“Yeah, right. What’s up?” Leigh felt one of the tortoise shell arms of her renegade specs and pulled them from under the bed onto her face in one triumphant swoop.
“It’s seven thirty. David’s story meeting is at eight A.M. sharp.”
“Eight a.m? Is he nuts?” Leigh looked around the rose-colored room trying to collect her thoughts. “Glad someone thought of telling me.”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Sorry. I mean, thanks for calling. See you then.” She threw the phone down and jumped out of bed.
Zeus jumped up and let out a happy bark. He looked at her in a way that seemed to say, “Walk?”
“Hey Zeus.” She gave him a quick pat on the head. “I’ve got to go, boy. Mr. and Mrs. Deery are going to take care of you today.”
When she’d told the proprietors she was Ben Cameron’s daughter, they had let her bring her dog in. They had even volunteered to take care of him while she was at work. Being related to the great Benjamin Cameron definitely had its perks. Of course, being a five-foot-ten redhead didn’t hurt either.
Zeus licked her hand to get her attention again. She gave the dog a benevolent smile and scratched him behind the ears, thankful for his companionship. With Zeus around she didn’t feel so alone in the world.
How could her father do this to her? After he made every last sign of her mother disappear, he’d thrown himself into his work, and she’d been left to mourn, alone. Without a single picture or object to remember her by. They’d grown apart, within the confines of their own grief. And now, he was sentencing her to work at the very place that had taken him away from her, and she’d mourn alone again. Damn that man.
All right, Cameron. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. She ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. No time for a long soak today. She pulled off her silk negligee and pinned her unruly curls into a French twist before hopping into the shower. What on earth would she wear? She wanted to look cool, poised, and professional.
She rinsed off and got out of the shower. A floor-length mirror sent back her reflection. She sucked in her stomach, turned sideways and looked at herself with a critical eye. Ughhh. Fat mirror.
As a girl she’d been self-conscious of her scrawny frame. Sadly, being too thin was no longer the issue. After years of yearning for curves, she’d gotten her wish and then some. These days she didn’t think much of her “assets” and went to great ends to camouflage them. She bought bras guaranteed to make her look at least one whole cup size smaller and avoided anything low cut and even remotely revealing. Still, she inspired more than her share of leers. She glanced into the mirror again. She really had to lay off the Oreo cookies.
She darted out and threw open the closet doors. Jean skirt? Too casual. Light blue jacket and skirt combo? Too preppy. Funky little black number she’d worn to interview Kiefer Sutherland? Too New York.
Finally, after pulling everything she’d packed out onto the bed, she settled on a simple knee-length black skirt, a sleeveless aquamarine turtleneck, and a pair of comfortable black pumps. She popped in her contact lenses, grabbed her purse, and gave herself a last once over. There. Cool, poised, and sophisticated. Then why did she feel like she was walking into a lion’s den?
• • •
Whoa. David looked at Leigh and lost his train of thought. She was nothing like Ben. She was gorgeous in some kind of blue-green thing that matched the color of her eyes. And those legs. How would he get any work done if she dressed like that? David caught his breath, aware of the silence. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry.” She took a seat at the conference table not looking one bit sorry.
David cleared his throat and got back to business. “I know the next few weeks — months — are going to be difficult for all of us — very difficult.” He sipped his coffee to give himself a bit of time to think of what he was going to say next. “We all loved Ben very much and his absence will be felt for a very long time.” David looked up right into Leigh’s eyes. She flushed and looked away the minute their eyes met.
“For a long time,” he said again, pulling his gaze away. “And although we are saddened by his loss, I know Ben wouldn’t want us to mourn his passing, but rather to celebrate the man he was.” He should have stayed home and prepped for this meeting instead of going out last night and feeling sorry for himself. He glanced around the room. Jen was busy highlighting press releases with an array of colored markers. She’d come into the meeting claiming her fortune-teller had warned her there were big changes ahead. Next to her Geoff was fiddling with one of his cameras. The others — James, Sue, Carl, and Leigh — sat, looking like the end of the world was near.
“The best thing we can do to honor Ben’s memory is keep The Watford Sun alive and strong. People are going to be concerned with whether or not we can continue to run a tight ship without him. So, I’m going to need all of you to work extra hard and to put on a brave face. Let’s show the people of Watford Ben’s legacy will live on — stronger than ever.”
All right. Cut to the chase. “However, there will … be some changes. Ben left precise instructions on the way he wanted the paper to be run after his passing,” David steadied himself for the flow of objections sure to follow. “I will be taking over as managing editor — ” He paused and looked around the room. Nods, smiles — so far so good. “James, you’ll take over as city editor — assuming you want the job, of course — ” James’s face remained impassive, but his eyes lit up, “And — ” Time to drop the bomb. “Leigh will take her father’s place as publisher. I trust you’ll all make her feel welcome.”
He wished he’d had a camera to capture the looks on their faces. Jen’s jaw dropped open. She recovered and pulled her lips into an awkward smile. James cocked his head and leaned forward as though he’d misunderstood.
But the objections didn’t come. He couldn’t be the only one against this nonsense, could he? She wasn’t even a real journalist. She was an entertainment reporter for Pete’s sake. What was she going to do? Review movies at the Princess Repertory Cinema? What could she possibly know about running a newspaper? He looked at Jen and Geoff for some sign of disapproval. Jen had gone back to fussing with her highlighters. There’d be no getting anything useful out of her today. And Geoff? Geoff smiled at Leigh and squeezed her arm. Turncoat.
Leigh took advantage of the silence and stood. “Hello, everyone.” She ran her gaze around the table, surreptitiously avoiding David’s glance. “A few of us go way back, but until a few days ago, some of you didn’t even know Ben had a daughter. Well, I’m no Ben Cameron, but I do have some of my father’s talents, and I promise you, that for as long as I am publisher of The Watford Sun, I’ll give the paper my one hundred and twenty percent.”
She’d only stay until she could sell them off to the highest bidder. David looked at their trusting faces, wishing he could tell them the truth.
Carl extended his hand across the table to Leigh. “Congratulations, kiddo. Welcome aboard.”
“Yeah, congratulations, Leigh,” Jen and Sue said.
“If you need anything — ” Jen said.
“ — Let us know,” Sue added.
They were probably all relieved she wasn’t taking over one of their beats, he surmised. He looked over to see how James was reacting. After all, she was going to be his boss.
The old sod was smiling. “If I can do anything to help you get acclimated, you just let me know,” he said.
“Let’s move on, shall we?” David said, eager not to dwell on this Hallmark moment. “James, there’s a candlelight vigil at the Courthouse tonight for that Nelson kid who was killed last week.”
“Got it,” James said.
“Sue, we’ve got it under moratorium, the Frontenac Choir’s won the Cape Ann junior choir competition. I’d like to have you and a camera there when they find out the
y’ve won. You and Geoff work it out.”
“Sure, David,” Jen and Geoff answered in unison.
There was a knock at the door. The city desk’s summer intern — P something … Paula, Pam, Pat. David drew a blank as she entered.
“Yes?” This had better be important.
“Uh, there’s been another suicide, Mister Stone. At the Pen.”
“Watford Pen?” Leigh asked.
“No, at the Kingston Penitentiary, Miss Cameron,” the girl answered.
“Please, call me Leigh.”
“Okay … Leigh,” the intern said. “I’m Pam.”
“Pam and Leigh — can we keep the small talk for later, please? We’re wasting time chatting when we should already be halfway there.”
The intern turned a bright shade of red. “I’m sorry, sir, it — ”
He cut her off. “Geoff. Forget about the choir. Go to K Pen with James. Get good coverage, and we’ll lead with that tonight. Pam, give James whatever information you’ve gleaned so far and phone Corrections to get a quote from them.”
The photographer, crime reporter, and intern left the room.
“David — ” Leigh said. He ignored her and turned to Jen and Carl.
“Jen, you’ll have to go out with Billy instead of Geoff. I need him on this.”
“Sure, David,” Jen said.
“Carl? You still working on those athlete profiles?”
Carl nodded and left with Jen.
“Dav — ” Leigh said. David lifted his index, interrupting her.
“Sue, we’ll have to postpone our Marketing meeting to later … .”
“David — ” Leigh touched his arm.
He gave her a look that said hands off. “What?”
“Let me go with Geoff. If I’m going to be publisher for the next while, don’t you think I should go out and get to know the issues?”
“Sure. Get to know the issues. But you’re not going with Geoff. It’s your first day on the job, and I don’t want you going out there and getting in the way, or worse — getting hurt. Interviewing inmates in a maximum-security prison is a lot harder than going to the ballet. You can get caught up on what’s been going on here by reading back issues of the paper. Pam will set you up.”
Anger, protest, and another emotion he couldn’t identify hardened her face. He put his hand out to stop any more objections. “You’re staying.”
• • •
Jerk. He was a colossal jerk. Well, actually, more of a big, sexy jerk. After he’d patronized her, Leigh had simply walked out. Ballet, my ass. I’ll show you.
She looked through the pile of press releases on her new desk: Selectmen Send Controversial Pets Bylaw Back for Study; Outlook Grim for Lobster Industry; Prisoners Roll Up Sleeves to Spur the Redevelopment of Contaminated Lands … . It was a far cry from the stuff she usually got in the mail. She felt homesick for The Star, the press junkets, and fashion shows. The Star. She picked up the phone and punched the eleven digits to her boss’ direct line.
“Jack Lang.”
The stilted reply made her smile. “Hey, Jack, it’s me.”
His voice immediately softened. “Hey, kiddo. How you holding up?”
“Fine. Listen, about that vacation time — ”
“Are you sure everything’s okay?”
The warmth in his voice made her eyes water. “He gave me the paper.” She bit her lip to stop its quivering.
Silence.
“Jack? Still there?”
“That’s great, kid. That’s really great.”
She’d been a reporter long enough to know people always repeated things twice when they were lying. “Jack, listen. I just need a bit of time. I have no intention of staying here and running this place. I’ll be selling as soon as I can.”
“Take as much time as you need.” Leigh heard a muffled voice through the earpiece. “I’ve got to go,” Jack added. “Keep me posted.”
“Jack, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks to take that editor job you promised.”
“Sure, Leigh. Thanks for calling. G’bye.”
“Wait — ” Too late. The buzz at the end of the line told her Jack was gone. The next few weeks were going to ruin everything. Not only would she have to deal with her father’s legacy, but there was a chance she’d lose her shot at getting that promotion at The Star in the process. And she hated to admit it, but David wasn’t entirely wrong. She didn’t know the first thing about running into a place like a maximum-security prison.
Still, how hard could it be? If she could get the inside scoop on Philadelphia’s money-laundering head of National Grants Council, she could figure out how to be publisher — and what the big deal was with this particular prison suicide. After all, as unpleasant as it was, suicides weren’t that unusual in jail, were they?
Pam walked in with a stack of newspapers.
“Have you spoken to Corrections yet?”
“I was just going to do that. Right after I get this copyedited and run over to — ”
“Relax. I’m not checking up on you.”
Pam reddened and pushed her glasses up with her index finger.
“Why don’t you give me what you’ve got so far, and I’ll take over from here,” Leigh said. “I know you have a lot on your plate.”
“Thanks Miss — I mean Leigh.” She put her hands in her pockets and looked up, as if reading from some cue card glued to the top of her eyelids.
“I was monitoring the police scanner for James while he was at the story meeting, and when I heard them call an ambulance and a squad car to K Pen, I knew something was up. Then a voice said there’d been a possible 10-54, a homicide.” The girl looked down at Leigh and flushed again.
“Go on,” Leigh said.
“That’s when I came into the meeting to tell you guys.”
“So, the voice said it was a homicide. But you came in and told us there’d been another suicide. Where’d you find that out?”
“Well, I … I mean, uh … . ” Her eyes darted around, and she looked as though she were ready to take flight.
“It’s okay, you can tell me.”
Pam’s cheeks darkened to an even deeper shade of red and Leigh worried she’d pass out.
“I know one of the Watford County EMTs. He’s kind of my boyfriend. Please don’t say anything. He’ll get in trouble for telling me.”
Leigh smiled at the girl and winked. “Your secret’s safe with me, Pam. I won’t tell a soul.”
The girl turned to leave.
Something still didn’t make any sense. Suicides, as awful as they may be, were usually kept quiet. “One more thing. I don’t mean this to sound callous, but do we usually rush to the side of suicide victims?”
“He was the third inmate to kill himself in the past four weeks.”
Leigh shuddered. Three more fatherless families. “That’s awful. Has anyone gone on the record with that information?”
“The Pen denies there’s any sort of pattern, but I heard they were all Native American.” Then, after giving her the names of her contacts, their phone numbers, and the code to the photocopier, Pam left, a bounce in her step. Nice kid. Leigh was glad to see somebody at the paper was thankful for her presence.
She sat back and thought about the information Pam had given her. Three men were dead. Three in four weeks. And all three were Native American. Was the Native American population in New England even high enough to have that particular race play a role in the story? The First Nations only accounted for about one percent of the population in the U.S. Leigh picked up the phone and dialed information.
“Hi, could you give me the number for the Massachusetts Center for Native American Awareness, please?”
David said he didn’t want her getting in the
way. He didn’t say she couldn’t work on the story from her desk. Leigh smiled. James wasn’t the only one whose article would make headlines.
• • •
“Leigh.” James barged into her office. “It was a lot worse than we thought. I think you’re going to want to see these.” He motioned to the copy desk where Geoff sat scrolling through his newly downloaded batch of photos.
“That was fast.” She looked at her watch. She’d completely lost track of time. They’d already been gone a couple of hours. She got up and followed James into the Bull Pen.
“Yeah. We got there just in the knick of time,” James said. “You should have seen it, Leigh. The inmates went crazy. They set garbage cans on fire, they were throwing stuff around; the whole place went into lockdown. A little more and we would’ve had a full-blown riot on our hands. It took over twenty guards to get everything under control.”
“Was the victim one of their leaders?” She looked at the pictures as they passed on the flat screen. The men looked like hunted animals, their faces twisted with anger and fear.
“Not from what I gathered.”
“How could something like this happen?” she said, looking away. She couldn’t stomach much more. “It’s awful. There’s got to be more to the story than this … .” She felt such horror and sadness. Words fell short.
James continued to sort through Geoffrey’s photos, one by one.
“How can you be so calm? Don’t tell me this is a regular occurrence.”
James shrugged.
Leigh tried to read into his silence. Nothing. She’d been too busy with the New York arts and entertainment scene to concern herself with the living conditions of inmates in her father’s hometown. Well, that was about to change. “Stop. That one,” she said.
She looked at the photo. In it, four guards held back a male inmate. Three long scratches traced a path from his right eye to his mouth. His ripped blue shirt revealed a dream catcher tattoo and the words “Bear Child.” And, despite the chaos around him, he seemed incredibly calm. Almost serene.
“Why are so many of them holding this guy down when he’s obviously not putting up a fight?”
Heart to Heart Page 6
