Dead Air

by Robin Caroll

  He smiled. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll talk to you on your shift.”

  She returned the grin. “Better watch out. I don’t know how my new boss feels about employee fraternization.”

  Leaning over the car’s console, Clark whispered, “I think I can handle him.”

  And then he wrapped his hand in her hair and drew her close. Closer. Dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers.

  Soft at first. Then harder. More demanding.

  Her head spun. She jerked back, breathless.

  He chuckled. “Sweet dreams, Gabby.” Clark opened the door and was gone.

  Leaving Gabby confused and her adrenaline racing.

  Clark pulled into Aunt Beulah’s driveway as night settled securely over Mystique. With all the chaos lately, he hadn’t been visiting as much as he should. Something about his great-aunt always soothed him, and he needed some calm right now.

  She opened the screen door before he even cleared the stairs. “What’s buggin’ you, boy?” She tightened the belt of her robe.

  Was his distress so plain to see? He planted a kiss on his aunt’s cheek and followed her into the house. “I didn’t check the time, Aunt Beulah. Were you in bed?”

  She waved him into the living room. “Of course not. I’m old, but not bedridden. I always watch the late news.” Aunt Beulah plopped into her worn recliner. “What’s givin’ you fits?”

  “My life.” Clark lowered himself to the couch.

  She chuckled. “What else is new, boy? Would you care to be more specific?”

  “So much is happening so fast.”

  “What’s that?”

  “All the hoopla with the station that I now own. My brake lines being cut. My house being trashed.”

  She removed her glasses and wiped them on the hem of her tired robe, then shoved them back over the bridge of her nose. “Sounds like someone don’t like you much, son.”

  “I guess not. But now an employee is receiving threats, too. So it’s not just me.”

  “Did you tell Sheriff McGruder? It’s his job to protect the citizens of this town, not your responsibility. Employees are just that—employees.” She peered at him over the rim of her glasses.

  He fought the urge to fidget. His aunt always had been able to cut through all the layers to hit the core of a problem. “Well, she’s…well…”

  “Gabby.” Aunt Beulah nodded.

  “Yes, but how’d—”

  “I’m old, not blind, boy.” She chuckled. “Gabby’s got a right mind of her own, that girl surely does.”

  Wasn’t that the truth? “But someone’s threatening her now, too.”

  “Tragedies can bring out the worst in people. Just like it has for poor Sam Wood. From what I heard today, his horns are showing since Robert’s arrest.”

  “Gabby and I just saw him, dead drunk, crying about how Robert stole Amber from him.”

  “Can’t say as I blame him for holding a grudge, considering how things went back then.”

  Clark’s heart shifted into a higher gear. “What do you mean?”

  Aunt Beulah leaned her head against the recliner. “Reckon I should just tell you what we all heard back then, what we all believed to be true.”

  Remaining silent, Clark willed his heart to stop thudding too loudly in his head so he could hear his aunt’s words.

  “Where to start?” She waved a hand. “No matter. The truth is that Sam Wood was devastated when Amber left town. Never seen a man so down and out.” Aunt Beulah glanced out the window, as if losing focus. “Everyone expected them to marry someday, but instead she ended things before leaving town. Rumor had it that Amber had found out she was pregnant by Sam and left to have the baby. Sure enough, she came back almost twelve months later.”

  Clark couldn’t let his aunt finish. “Did she? Have a baby, I mean?”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning speared the sky. Aunt Beulah glanced to the heavens, then back at Clark. “No one knows for certain, child, except Amber herself. Oh, nobody ever asked her, and none of us ever breathed a word of our suspicions to poor Sam. Bless his heart, he was torn up enough as it was.”

  She sighed. “So that’s the sad story, child. Now, I don’t know for certain the truth, but it sure made sense of her long departure.”

  She stared at Clark. “You take that information, son, and you be careful with it.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Beulah. I really appreciate it.”

  “You do what’s right, and nothing more, you hear?”

  Brring!

  Clark grabbed his cell phone from his hip. “Just a minute.” He didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID, but it was local. “Hello.”

  “Mr. McKay?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Walter with Mystique Security.” The company Clark had hired for security at KLUV this afternoon.

  “Yes?”

  “I noticed a white Lincoln Town Car parked in the lot. Didn’t think much about it, until I made my second pass and saw a figure inside. I headed that direction, and it left.”

  Someone in the parking lot, at night, when Gabby was at the station by herself…“Did the person ever get out?” Clark stood, fishing out his keys.

  “Not that I know. Like I said, as soon as they saw me, they took outta here. I got a partial on the license plate.”

  “Just watch for it and call the police if it returns. I’m on my way now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Clark reattached the cell to his hip clip. “Sorry I have to run off, Aunt Beulah, but there’s something strange going on around KLUV.”

  “I understand. Go on and take care of your business, boy.”

  He started his car and backed out of the driveway as the rain began to fall. Who’d been nosing around the station? Was the killer back, looking for another target?

  And Gabby was all alone at the station.

  FOURTEEN

  Crack!

  Gabby set the coffee cup in the sink in the break room and rushed to the front door. What on Earth?

  The front of Martin Tankersly’s Lincoln Town Car had plowed into the side of Clark McKay’s sporty little Mercedes-Benz.

  She twisted the dead bolt and opened the door just as Mr. Tankersly hopped from his car. His thinning hair plastered to his round head in the rain. “Are you blind?” He strode forward. “You stupid idiot.”

  Clark climbed from his car. “Sir, you hit me.”

  Mr. Tankersly glanced at the front end of his car shoved into Clark’s. He lifted his eyes, hatred burning. “You pulled out in front of me! You weren’t watching where you were going.” He jerked a hand toward the automobiles. “Just look at my car—what you did.”

  “You hit me. You were racing out of the parking lot.” Clark reached for his cell phone. “But that’s what insurance companies are for. Just let me call mine…”

  Gabby took a step out of the station as Mr. Tankersly stormed Clark, slugging him in the jaw and knocking him to the ground.

  She gasped as she moved toward the men, but Clark quickly recovered, causing her to stop. What was she thinking—about to get between them and break up the brawl? Had she lost her ever-loving mind?

  Jumping up, Clark stared at Mr. Tankersly amid the rain. “Are you insane? What’re you doing?”

  “You wrecked my car.” Mr. Tankersly took another step toward him.

  A sedan, bearing the logo of a local security company, screeched to a halt adjacent to the wreck. A man in uniform jumped out. “Mr. McKay, are you all right? I called the sheriff just as you said.”

  “I’m fine.” Clark sidestepped, shifting as Mr. Tankersly’s thundering fist sailed through the air. He glared at the man. “Are you drunk?”

  Mr. Tankersly rushed for Clark, but slipped on the slick concrete. His legs flew out from under him, and he crashed to the ground.

  A lone siren wailed.

  “You need to calm down, man.” Clark stepped out of arm’s length of Tankersly, who drew to h
is feet. “It was an accident.”

  Mr. Tankersly lunged for Clark.

  The security man dove for Mr. Tankersly.

  Gabby pressed her fingers to her mouth. Oh, good gravy. This was going to turn into a knock-down, drag-out fight. Where was McGruder when you actually needed him?

  “You yellerbelly Yankee! I knew it—spineless and stupid.” Spittle flew from the corners of Mr. Tankersly’s sagging mouth. He jerked forward, hands balled into fists.

  Clark moved around the guard and swung with his right hand. Mr. Tankersly dropped to the ground with a loud thud, followed by a grunt. Clark shook his hand.

  Mr. Tankersly spit, red mixing with the puddles of rain forming in the indentations of the parking lot. He turned to his hands and knees, pushing to his feet.

  “Stop!”

  All three men turned to stare at her. Gabby slunk back against the building, shocked she’d screamed aloud.

  The siren wailed louder as the sheriff’s cruiser whipped alongside the wrecked cars. High time he made an appearance.

  Sheriff McGruder, with a large hat perched on his head, strode over to the men. “What’s going on here, boys?”

  “This Yankee totaled my car. Just look at it, Sheriff,” Mr. Tankersly growled and swayed.

  “Why’s your lip bleeding, Martin?” Sheriff McGruder narrowed his eyes. “Were you injured in the accident? Want me to call the paramedics?”

  “Nah.” Mr. Tankersly spit again, then glared at Clark. “He hit me.”

  “He hit me first. I was just defending myself.” Clark held up his hands.

  “That’s true, Sheriff.” Gabby joined the men. Rain pelted her head, driving against the migraine forming. “Mr. Tankersly hit Mr. McKay’s car with his, then stormed out throwing punches.”

  The shock of seeing a fistfight up close and personal had her emotions all knotted.

  “That’s the truth, Sheriff. And this gentleman’s car here is the one I called and reported,” the other man said.

  “Who are you?” asked McGruder.

  “Walter. Walter Robinson, Mystique Security.”

  “You been drinking, Martin?” the sheriff asked.

  “I ain’t been drinking.” Mr. Tankersly’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Gabby. “And this wasn’t my fault.”

  “Why, Mr. Tankersly, that’s an out-and-out lie.” Gabby fisted her hands onto her hips.

  “Shut up.” He spat again, then turned his focus on Clark. “This is all your fault. Stupid Yankee, I’ll teach you to stay north of the Mason-Dixon Line…”

  Faster than Gabby would have thought possible, Mr. Tankersly pushed toward Clark, fists flying.

  A whack sounded as his fist collided with Clark’s cheekbone. Instantly, Clark threw his own punch, landing squarely on Martin Tankersly’s nose. Blood spurted.

  “That’ll be about enough.” Sheriff McGruder yanked Mr. Tankersly by his shoulder, spinning him around to lay him facedown against the trunk of the Town Car. “Martin Tankersly, you have the right to remain silent—anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

  The sheriff’s monotone as he recited the Miranda rights droned on in Gabby’s ears. She didn’t pay attention, she moved to touch Clark’s shoulder. “Oh, dear. Let me get you some ice.” Men. “I’ll be right back.”

  She hurried to the break room where she yanked a Baggie and filled it with ice. She turned and rushed to the parking lot, handing the homemade ice pack to Clark, who pressed it against his cheek and cringed.

  “You want to press assault charges, Mr. McKay?” The sheriff had finished telling Mr. Tankersly his rights, and had handcuffed the man.

  Clark nodded. “I believe I will.”

  “You’ll need to come down to the station and fill out a report.”

  “Okay.”

  The sheriff waved toward the vehicles. “I don’t think yours can be moved until I get Martin’s hauled away.”

  “I’ll call a tow truck.” Clark faced Gabby again. “Walter called me and reported Mr. Tankersly driving around the station’s lot. I told him to call the sheriff.” The bruise already forming on his cheek marred his disarming smile. “With a murderer still on the loose, I hired security.” He glared at Mr. Tankersly. “Good thing I did, too.”

  “Gabby?” Sheriff McGruder interrupted.

  She spun and faced him. “Yes?” Realizing how sharp her retort came out, she tossed him a feeble smile.

  “Have you noticed Martin driving around the station?”

  “No. But I’m in the studio most all the time. I was getting a refill on coffee when I heard the cars collide.”

  The sheriff turned to Mr. Tankersly. “Why were you here, Martin?”

  “Eric called and told me to meet him here at eleven.”

  “That’s a lie.” Gabby stared at Sheriff McGruder. “Eric would never have asked Mr. Tankersly to meet him here. Eric doesn’t like him.”

  “I’ve heard enough. We’ll sort this out at the station. I’ll talk to Eric.” Sheriff McGruder pulled Mr. Tankersly toward the rear of the police car. “Come on, Martin. Let’s not make this any harder.”

  “Listening to a Yankee—what kind of sheriff are you, anyway?” He twisted to stare over at Clark. “And you…you’re as no good as that stupid adopted son of my dead wife. Good riddance to you all.”

  Sheriff McGruder shoved Mr. Tankersly in the backseat of the cruiser, then slammed the door shut. “Mr. McKay, I’ll need you to come to the station with us now to fill out the complaint.” He moved to the door. “We can call a tow truck from the station.”

  “Yes, sir.” Clark hesitated as he stared at Gabby. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Walter and Gabby, you’ll need to come make statements as witnesses. It can wait until tomorrow.” Sheriff McGruder slipped behind the wheel of the cruiser.

  The security guard nodded, then headed to his car.

  “Okay.” Gabby wove her fingers in front of her.

  “You can pick up your vehicle then, too. We finished processing it today.”

  But she wasn’t listening anymore. Her mind was still caught on what Martin Tankersly had yelled out.

  Adopted son of Mr. Tankersly’s dead wife? Who was that?

  McGruder interrupted her thoughts. “You don’t worry about the investigation, Gabby. That’s what we do. This has nothing to do with that prank call.” He tugged the door to almost closed. “Don’t forget to come by my office and sign your statement.”

  Gabby nodded, then slipped inside the station, clicking the dead bolt into place. Could Mr. Tankersly have been the one who called her? The voice on the phone had sounded almost familiar…but the call had been so short, it was hard to tell. And she hadn’t been able to stop and think about it for long since she’d been in the middle of her pro—her program! She raced back toward the studio. The silence filling the station sent her heart thumping.

  The controls sat as silent as the dead air going out over the frequency waves. The phone lights, however, blinked up as rapidly as a Christmas tree.

  Gabby slammed the headset over her ears and queued up her microphone. “Sorry, Mystique. The station is experiencing technical difficulties.” She pressed the button to play the next song, her heart sinking to her toes. One of her worst fears had just come to life…she’d allowed dead air time on KLUV. Advertisers would pull their sponsorships.

  Not to mention the effect this would have on her show being syndicated.

  And Clark could fire her.

  In the front seat of the sheriff’s cruiser, Clark opened his cell phone. Anything to drown out Mr. Tankersly’s tirade from the backseat. Clark refused to argue with the man. Instead, he accessed the Internet, then went to his music selection menu. He selected KLUV and waited for it to load. Maybe it was silly to listen to the radio via his cell phone, but it made him feel somewhat closer to Gabby. Right now, he wanted to hear her voice, to make sure she was okay.

  What was that comment about a prank phone call? He glance
d at the sheriff, weighing his options. If he asked, McGruder probably wouldn’t tell him. Gabby was right—the sheriff didn’t take it seriously.

  His phone indicated the connection had been made, but only silence sat in the speakers. Then Gabby’s throaty voice apologized for the station’s technical difficulties before music hit the waves.

  She wasn’t okay. No deejay would allow dead airtime if they could avoid it. Yet she had. The incident with Martin Tankersly had upset her more than he’d thought. Or the call had her rattled. Either way, Clark needed to get to her—see for himself that she was okay.

  Within twenty minutes, he’d been delivered to the interview room to wait while the sheriff processed Mr. Tankersly.

  The interview room in the sheriff’s office was hot. And smelly. Clark leaned back against the metal chair and stared at the mirror. The one he knew was a two-way. While he waited for McGruder to come back with official complaint paperwork, he called his insurance company and reported the accident, had a tow truck lined up to get his car to Lou’s, and requested a rental be delivered to the sheriff’s office. All completed, and still he waited.

  The sheriff entered at his normal slow pace and set a stack of papers on the table. “I’ll need you to fill these out.”

  Clark reached for the pen. “So, what does Mr. Tankersly have to say? Why was he at the station?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but he claims Eric Masters asked him to meet him there.”

  Tightening his grip on the pen, Clark struggled to keep his tone even. “Actually, since I own KLUV, it is my business why the man was on my property.”

  Sheriff McGruder straightened his shoulders. “So it is, Mr. McKay. Either way, that’s his story. I’ll call Eric in the morning to get his side.”

  “Don’t you find this all odd, Sheriff? That Mr. Tankersly was loitering around my station late at night for no good reason? Can’t you just consider that there’s something more going on than an open-and-shut case against Mr. Ellison?”

  “Why don’t you leave the investigating to me, Mr. McKay?”

  “And if Tankersly’s lying?”

  “Then I’ll get to the bottom of what he was doing there.”