by M. G Scott
Sabrina buried her face into Blogg’s wide chest. He didn’t shy away from the awkward intimacy; instead, wrapping his burly arms around her shoulders for comfort. He, too, felt the pain—squeezing her as hard as he could. They got off on the wrong foot but their body language proved a mutual understanding of the anguish they both felt.
She pulled away and looked into Blogg’s reddened face, and silently thanked him. Without her even asking, he had driven up to meet her, without Getty. And she knew in the deepest part of her heart he had done it to comfort her, even if he refused to acknowledge it. A simple thought trickled into her head: Maybe he wasn’t an ass after all.
Scanning the yard, something caught Sabrina’s attention. Near a barely disturbed flower garden, the late morning sun caught the reflection of a small picture frame. She walked over and wiped away the smattering of mud that covered the front. It was a honeymoon photo, taken maybe twenty years earlier, showing a strikingly beautiful and fresh Carla Sanchez with another man. She was sitting in an armchair next to the gentleman of fascinating taste, his blondish hair tossed effortlessly straight back. He was dressed in a dark suit, his hands cupped together in a charming pose.
Eric Sanchez.
A random thought passed through her: Who would claim their possessions? From what she knew of them, they had no immediate family. She surveyed the disaster tossed around her. Then again, there was nothing left to even consider a possession.
The hum of an engine pulled her back into reality. A red pickup crawled up the drive and braked within a few yards of her. A plump looking man worked his way from behind the wheel. He was similarly dressed as the firefighters, but wore a white shirt instead of the standard navy blue.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he started, tipping his head as he held a folder of paper. She eyed the patch on his shoulder—it was the insignia of Pacific City. “I’m the fire marshal overseeing this case.”
“Morning,” she whispered back, her voice barely able to project anything remotely intelligent.
“You related to the deceased?” he asked gingerly as he approached the corner of the house where a set of windows once stood.
“Me?” She shook her head. “Just a stunned reporter. I was doing a story on her murdered husband when I found out about the fire.”
“Alleged murder,” corrected Blogg, walking up to the pair. “The homeowner was recently widowed.”
“In the last two weeks,” Sabrina interjected.
“Hmm,” the fire marshal said. He opened the folder and made some notations on a yellow pad.
Sabrina watched him for a moment. She dearly wanted to ask the one question that would answer why he was here. “I didn’t realize this was part of Pacific City jurisdiction,” she blurted.
He stopped writing and looked at her with puppy dog eyes. “It’s being investigated for arson, ma’am … and I’m ‘fraid Tillamook County doesn’t have the resources to handle it.”
The thought of an arsonist made her swallow hard—first Eric and now this? “Why do you think that?”
“The captain on the scene reported it as such. It’s in the initial report I just received. That’s why I’m here. Let me tell you, it’s always a rush to get out here before the place gets too disturbed.” He glanced at the house. “Although it looks like there’s not much someone could muss up.”
“Did the captain say why it might be arson?”
“Let’s see here.” He flipped through a couple of pages. “Path of fire was accelerated due to unknown additive. Source appears to be inside wall of master bedroom. … Discovered broken window in backdoor when first arrived.”
She moved closer to him. “I don’t understand who would want to murder a reclusive widow. She seemed to just want to keep to herself.”
“That’s if it’s not related to her husband,” Blogg blurted.
The fire marshal shook his head. “I’m ‘fraid I didn’t really know her. But when I’m done here this morning, I’m convinced her house is gonna leave quite a few clues what happened—maybe enough to catch the bastard.”
The revelations made her mind churn. Why? Who? If connected to Eric’s death, it was making her crazy she was no closer to an answer than two weeks ago. “Do you mind if I give you my email address? I would love to see a copy of the final report—you know, anything I can maybe make into an article.”
“No problem, ma’am.” He handed her his notepad.
Struggling with her one good hand, she scribbled on it and gave it back. “Could I use you in a follow up story?
“Damn it, Sabrina.” Blogg interjected. “Aren’t you seeing a problem here? Someone tried to run you off the road. And now, after you persuaded Carla to help you with her story, someone burned her house down and took her with it. Isn’t enough, enough?
The realization of what he was saying sliced through her. “Really? Are you suggesting this is my fault?”
“No, but somebody sure as hell doesn’t like what you’re up to.”
Sabrina threw imaginary knifes at Blogg with her eyes and then stormed off, toward the house. She got within twenty yards when she noticed a vanilla-colored envelope tucked away in a nearby shrub. She was about to call the fire marshal over when she noticed her name typewritten on the front of it.
Wondering if Carla had left it for only her to see, Sabrina decided to have a peek before alerting anyone. There was no name written on the envelope indicating who it was from, only that it was clearly intended for Sabrina—both her full name and address had been typed on the envelope.
She looked over at the fire marshal and Blogg, who were in a deep conversation and ignoring what she was up to. She looked back at the envelope, turning it over several times, debating if she really should open it.
After one more look at the fire marshal, she was convinced it was the right thing to do. She slid a fingernail under the envelope’s flap and then reached inside. She felt a few pieces of paper, maybe one thicker than the other, and pulled them out.
A color photo came into view. Her eyebrow creased as she turned the photo sideways. What am I looking at? Then it registered. Gasping, she dropped the envelope and backed away as if it was poison.
How did they know?
Chapter 28
Mannheim sat in his black Jeep and smiled. Watching the smoldering house just a few hundred yards away provided the perfect ending to his objective.
If only his contractor could’ve seen the look on the reporter’s face.
Mannheim had promised to take care of the situation and it was going exactly as planned. He put the binoculars back up to his eyes and tracked the reporter as she stumbled toward her car. Mannheim then turned the binoculars on Blogg: He was calling to the reporter, obviously noticing her bizarre behavior. She was ignoring him, slamming the car door just as he was within a few feet of her. She then backed out of the driveway, not caring she was half on the lawn.
Shit. He hadn’t prepared for such a sudden departure. He threw the binoculars on the seat and slid down. As she sped by, he eyed the horror on her face. She was looking straight ahead, her face ghost white, unaware that she just passed Carla Sanchez’s murderer.
Mannheim moved back into an upright position and started his car. Giddy at what he had accomplished, he knew the threat to his employer was just about over. While he relished the opportunity to eliminate the reporter, that would be too messy—besides, she was clearly shocked by the package and should be long gone by tomorrow.
Now he just needed to take care of one more piece of business: Mona Frederick.
His contacts at BioHumanity alerted him to the conversation Mona had with Sabrina. They were monitoring all of Sanchez’s colleagues and recorded what Mona had said to the reporter. That conversation persuaded him Mona needed to be addressed.
The unfortunate part was he was going to have to finish the job with an accomplice—the deadline to act alone had passed and he still didn’t have possession of the journal. As far as how the bonus would be split, he
would work all of that out with his contractor once the job was finished.
He smiled. Wouldn’t it be coincidental if the accomplice met an untimely death?
Then the bonus would be all his.
Chapter 29
On the other side of the Heart Center, in the administrative wing, Rico hovered over his assistant, Vale.
“See here,” Vale said, pointing at an LED monitor.
“No, I’m not seeing it,” Rico replied.
Vale rewound the video a few frames. “It’s hard to catch because she’s quick, but it’s definitely there.”
“Can you blow it up?”
Vale drew a box around the woman’s hand with his finger and clicked a few keys on the computer. The screen zoomed, showing her hand near another woman’s jacket.
“Now rerun the frames … in slo-mo.”
The woman pushed her clenched hand into another woman’s pocket and then pulled it back, but this time, her hand was open.
“Damn it!” Rico shouted. “You’re right.” He jumped from his chair. “I’m gonna need a lockdown on Gina Hodgkin’s room now!”
Rico bolted out of the security wing and into the stairwell. Taking two steps at a time, he jumped to the next floor’s landing. Slamming the stairwell door opened, he sprinted down the hall to Vua’s office, bursting in without knocking.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Steven … but it’s urgent,” Rico said, interrupting a client meeting.
A look of disgust crossed Vua’s face until he realized the urgency in Rico’s voice. “Can you excuse me for a moment, Ms. Cho. I promise I’ll be right back.”
Vua directed Rico toward the hallway. He closed the door when they were both outside. “This had better be good.”
Rico nodded. “You asked me to take another look at the video from the woman we deported. Well, we just analyzed it. There’s definitely been a breech. She gave something to Gina Hyde.”
“Are you sure?”
A nod. “Hundred percent.”
“Then get down to her room and find out what it is.”
“And if Gina found it?”
Vua looked away. “I pray for her sake that’s not the case.”
“But if it is?” Rico pressed.
Vua thought for a moment. “Then we’ll simply have to see if Ms. Hyde is willing to become an evangelist for BioHumanity.”
“I see,” Rico responded.
Chapter 30
The Beacon’s front door groaned as Sabrina pushed her way into the office. All around her, empty desks were scattered with paper and pencils. The writers were out scurrying for their next story, well aware that a big story is always hard to come by in Neskowin. That is, every writer except two.
In the far corner, near the reporters’ makeshift kitchen, Getty was at a table hunched over his laptop, pounding the keys with two index fingers. Just to the left stood the only interior door in the whole office—the entrance to Blogg’s office. The blinds were drawn shut over the window inset in the door but Sabrina could still make out the heavyset figure of Blogg making a point on his cellphone.
Disrupted by the visitor, Getty casually turned to see who it was. Realizing it was Sabrina, he grunted, then quickly returned to taking out his aggression on the keyboard.
You’re an ass, Sabrina thought. She pushed her way past him and gave two quick knocks on Blogg’s door. He had called her an hour earlier saying he needed to talk … urgently.
Blogg squinted toward the blinds then gestured her in with two quick waves. She popped in and slid comfortably into the old leather chair that sat across from his desk.
“We’ve got to get to the bottom of this. Now!” Blogg hollered into his cellphone. He let the caller talk for a minute and then replied, “Fine. Let’s get it done then.” He flipped the phone onto his desk and gazed over at his visitor. “I appreciate you coming in on such short notice, especially after what you’ve been through the past few days.”
“It hasn’t been easy,” Sabrina said softly.
“I understand that. I really do.” His voice was mellower. “It hasn’t been easy for me either.” A pause. “But I want to know what the hell is going on here. … There’s too many people dying … too many to be considered an aberration.”
“No argument from me.”
Blogg breathed heavily and then said, “And that’s what I want to talk to you about.”
Sabrina looked away. She didn’t like where this was going.
“You’re way too close to this thing. You’re going to get seriously hurt.” He crossed his arms. “And I think you know that.”
“Look … it’s not about me. It’s about finding the truth. That’s all I’m trying to do.”
“And you think the best way to do that is to stay one step ahead of what the killer is doing, to be smarter than him or her. And hope he doesn’t kill you in the process. Is that right?”
“No,” she pleaded. “It’s not that at all. I just know he’s going to make a mistake, and that’ll be my big break.”
“That’s the problem I have with this.” He leaned forward. “Look, you are one of the most passionate reporters I’ve ever met but also the most stubborn. It’s clear you care about your subjects and your writing is really showing promise.” A pause. “Hell, I’ll just say it. You’re turning into one helluva reporter … I’ll tell you that. You’ve still got a lot to learn but you’ve grown leaps and bounds since we first met.”
Sabrina’s eyes opened wide. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I wouldn’t expect such a compliment.”
He leaned further over the desk. “We’ve been through a lot in the short time we’ve been together, and because of that, I’ve developed a bit of affection for you.”
“Thank you,” she said embarrassingly. He let his guard down, which he had never done in their previous conversations, and she didn’t know how to respond.
He waved her off. “There’s no need for that.”
“No, really. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I never thought, after our rough start, that I’d … like … ever hear such things. But can I also say … I haven’t quite developed the same level of affection for you,” she said, half-smiling.
Blogg smirked. “That’s what I like about you. You never mince words … that’s for sure. And boy, you say what you’re thinking. Those are great attributes of a reporter, especially a first-time one.” But there was an undertone to his voice that suggested he wasn’t taking this time just to praise her.
“So why do I have this feeling you’re going to give me some bad news?”
He reached behind and grabbed a stack of papers sitting on a shelf. After rifling through them for a few seconds, he pulled a photo and pushed it across the desk. “I found this on Carla’s front lawn. I think you saw it too, and were quite disturbed over it.”
Sabrina grabbed the photo and, without looking at it, pushed it into her handbag. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said, knowing her face was beat red from embarrassment.
He pointed toward her bag. “Is that why you left New York?”
She looked away. “I don’t really want to talk about it.” Then she said, “But it’s a past I’m trying to forget, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He nodded. “I don’t suppose you know who left it there for you?”
She shook her head. “No doubt it was whoever killed Carla, trying to scare me off.” She took a deep breath and then her voice became louder, stronger. “But if he thinks he’s gotten the best of me, he’s dead wrong … it’s only made me more determined.”
“That’s what worries me.”
A lump formed in her throat. “So what are you saying?”
He stood and started pacing. “I don’t think there’s any way for this to end good. It’s headed for a very bad ending and I can’t have that on my watch.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Her voice quivered with emotion she hadn’t felt in weeks.
“I want you to stop putting yourself
in danger … to be safe. Look, I get it. You’re trying to do the right thing … to help people who have had an injustice handed to them. You had a hunch, and you were right. And I admit, we didn’t think there was a chance in hell you’d be right. But you were.”
“That seems like a small consolation now,” Sabrina replied.
“But being right doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences. The fact is we now have a killer out there who’s most likely killed Eric and Carla Sanchez. And now he’s on to you. That scares the hell out of me.”
She stood. There just wasn’t any possible way she was going to give this up. She just needed a little more time. “It was just a picture. That’s not putting me in harm’s way,” she pleaded.
“Maybe so.” He pointed to her sling. “And what do you think that was—an accident?”
Her shoulders wilted. She hadn’t thought about the car accident in a week. “So you’re firing me?” she asked half-jokingly.
Blogg looked away. And then he nodded as his eyes welled with tears.
It was the first time she had ever seen him emotional but her anger suppressed any empathy she might’ve felt.
“Oh my God, it’s so unfair.” She grabbed a copy of the Beacon stacked next to the door and threw it at him. “How’s this for news. You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life!”
She whipped open the door and stomped out, the blinds clattering in response.
“Sabrina!”
She turned.
“Just go back home to New York. It’s the safest thing for you right now.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
Chapter 31
As the Acapulco sun poured through the large window, Gina rolled over in bed, trying to shield her eyes from the brightness. She flipped on her side, her nose an inch from the wall, and then turned the other way. Nothing seemed to worked.
