by Zoe Carter
Lauren headed into the kitchen and got out the pans and pots she’d need for “get my family to talk,” aka good old meatballs and spaghetti and garlic bread. Lauren wasn’t much of a cook, but she could make a decent meatball, and her sauce was good. Her father loved spaghetti and meatballs, and Nova had a weakness for garlic bread. Jennifer always seemed grateful for home-cooked food, even though her boyfriend back in New York was a chef. Probably because he was a fancy chef of vertical creations that cost thirty-two dollars. The power of comfort food was her secret power.
Lauren heard the front door open and close. Showtime.
“Thank God someone is making dinner,” Nova said as she came in the kitchen. “I’m beat.” Her sister was still in her uniform, her shoulder-length blond hair in a low ponytail. Nova might be no-nonsense, but she was so pretty, and it was hard to believe she was closing in on forty. At the sight of Lauren stirring the meatballs, Nova raised an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”
“Just in the mood for mom’s spaghetti and meatballs,” Lauren said, which was true. It was always true. “You taught me from her recipe when I was around ten or eleven, remember? I can make this with my eyes closed.”
Nova’s serious face softened. “I remember how you managed to get sauce all over yourself.” She laughed, too rare a sound from Nova. “Need any help?”
“Nope,” Lauren said. “I’ve got it. I called Dad earlier to tell him I was making dinner and he said he’d be home by six thirty, but he’s late. Was he still at the station when you left?”
“Arguing with Lewton over a new case. A body was found in the woods a few weeks ago, half on the Heights town line and half on Piedmont’s. She was finally identified today.”
“Why wasn’t it made public?” Though technically, it had been, since it had made the Gazette, even just a three-line article.
Nova shrugged. “I’m sure some of it was political. Thornwood Heights has had a lot of bad publicity lately—not good for a tourist town. The mayor probably had something to do with Dad keeping the discovery of the recent body on the down low, at least until a positive identification could be made.”
“What was the cause of death?” Lauren asked, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice. The less she acted like a reporter, the more information she’d get.
“Strangled, apparently. There was evidence of drugs found beside her, so talk is that she may have been a dealer or it was a drug deal gone bad.”
Lauren thought of Trevor Gallagher hearing that from the medical examiner. Jesus.
“Who’s Dad assigning the case to?” Lauren asked as she spooned sauce over the fragrant meatballs and turned down the burner.
“I don’t know. A runaway and no evidence? Doesn’t look promising to find her killer, but now that they’ve ID’d her, at least they can investigate her past, see who her connections were, find a lead.”
Once again Lauren wondered what Tammy and Victor had been doing together. Had Tammy known something about one the missing girls? Maybe she was a friend of one? Lauren remembered again Victor’s online request for information.
Had whatever Tammy had known about the missing girls gotten her killed?
Lauren thought of the missing women in the photos from Victor’s computer file. She’d seen at least ten photographs. Would their skeletons turn up too? Or were they runaways who’d taken off and never come back? Abby Blake had never been found, had never made any contact with her family. Neither had the other missing girls. But the remains of a missing girl from two decades ago had been found—the skeleton at the boathouse. And suddenly, a new body had been found: Tammy.
Or was that just a coincidence, like Trevor said it might be? Maybe Tammy was a druggie who’d gotten mixed up with the wrong people and a deal gone wrong. With deadly consequences. Maybe there was a violent boyfriend? Maybe she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and a psycho stranger had killed her. A hell of a lot of maybes.
There was nothing a journalist hated more than not having the facts. And finding them was difficult to get. Lauren didn’t have a journalism degree. All she had was two years of training as Victor’s assistant. Watching, learning, doing.
“Mmm, do I smell meatballs? And garlic bread?” came the big voice of Tommy Riley, the sound of the front door shutting behind him. He came into the kitchen with Jennifer right behind him and smiled at his daughters. “I’m starving.”
“Me too,” Jennifer said, taking off her black blazer to reveal a drapey, shimmery gray top over expensively cut black pants. Jennifer might not have jurisdiction in Thornwood Heights, but she dressed like a New York professional detective every day.
“There’s grass stuck to your heels,” Lauren said to Jennifer, eyeing her sister’s black leather shoes. As if you’ve been out in the woods, investigating the murder of an eighteen-year-old girl.
Jennifer glanced at her shoes, then up at Lauren. “Damn, you’re good.”
Lauren could hear the admiration in her sister’s tone. Score one for me. “Were you investigating the murder of Tammy Gallagher? The girl found in the woods?”
Tommy snapped his gaze to Lauren. “How the hell do you know about that already? We haven’t released her ID yet.”
“I heard you talking to her brother today outside the police station,” Lauren said. “And then I saw him come out of the morgue in total anguish.”
He shook his head. Not for Trevor Gallagher, who’d had to ID his sister. But because she’d been hiding in the bushes, eavesdropping. Tommy gave the air a good sniff. “That really does smell good, Lauren. Can we skip the shop talk and eat?”
Sometimes her father drove her nuts. A teenage girl was dead—a girl lying in the morgue for weeks, unidentified. Now she had a name. And a brother. But her father wanted his damned meatballs and spaghetti?
Cool it, she told herself. You made his favorite for a reason. Get the cops to the table. And grill them.
Of course, the three Riley sisters served while their father sat and waited like a king. Old school and never going to change. They’d tried over the years, but Lauren and Nova finally accepted their dad was their dad and the bad came with the good. It’s not like either of them had moved out. Their family had taken the hit of all hits when their mother had died and again when Jennifer had left. Nova had taken over raising Lauren, and by the time Lauren had reached adulthood, she’d been kind of a flop at it. She couldn’t have moved out and supported herself if she’d wanted to. Once Victor had promoted her to full reporter, she’d made enough to rent her own condo, but she found herself not wanting to move out. That had been unexpected.
“Delicious,” Tommy said, biting into a meatball, followed by a huge swirled forkful of spaghetti. “Every time I have this, I’m reminded of your mother’s cooking, Lauren.”
Nova smiled and squeezed Tommy’s hand. Jennifer looked...uptight. It had been a long time since she’d been home, having family dinners. Jennifer Riley might have “cop face” most of the time, but Victor Townsend had trained Lauren well. She knew to look under the surface, to wait for the tiniest flickers of movement on someone’s face. The truth will out—that was a favorite old expression of her mother’s. And Lauren could see the truth on Jennifer’s face. It was really hard for her sister to be here.
“So what’s the word on Tammy Gallagher?” Lauren said, glancing at Jennifer. “Were you out investigating in the woods?”
“Jen isn’t a Thornwood Heights cop,” Tommy said, his voice serious as he broke off a piece of garlic bread. “She has no jurisdiction here and she knows it. I’d love to have her on the force—if she wants to leave New York. But until then, while she’s in Thornwood Heights she’s my daughter, not a cop.”
“Regardless, I can still look around, check things out,” Jennifer said, twirling spaghetti on her fork.
“How’d you know about the body’s ID anyw
ay?” Lauren asked. Who, what, where, when, mainstays of her life. And Lauren’s personal favorite: how.
“Hayden mentioned it when I ran into him at the coffee shop,” Jennifer said. “He released new forms since dental records confirmed the ID. It’s public now.”
Lauren glanced at Jennifer. Hayden Blake, medical examiner. Lauren had run into Jennifer and Hayden talking twice over the past week, and because it was Lauren’s job to notice everything, she couldn’t help but catch the looks that passed between them. Guarded as Jennifer was, Lauren knew feeling when she saw it. Her sister had it for Hayden. And he had it for her. But apparently, Jennifer was hot and heavy with the chef back in New York. But Jennifer hadn’t exactly rushed back to New York City when Lauren had been exonerated. She was staying to investigate the skeleton at the boathouse. And anything that might lead to information about the disappearance of Abby Blake.
“So, Dad, who’ve you got working the Tammy Gallagher case?” Lauren asked. “I have information.”
Tommy Riley was more interested in his garlic bread than in Lauren’s question.
“Dad?” Lauren prompted.
“I gave it to the rookie,” Tommy said. “With me overseeing, of course.”
Lauren felt Jennifer staring at her. “What information?”
“I saw Tammy Gallagher talking to Victor a few weeks ago. Behind the Townsend Report office,” Lauren said. “Until Trevor showed me a photo of Tammy with the bleached blond hair, I didn’t realize it was her.”
“And?” was Nova’s helpful response. “Victor talked to people. I always saw him out and about, interviewing people.”
“But interviewing Tammy Gallagher, who just so happened to be murdered not long after?”
“Lauren, you of all people know that Victor was killed by his jealous boyfriend,” Nova said. “Victor’s murder and Tammy’s murder have nothing to with each other.”
God, these people were tough. “I’m not saying they do. Victor was working on the story of the missing girls. Maybe Tammy had information.”
Tommy Riley cleared his throat. “I don’t discuss active investigations. Move on.”
“Can you at least tell me the rookie’s name on the Gallagher case?” Lauren asked. “Dylan something?”
“Dylan Paretti. Nice guy. Young, fresh out of the academy and he’s still on probationary period, but I have a good feeling about him.”
Ha. Good one, Dad. She’d met the guy once, earlier this week at a minor traffic accident between bumpers, and Paretti had barely been able to calm down the irate woman. Total greenhorn. Well, maybe that was a bonus. Lauren would be on him for information and maybe he’d be green enough to give away what he shouldn’t.
“Any leads on Tammy’s killer?” Lauren asked. “On the record.”
Tommy’s fist came down on the table. “Jesus H. Christ, Lauren.”
“We’re eating,” Nova snapped at her. “Enough.”
Lauren stabbed a meatball off the platter and onto the plate. “I’m a reporter. A body was ID’d today. I want facts. It’s my job.”
“Did you know Thornwood Heights Historical Society has a job opening, Lauren?” her father said, twirling spaghetti around his fork. “You could lead tours around town. You’d like that.”
“I’m a reporter!” she shouted.
“Come on, Lauren,” Nova said. “The Townsend Report will be closed by month’s end. There’s no way you can keep going without Victor and his family money.”
“That’s probably true,” Jennifer said. “Lucky Martin financed his son-in-law’s pet project. Why would he keep doing that now that Victor is dead?”
“Especially when the Martins thought you killed him,” Tommy said. “Fine, you didn’t, everyone knows that now. But still. Bad association for them. The Townsend Report will be shut down in a week, no doubt.”
“Holy hell,” Lauren said. “Thanks for the friggen faith in me.”
“Lauren, give us a goddamned break,” Tommy Riley said.
Lauren shot a glance at her father. Then Nova. Then Jennifer.
“Listen to me. I’m trying. Okay? I’m trying. So stop with the once a loser, always a loser, and help me out. That’s what family does.”
Dead silence.
She narrowed her eyes on Jennifer. “Reporter to out-of-jurisdiction detective who does not, I repeat, does not have official capacity in this town and therefore can tell her sister, albeit the press, what she saw in the woods today. Did you find anything of interest near where Tammy Gallagher’s body was discovered?”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Tommy bellowed, shaking his head.
Jennifer sighed. “Nothing stood out,” she said, then sipped her beer. “Tammy Gallagher was found three weeks ago, but we don’t know exactly how long she was there. There have been some heavy rains. Except for the four ounces of cocaine found in a baggie underneath her, there’s no immediate evidence to go on.”
“Hey, Lois Lane,” Tommy muttered, pointing a piece of garlic bread at Lauren. “Like I said, Paretti will be working the case and investigating Ms. Gallagher’s past, looking for suspects. In the meantime, we don’t discuss active investigations.” He tried to glare at Jennifer, but Lauren could easily see how damned happy the man was to have his middle daughter back home after all these years. It had been a month and none of them were over the novelty of Jennifer Riley being back in the seat that had been empty for so long.
Lauren grabbed the garlic bread out of her father’s hand and took a bite. “My job is to ask questions. I live with cops. You’re going to have to get used to it. Because the Townsend Report ain’t going anywhere. I won’t let it.”
“Lauren, reality,” Nova said. She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her red wine.
Lauren shot her sister a tight smile. “Oh, reality is my middle name.”
She wasn’t going to get anything else from this crew tonight. And she’d learn zippo from Paretti tomorrow. Her father had probably schooled the rookie in his favorite response to the press: no comment. But she’d meet with Paretti in an official capacity anyway. She was smarter than he was and she’d get something from him.
And Lauren meant what she said about not letting the Townsend Report sink. In fact, she was booked solid tonight with ways to keep the newsblog going. She had appointments with six local businesses about remaining as Report advertisers—four restaurants and two nightclubs, including The Fraser, the bar where Jamie Chen, Victor Townsend’s lover, had roofied her drink so she’d stumble outside, where he could grab her and plant her at the murder scene. How no one had seen any of that go down was beyond her. Then again, The Fraser was always packed to capacity, even in the afternoons for the lunch rush, and it had been that day.
If she could secure advertising, she could keep the Townsend Report going along with the small trust that Victor’s father-in-law, Lucky Martin, had offered. Much smaller scale, of course, but with the same principles. Exposing the truth. Local advertising, perhaps motivated initially in the name of honoring Victor Townsend, then click-worthy news stories that would continue the Townsend Report’s legacy as the town’s go-to news source for in-depth and human-interest pieces and keep her advertisers buying space. She could do this. She would do this.
Not only did she need to secure advertising to pay herself enough of a salary to contribute to this household and be able to hire a junior reporter as she’d once been, she’d have to pay for the tech wizard she needed to hire to revamp the Townsend Report to a smaller-scale operation. Xan McMullen, geek genius and an old friend from high school who’d always had a crush on her, would do it for an ongoing small fee and dinner at his favorite sushi restaurant, a place she could also hit up for advertising. There was no way she wanted to continue working in the office where Victor had been killed, but there was no way she’d work out of her house, either. She’d ne
ed to rent a tiny office for privacy and respectability, but she could find something she could afford on a side street. If she was going to get people to read the Townsend Report without Victor Townsend at the helm, she’d need to do things right. And she would. For Victor’s sake—and her own. And for Abby Blake and the other missing girls.
And for Tammy Gallagher.
Lauren glanced at her watch. She had twenty minutes before she had to meet Xan at Mt. Fuji Sushi. Luckily she’d saved a little room in her belly for a California roll or two and some sake. It was going to be a long night. But right now she needed to do some quick poking into Tammy Gallagher’s life.
As the three Riley sisters began clearing the table, Tommy picked up the bowl of spaghetti and brought it into the kitchen, transferring the leftovers into a Tupperware bowl. Then he headed back to the table and collected all the glasses.
Lauren raised an eyebrow at her sisters, who looked equally shocked. Tommy Riley helping to clear the table was unheard of.
But Lauren had a feeling that her dad wanted to overhear and redirect any more of Lauren’s questions about Tammy Gallagher’s case.
The big question was why. Another of Lauren’s favorites.
I’m on to you, Dad, she told him telepathically. Are you worried about me poking my nose into a murder case because it could be dangerous, or is there something about this case that you don’t want made public?
She was going to find out what her dad didn’t want exposed.
Chapter Four
At eight thirty the next morning, Trevor sat beside the desk of Officer Dylan Paretti, who looked all of twenty-one, called Trevor sir and was clearly a rookie. He seemed to know what he was talking about, at least.
“Mr. Gallagher,” Officer Paretti said. “Clearly you have an alibi, since you were in Afghanistan until early yesterday morning, and we did check that,” he added, trying to add gravitas to his voice.
