Bad Publicity

by Joanne Sydney Lessner

  “How could you do this to me?”

  Isobel paused to listen.

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Kit snapped.

  “Nothing to do…” Aaron’s voice quivered with disbelief. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?”

  “I’ll tell—” Aaron said.

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I trusted you,” Aaron said, his voice breaking. “I thought you…I thought we were…”

  “Done, Aaron. We’re done,” Kit said.

  Isobel heard the door creak open, and she quickly hid in the coat closet. When she dared peek out, Aaron was slinking away, his head bowed, his hands clenched at his sides. Wilbur Freed came out of the office across from Kit’s and followed him. Had Wilbur been delivering magazines or eavesdropping? She wondered what he’d made of the argument. There was no question in Isobel’s mind what it meant: Kit and Aaron’s affair had been more than just rumor, and now it was over. Poor Aaron. One look at Kit, and he should have known how it would end.

  Isobel was so preoccupied as she walked back to her desk that she missed her mouth while trying to sip her coffee. She cursed as it trickled down the front of her sweater, and continued straight to the kitchen. She was blotting the spilled coffee with a napkin when she heard Katrina behind her.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.” Isobel gestured to her chest. “Apparently I have a drinking problem.”

  Katrina ignored the joke, a grave expression on her face. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

  “Who?”

  “The AP reporter. What were his exact words when you called?”

  Isobel set her Starbucks cup down and sat at the table, stretching her legs out. “I never reached him. Didn’t Aaron and Liz tell you? After you left, I showed them my press list. I never got him on the phone. It wasn’t me.”

  Katrina pulled out a chair and joined her. “I had a feeling it was something like that.”

  “You did?”

  “I know you pretty well. And I know you know how to stick to a script, which is why I gave you one.”

  Isobel rolled her napkin into a ball and tossed it aside. “What are you getting at?”

  “Somebody tipped off the AP guy, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And what was the result?”

  “Schumann’s deal with MacBride’s is off.”

  “But more importantly…”

  “Dove & Flight’s merger with ICG is off,” Isobel said.

  Katrina waggled a hand from side to side. “At best, it’s in jeopardy, and at worst, it’s off. So who was most upset about selling the company?”

  Isobel looked at her squarely. “You.”

  Katrina waved her off. “It’s easy for me. I don’t want to work for my father? I get a new job. But who is fully and personally invested in keeping Dove & Flight independent? I’ll give you a hint. It’s not Barnaby.”

  “Angus?” Isobel blinked in surprise. “Did he even know about the MacBride’s deal?”

  “Of course,” said Katrina. “Who do you think brought it in? Those Scots stick together. And he was working on it with Jason before he died.”

  Isobel rotated her coffee cup absently. “I got the impression Angus just sat in his office and…” Took his meds, she filled in silently.

  “No, he works. Not a lot, but he’s one of the grand old minds of PR, and he still gets brought in on top deals.”

  Isobel had to admit it made sense. Nobody was more invested in seeing ICG’s acquisition of Dove & Flight fail than Angus Dove.

  “So you think Angus tipped off the reporter?” Isobel asked.

  Katrina shrugged. “Who else could it have been?”

  “But how could he have known we’d be making calls yesterday?”

  Katrina wound a stray lock of hair around her finger. “I think that was coincidental. All he needed to know was the basic timing of the deal. Either Jason gave him the rollout before he died, or Angus called Jim MacBride to confirm it.”

  Isobel shook her head emphatically. “No, he must have known. If he had called on a random day, then everyone would be buzzing, wondering who had made the call. Better to wait until someone else could take the fall for it. It couldn’t have worked out better. Easy enough to blame the stupid temp.”

  “Except that you’re still here,” Katrina said.

  “Only because I showed Aaron and Liz my notes. They saw I hadn’t reached the AP reporter.”

  “Do you think one of them went upstairs to defend you?” Katrina scoffed. “I doubt it.”

  “But Barnaby—”

  “Barnaby assumes it’s one of us, and he’s probably up there right now trying to decide who to sack.”

  Isobel regarded Katrina for a moment. “How far do you think Angus would be willing to go to protect the company?”

  Katrina frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Isobel dropped her voice to a whisper. “What if Jason didn’t have a heart attack? What if I told you he was poisoned with the same medicine Angus takes for his heart condition?”

  Katrina let out a long, deep breath. “How did you find that out?”

  “The other day when I wasn’t here, I was actually temping at the Office of the City Medical Examiner. I happened to see his file.” Isobel’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem all that surprised.”

  Katrina shook her head slowly. “I just—I never really believed Jason had a heart attack.”

  Isobel drummed her fingers on the table. “The only thing is, the coffee I served him was clean, so unless they met before work or something—”

  Katrina’s hand flew to her mouth. “They did! The morning he died, Jason met Angus for coffee at Starbucks before coming here.”

  Isobel felt her temples tingle. “How do you know?”

  “I saw them together. So did Penny and Dorothy, for that matter.”

  “Which Starbucks?” Isobel asked stupidly.

  “The one around the corner on Lex.” Katrina stood up and indicated the Starbucks cup in front of Isobel. “ So you might want to switch back to the house brew.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The biggest problem Isobel had with Katrina’s revelation was not that Angus Dove seemed no more a murderer than her own grandfather, but that she wasn’t sure she believed Katrina about not being materially invested in sabotaging the merger. Katrina might be telling the truth about Jason’s early morning coffee with Angus—Isobel could easily confirm that with the others who were there—but if Jason was somehow poisoned in Starbucks, which seemed highly problematic to Isobel, Katrina had just put herself at the scene of the crime.

  She was still pondering what all this new information meant, when she saw Aaron approaching from the spiral staircase, looking grim.

  “Barnaby wants to see you.”

  Isobel gulped. “About MacBride’s?”

  Aaron nodded. “Just bring him your notes and explain.”

  “But how did he know I made the calls?”

  “He demanded to know who it was.”

  “And you told him?”

  Aaron folded his arms across his chest. “Of course I did.”

  “Any advice before I face the firing squad?” she asked. Aaron shook his head. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

  Isobel took the MacBride’s press list and her script and made her way up the spiral staircase to Harm’s Way, a nickname she now fully appreciated. When she arrived at the constellation of assistants’ desks, Jimmy Rocket jumped to his feet and placed his red baseball cap over his heart.

  “Melodious songbird, though your tune be mournful today, the melody may yet transpose.”

  Isobel gave a wry smile. “You remind me of my Shakespeare-quoting roommate.”

  Jimmy thumped his chest proudly. “That was 100% unadulterated Rocket, ma’am.”

  The phone rang, and Jimmy, his eyes still bathing Isobel with pity, grabbed the nearest length of black plastic
.

  “Hello?”

  He frowned at the lack of response and glanced down.

  “Stapler,” Isobel pointed out.

  “Ah.” He thrust it at Isobel. “Call for you on the Swingline!”

  For a moment, Isobel forgot why she was there and giggled delightedly at his pun as he answered the real phone. Then a voice bellowed, “You! Now!”

  Jimmy put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “It’s okay, his bark is much worse then his…nah, forget it. His bite is pretty bad.”

  Even though she was not an actual employee, Isobel felt her heart pounding as she entered Barnaby’s office. He slammed it behind her and did not offer her a seat. He prowled around her in a circle, fairly sniffing her. Then he straightened up and looked her in the eye.

  “You made the reporter calls on MacBride’s.”

  “I did.” Isobel’s voice came out in a squeak. She held out her press list. “But I didn’t reach the AP reporter. Look. N/A. Not available. And I knew enough not to leave messages anywhere.”

  Barnaby brought the paper close to his nose and squinted at it. After a few minutes, he belched and peered more closely at her.

  “Are you sure?”

  Isobel gave a sharp genie nod. “Positive. This is the first confidential assignment I’ve gotten, so I was careful to take very specific notes.”

  “You don’t seem like an idiot. Then again, the rest of them don’t either, until they fuck up and show their true colors.”

  He stomped around his office, scratching his lower back and muttering to himself. Then he swung around to her again. “You think one of the reporters you did reach called this guy and said, ‘What do you know about MacBride’s?’”

  “Don’t reporters tend to keep inside information to themselves? I mean, if they do have news, they want to be the ones to break it.”

  Barnaby stopped in his tracks. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

  “Isobel—”

  He waved a meaty hand at her. “What are you doing temping? What’s your deal?”

  “I’m an actress.”

  “Oh, give me a fucking break!”

  Isobel couldn’t believe her ears. This man ran a successful PR business? Angus Dove should be thrilled that someone would pay him to be rid of this oaf. They said Barnaby was tops and his clients loved him, but Katrina had told her that he’d been known to make colleagues follow him into the men’s room to continue a conversation while he took a dump. Once he’d actually left with toilet paper coming out over the top of his trousers and everyone was too embarrassed to tell him, until Jimmy finally took one for the team. Presumably Barnaby was different with clients, but what did she know? Maybe they found it refreshing.

  “What is Meryl Streep thinking?” he growled.

  If Isobel really cared about her job, she might have perceived this as a test. But since her future ultimately lay far from Dove & Flight, she figured she had nothing to lose—and everything to gain—by speaking her mind.

  “Actually, I was wondering if someone else here made the call and tipped off the reporter on purpose.”

  Barnaby narrowed his eyes. “And why the fuck would anybody want to do that?”

  Isobel was sorely tempted to hurl his own expletives back at him, but instead she answered simply, “To sabotage the ICG merger. Of course.”

  His reaction was so fleeting it might have gone unnoticed, but Isobel, having set him up, was watching him closely. She was rewarded with the quickest, most furtive glance imaginable at a framed wall photograph of the two founders of Dove & Flight. And despite the fact that Barnaby Flight was clearly a raging egomaniac, Isobel knew he wasn’t looking at himself.

  “I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure ICG buys us, so everybody around here better fucking get used to it!” His voice rose and he waved both arms furiously. “Now get out of here and shut the goddamn door!”

  Isobel didn’t need to be told twice. Barnaby’s office had obviously been designed for a much smaller person, and his energy was oppressive, not to mention his physical presence. She leaned on Jimmy’s desk, exhaling slowly. He came around behind her and put his face close to her neck. At first she thought he might kiss her, but then he pulled away.

  “No visible bite marks. That’s good,” he said.

  Isobel picked up a heavy, old-fashioned letter opener with silver scrollwork and turned it over in her hand. She raised it and made a knifing gesture toward Barnaby’s door.

  “How can you stand working for him?”

  “Down, girl!” Jimmy took the letter opener from her and set it down on his desk.

  “I’m serious! How do you stand the abuse?”

  Jimmy gazed at the acoustical tiles on the ceiling, as if he hoped to find the answer there. “Now, that’s a good question. But I’ll tell you, there are just as many folks who don’t understand why he puts up with me. So I guess we’re just made for each other. I like to think of us as Pyramus and Thisbe, rude mechanicals style.”

  His comment reminded her of something Katrina had told her.

  “Jimmy,” she said in a sultry voice, “I have to ask you a personal question.”

  “Be still, my gallivanting heart!” He dropped his voice. “Sing to me, sweet nightingale.”

  “I’ve been told that you partake, on occasion, of certain not entirely legal substances.”

  Jimmy clapped a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “I? Who would circulate such spurious mongerings?” He leaned in close. “Are you in the market?”

  “For information.” She looked around. Sophie Barker was at the copier, and Wilbur Freed was sliding silently into Angus’s office to deliver his news clips. She continued, keeping her voice low. “You know the medicine Angus takes for his heart?”

  “Digoxin?”

  Isobel nodded. “How hard would it be to slip into somebody’s coffee?”

  Jimmy’s expression altered. “I gathered from Sophie that such an additive sweetened a certain deceased person’s morning beverage.”

  “It seems that way. How hard would it be, in your expert opinion?”

  Jimmy bopped the eraser end of a pencil on his desk blotter in a nervous tattoo. “You do realize there’s a world of difference between recreational pharmacology and…what you’re talking about.”

  Isobel put her hand gently on his, stopping the pencil mid-bounce. She wasn’t quite ready to tell Jimmy about Angus’s meeting with Jason in Starbucks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I’m just trying to think this through a little, and—”

  “And Angus was bitterly opposed to the merger. He could have—” Jimmy clamped his lips over his even white teeth.

  “What?”

  Jimmy hesitated. “The police said the coffee Jason drank here wasn’t poisoned, right?”

  “Right. I’m just asking hypothetically.”

  “Then I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

  Isobel felt her pulse quicken. “What doesn’t?”

  “Angus takes his daily pill, but Sophie keeps a liquid suspension for injection in case he has a heart attack. I don’t know much, but I do know that tablets would be hard to dissolve in coffee without someone noticing. But the suspension? That’s a different story.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Isobel descended the spiral staircase slowly, pondering Jimmy’s disclosure about Angus’s liquid digoxin. Taken with Katrina’s report of seeing Angus and Jason at Starbucks, it was impossible to ignore the medicine’s significance. Could Angus actually have slipped it into Jason’s coffee at Starbucks?

  Isobel debated sharing this new tidbit with Katrina, but something held her back. She passed Liz’s office and looked in, eager to run all of this past her, but she was out. With a sigh of resignation, Isobel returned to her desk and picked up Dorothy’s list of medical trade publications. There was no putting it off any longer, and considering that Aaron had ratted her out to Barnaby, Isobel felt no compunction about giving Dorothy’s project priority. Upon clos
er inspection, she saw that the trade publications were ranked by circulation, so she highlighted the top fifteen and made her calls.

  In the end, she managed to jolly two editors into accepting bylined articles on the future of plastics in the medical devices industry. Pleased with her success, Isobel gathered her notes and knocked on Dorothy’s door.

  The older woman was on the phone, but she waved Isobel in and gestured for her to sit. Isobel could tell Dorothy was getting pushback on the other end, but her tone remained impressively calm and authoritative. Her answers managed to be placating, without being condescending. Dorothy rolled her clear, cornflower blue eyes at Isobel and made a jabbering gesture with her free hand.

  Isobel smiled in return and examined the photos on Dorothy’s desk. She recognized Dorothy with her husband and son at a lobster shack somewhere on the Atlantic coast. There was also a young woman with black hair sitting astride a horse, and an elderly couple toasting each other at a restaurant table.

  Dorothy slammed the phone down. “What a noxious blowhard! Sorry about that. How did you make out with the release?”

  “Pretty well, I think.” Isobel set down the photo of the couple and read from her notes. “Devices Today will consider an article as long as it doesn’t read like a sales pitch. Limit 750 words, and they can use it for the May issue, but they need it by the beginning of February.”

  Dorothy tilted her head to the side, considering. “That might be pushing it, timing-wise, but I’ll ask. What else?”

  “Plastics in Medicine will take 1,200 words anytime, and they like data tables.”

  “That’s perfect for them. Anyone else?”

  “Sorry. I only called the biggies, and I didn’t reach everyone. Do you want me to try a few more?”

  Dorothy held out her hand. “No, this is fine. Thank you.”

  Isobel handed over her notes. “To tell you the truth, I was glad to have something else to focus on after the whole MacBride’s thing.”

  Dorothy nodded. “Crazy day. It isn’t usually so dramatic around here.”

  Isobel eyed her curiously. “Where do you stand on this whole ICG acquisition? Do you think it’s good?”