working on the script. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can. I realize everyone’s really stressed, and I can appreciate your concern, but we’re just going to have to be a little flexible. Okay?”

  Tate sat down in the chair across from his desk. “The thing is, Mr. Talley, I don’t think this is for me.”

  “What isn’t?” Hugo asked, reaching over to hit the Send-Receive button again. Nothing. His heart sank.

  “I just need something more, I think. I’m not really sure.” His hands opened up like he was searching for words, and Hugo tugged his attention away from his computer.

  Hugo wasn’t really following. “Tate, you’re going to have to be more specific. You need more airtime? More lighting? What?”

  “No,” Tate said, laughing a little. “I’m talking about my life, Mr. Talley. This whole TV thing; it was cool for a while, you know. I mean, who doesn’t want to be on television every day and have your face really big on a billboard? But I’m kind of”—Tate drew his eyes upward, then back to Hugo—“bored, I guess.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but this is about as exciting as it gets around here. We don’t often get to cover our own news.” And thank goodness for that

  Tate smiled awkwardly. Smiled, not smirked. Where had that been all this time? “I’m saying that I think I’m done.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Tate glanced down like he was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. If my mother heard me say, ‘I’m done,’ she would pinch my cheek and tell me I’m not a roast. What I meant to say is, I’m finished.”

  Hugo’s hands moved around his desk for no reason, except to find some sort of sharp object. He kept his eyes locked on Tate. “You’re finished.”

  “I think so. It’s been fun. Really. You’ve been great, and everyone here is amazing. But last night, during the broadcast, I was thinking about how much I miss skydiving, and I thought maybe I’d go out to New Mexico and start a skydiving company.”

  That would come in handy for him when Hugo pushed him off a cliff. Hugo stood, pacing behind his desk. “Tate, that is the most immature thing I’ve ever heard. First of all, why would you be thinking about that during the broadcast? Shouldn’t you be thinking about the broadcast?” He sucked in a breath and a few choice words that nearly escaped. “Second, do you know how many people would give their right arm for your position? Son, I don’t think you know how good you have it.”

  Tate looked humble but unashamed. “I know, Mr. Talley. And that’s another reason I think my time’s over. There are a lot of people who want to do this, but I don’t. So why not move on?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Hugo said, “we’re in the middle of sweeps week! This isn’t really a good time to be talking about this! Not to mention your contract—have you looked at that lately? You can’t just drop everything and walk out.”

  “I don’t think I have another show in me.”

  Hugo marched around his desk and grabbed Tate by the shirt, pulling him to his feet, pushing his face within inches of Tate’s. “What do you mean by that?” Hugo realized how nice it felt to be able to do this. He wondered how red his face was. This felt really, really good. Had he not been so angry, he would have smiled about it.

  Tate’s eyes flew wide open. “Mr. Talley, you’re hurting me.”

  “I’m hurting your fancy shirt, Tate, not you.” Hugo let go of him and he fell back into his chair. “Are you saying that you’re quitting? Right now?”

  Tate barely nodded.

  “How can you do that? Don’t you feel any sense of responsibility? Don’t you understand the consequences of your actions? That’s the problem with your generation! It’s all about you, isn’t it?” The tension in Hugo’s voice climbed with every word. “Your mother didn’t spank you, did she? This is what has happened to the entire generation of children who weren’t spanked.”

  Tate’s eyes widened. “Are you going to spank me?”

  Hugo laughed, and then started laughing harder. He couldn’t stop himself. He knew this was the kind of laugh that probably echoed through the corridors of every mental hospital in the country, but he didn’t care. Tate felt like quitting? Hugo felt like laughing.

  Tate smiled a little. “It’s kind of freeing, you know.”

  Hugo teared up with laughter now.

  “To be able to just walk away from something.”

  “My wife knows exactly what you mean,” Hugo said. The laughter settled a little, and Hugo wiped the tears from his eyes.

  Tate stood and stuck out his hand like he was some kind of gentleman. “I want to thank you for the honor, sir.”

  Hugo’s smile had yet to fade. “It’s three hours before we go on air. You don’t see anything wrong with this picture?”

  Tate kept his arm stuck straight out and pressed his lips firmly together.

  And then Hugo saw her through his glass wall. She was walking across the newsroom, her stride swift, determined. Tate’s arm was still sticking out when Hugo maneuvered around it and out the door of his office. Hugo thought he was seeing things, because upon first glance it looked like she was wrapped in a white, heavenly light. But then he realized she was wearing a white bathrobe. Hugo stood with his mouth open, watching her petite figure beeline toward Chad’s office.

  “Gilda?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with shock. He glanced around, hoping everyone else was taking notice, that he wasn’t just seeing things. Everyone saw it. A few people stood. One person was clapping. Most everyone else was frozen. A few feet behind her, Ray followed. He looked at Hugo and smiled a little, then gave him a thumbs-up. Hugo had no idea what that meant, but it had to be good.

  Of course it was good. Gilda was back.

  Hugo raced forward and fell behind Gilda’s quick stride and next to Ray, who said, “You’re not going to believe this.”

  Gilda carried herself clear across the newsroom in a way that would not indicate she had any problems being seen in her bathrobe. It made Hugo wonder why, with that kind of confidence, she ever considered Botox. But that thought could wait.

  “What’s going on?” Hugo whispered.

  But before Ray could answer, Gilda was in Chad’s office, and Ray and Hugo were right behind her. The newsro
om fell into complete silence.

  Judging by Chad’s expression, he wasn’t expecting to see Gilda either. And then suddenly, he opened his arms and cried, “Gilda! You’re back!”

  “Give it up,” Gilda said calmly. “Nobody’s going to be fooled.”

  “Fooled?” Chad asked.

  “I’m going to tell the entire story,” she said. “On air.”

  Chad tried to hide his shocked expression with an uneasy smile. “Oh really.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what story would that be?”

  “That you made a mistake telling me that my investigation into the wastewater treatment plant wasn’t relevant, when, in fact, a week later the plant exploded. Then, to cover up your mistake, you blackmailed me, first by stealing all the e-mails detailing our discussion on the matter, and second, by claiming that I would take the fall if the station were sued. So you convinced me I should leave for a week until all this blew over and then come back claiming some sort of nervous breakdown. You said you would pay for it all, and that it was the best thing for everyone involved.”

  Chad glanced at Hugo, then at Ray, then back at Gilda. He looked speechless.

  “But instead of letting it blow over, you decided to use it to your advantage by making it look like I disappeared. And besides that, you’re a cheapskate. You could’ve afforded to send me to some nice resort. You sent me to a ratty old hotel!”

  Chad now looked amused. “Gilda, who is going to believe a has-been like you?”

  “I will,” Ray said.

  “Me too,” Hugo said.

  The rest of the newsroom agreed.

  Chad didn’t look deterred. “You’re going to bring the entire news station down, Gilda. Don’t you get it? Look around at all these people,” he said, gesturing toward his office door. “You’re sure you want to put their jobs in jeopardy too?” Chad walked around his desk and out the door, causing Gilda, Ray, and Hugo to step aside. Gilda’s arms remained crossed and her face determined as she watched Chad walk by. “Our ratings are at an all-time high, people,” Chad said, addressing the entire crowd. “Everyone wants to know where Gilda is and what has happened to her. We ride this one more day, and we have sweeps week sealed. Not only that, we’ll take our rightful place as the number-one news station in the city. What we’ve all worked for. You’re not going to let one woman’s foolish accusations take that away from you, are you?”