Live Ringer

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  He shook his head slowly, his eyes still riveted on her face. “Nope. Still waiting for the right girl to come along.”

  Allie’s discomfort must have shown on her face. Joe grinned and changed the subject. “What are your plans? You think you’ll hang around for a while?”

  “I’m back for good. I was thinking tonight that I need to look for a job.”

  “We’re always looking for someone. You could follow in Lou’s footsteps.”

  “That’s very sweet, but the sheriff would never hire me. I don’t think he likes me. Besides, I thought I might do something I’m qualified for.”

  “Like what?”

  “Newspaper work.”

  Joe dropped his head back with a groan. “Oh, Lord, not one of those.”

  Allie sat straighter. “What do you mean, ‘one of those’?”

  “The scourge of our existence,” he said, shaking his head. Then, he smiled. “You know. Vultures. Pushy reporters crashing crime scenes.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And do you have a lot of crime scenes?”

  “Enough,” he said with a grimace, putting his half-finished tea on the table. “Hey, don’t take it personally. It could be worse.” He got to his feet and stood looking down at her. “You could have said you were a lawyer.” Allie shuddered, and Joe burst out laughing. “So, what about it? You want to come watch me eat? You could get dessert or something.”

  No way would she go out with this man until she figured out where he was coming from. “Can I take a rain check?”

  “Sure. Anytime.”

  As she started to shut the door behind him, she remembered. “Joe?”

  He turned.

  “Did you find my coffee cup on the beach?”

  “What coffee cup?”

  “The one with the picture of Aunt Lou and me on it? I dropped it on the beach the day I found the body.”

  He shook his head. “No, I didn’t see it. I can ask around, though. Do you remember where you dropped it?”

  Allie sagged against the doorjamb. “Somebody already brought it back and left it on the doorstep. I just thought it might have been you.”

  “No,” he said with a final wave, “but I’m glad you got it back.”

  She stepped back inside and shut the door. She stood for a moment, her back resting against the door. Then, she reached behind her and turned the deadbolt.

  *

  She was in the tub soaking when Lou came to her again.

  “Don’t get your sights set on Joe, honey. He’s not the man for you.”

  “I don’t have my sights set on anyone, and there is no man for me.”

  “Sure, there is, but it’s not Joe Odum. Joe is troubled. His parents are dying, slowly and painfully. Besides, Sheryl is in love with him.”

  “With Joe?”

  “She has poor taste in men. First, Ernie, and now, Joe.”

  “But you always liked Joe. He’s a good guy.”

  “Joe will break her heart.”

  “What do you mean? How?” she asked aloud, but the only reply was silence.

  *

  Allie was still arguing with herself the next morning as she tied back her hair and prepared to go to the Brevard Sun and introduce herself to Rupert Cornelius. Sheryl’s assessment of his character aside, she wanted a job. She’d go insane if she had to face endlessly succeeding formless days. Vacations and weekends were only special because they were always too short.

  This morning cinched it. She awoke feeling restless but uninspired, unwilling even to get out of bed. The minute her thoughts turned to the possibility of getting a job, she felt a surge of energy shooting her out of bed and into the shower.

  She would drop by and introduce herself and mention that she had newspaper experience. She didn’t know about the local papers in Brevard County, but the AJC always needed someone. It couldn’t hurt to let him know she was available, and it would kill a few hours. If he wasn’t hiring, he might know someone who was.

  She turned her thoughts back to the previous night’s conversation with Lou. Imagination. It had to be. She was not talking to a ghost, not that she would mind talking to a ghost as long as the ghost was her aunt; but Allie didn’t believe in ghosts. She didn’t know exactly what she did believe in, but she knew it didn’t involve carrying on running conversations with someone in the hereafter, Spook’s reaction aside.

  With Spook taken care of, she added a touch of lipstick to her understated makeup and let herself out of the house. She dressed conservatively in a navy suit and heels on the off chance that this casual introduction turned into a bona fide job interview.

  *

  The drive to Cocoa took more than half an hour, but Allie didn’t care. She opened the car windows a few inches, not enough to mess her hair, but enough to allow her to commune with nature. The slightly salty air felt fresh and cool against her skin. A brisk morning breeze blew through the palm fronds, setting them into a kind of manic dance, like kids on a playground at recess. Brilliant morning sun sparkled off rivers as reflective as mirrors, and gulls and pelicans soared over the water, scanning below for breakfast. All along the causeway were unpaved pull-offs where you could stop to stare at the water or walk along the edge or fish. Allie was tempted—at least the staring and walking part—but Cocoa and the possibility of gainful employment beckoned.

  She took a right when she reached U.S. 1. A mile north, the Brevard Sun was housed in an uninspired one-story building of white stucco with a narrow strip of brownish grass along the front walk. She pulled into the parking lot and took a visitor’s slot. In Atlanta, she paid more than one hundred dollars a month for the privilege of parking her car in a downtown lot. The parking here probably cost nothing. A nice perk. Then, she remembered that she no longer needed to worry what it cost to park her car. It was taking her a little time to get the hang of being rich.

  Stopping inside the front door, she looked around. The place seemed deserted, a far cry from the AJC offices humming with activity and energy with people coming and going at all hours. The modern décor was a little sterile for her taste, with walls papered in some kind of dark green fabric and only the recessed lighting keeping the room from seeming cave-like. The floors were gray slate, and the furniture straight-lined and sleek. A faint odor of cigarette smoke lingered on the air. The only signs of life were the tall palms growing on either side of the door, and they appeared half-dead.

  Straight ahead stood an abandoned semi-circular reception desk, bare except for a flat-screen monitor and a multi-buttoned telephone. Corridors led off in either direction from the main room to what she assumed were business offices and the newsroom. She mentally flipped a coin and headed down the hallway to her right. The newsroom was big and utilitarian. Tops of heads faced computers over the half-walls of a dozen cubicles. Only a few glanced up when she appeared in the doorway. They seemed only mildly curious and soon went back to what they were doing. Allie heard only the soft tap of computer keys. The dominant smell here was toasted bagels and equally toasted coffee, with a hint of grape. Jelly?

  She turned, retracing her steps, and found Rupert Cornelius’ office at the other end of the corridor. No food smells down here. His office seemed nearly as big as the newsroom. The walls above waist-high paneling were painted a buttery cream and peppered with a collection of framed photographs. At a quick glance, she could see that Cornelius featured prominently in most of them. He had an ego. Still, that didn’t make him pond scum. More pictures were on the shelves opposite, but she stood too far away to see them clearly. A conference table that could easily seat ten stretched across the far end of the room. His desk, closer to the door, was eight linear feet of dark oak, tidy and polished to a high sheen. In front of the desk were two leather-upholstered chairs. The overall look seemed ostentatious to Allie—almost a parody of the successful businessman’s office—but impressive all the same.

  Even though the door was open and Cornelius sat behind his desk, Allie knocked as a matter of form.
He looked up, and his face registered shock, maybe at the effrontery of someone barging into his private domain.

  “Good morning,” Allie said across the space. “I’m sorry, but there was no one out front.”

  He stood behind his desk, but he didn’t invite her in. “Do I know you?”

  That seemed a little rude, no matter the circumstances. “I’m Allison Grainger. Louise Smith’s niece. Maybe you knew my aunt.”

  His expression cleared. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Please come in.” He crossed the room and held out his hand. “Rupert Cornelius.”

  She realized that having bumped into a corpse had colored her appraisal at the jetty. Her impression of him that day was tall and white-haired. Now, she could see that Rupert Cornelius was a handsome man. Like everyone she’d met since she returned, his skin was tanned to a golden brown, making his perfect teeth shine unnaturally white. Or maybe he bleached them. He wore a gray two-piece suit, heavy for Florida, but he seemed cool and unruffled. His blood must be thin as water.

  “I have to apologize for my lack of manners,” he said, ushering her into the office, “but you must know that you bear an uncanny resemblance to the woman found dead in Cape Canaveral a few days ago. Perhaps you read about it?”

  Allie gave a nervous laugh. “I’m the one who found her. I saw you at the jetty with the sheriff.”

  He motioned to a chair and crossed to sit behind his desk. “I’m afraid I don’t remember seeing you there, but in all the confusion….” His voice trailed off.

  “I was over talking to Joe Odum at the pavilion. Joe’s a friend from way back. We used to play together as kids.”

  “Did you, indeed?”

  “Yes, I used to stay at my aunt’s house every summer.”

  “I knew Lou. Quite well, in fact.”

  “Joe lived in the same neighborhood. So did Sheryl Levine. She’s a deputy now too. We were all friends back then. Well, I mean we still are, but I’ve been away for a long time.”

  He smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I know them both and the sheriff. And, of course, I knew your aunt. Lou was a wonderful woman.” His face flushed. “You must pardon me, Miss Grainger. As I said, I knew Lou very well. Her passing was a tragedy.”

  Before Allie could speak, a buzzer sounded somewhere in the building. Cornelius turned, and Allie thought she caught a flash of irritation on his face before he covered it.

  “Ah. Myrna. Finally.” He turned back to Allie. “My receptionist. She had car trouble this morning. Again.”

  A woman hurried past his office door, glancing in at them as she passed. Then, she paused and stepped back, staring at Allie with narrowed eyes. She looked about sixty, and she was carrying an extra twenty or thirty pounds, mostly around her middle, and her clothes looked as if they’d been left in the dryer too long. She looked from Allie to Cornelius, and then rearranged her face into a bland expression. “Sorry I’m late.”

  She and Cornelius stared at each other for a long moment before he turned back to Allie. “Forgive my lack of manners. Can we get you some coffee? Perhaps a water?”

  “No, thank you.”

  The woman remained standing outside the door. Her body seemed to bristle with suppressed emotion. When Cornelius got up and closed the door in her face, Allie’s antennae quivered. There were some interesting dynamics at the Brevard Sun.

  Cornelius crossed back to his chair. “Well then, what can I do for you, Miss Grainger?”

  The man unsettled her, making her feel like a gawky sixteen-year old. She summoned up her courage. “I probably should have called before coming over, but I wondered if the Sun had any openings.”

  He sat back in surprise. “Are you talking about job openings?”

  “Yes.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs, feeling more uncomfortable by the moment. “I have a degree in journalism, and I worked for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Did you, indeed?”

  Something in the way he drew out each word made her squirm in her chair.

  “As a reporter?” he asked.

  “No, I started as a proofreader, and then worked as a research assistant. I—uh—didn’t bring a résumé with me. I probably should have, but I haven’t unpacked yet. I probably have an old copy somewhere at home.” She bit her lip in dismay. This wasn’t going at all the way she hoped. He regarded her with amusement. Five minutes into the visit, and she’d already botched the situation so badly that all she could think about was retreat.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Cornelius,” she said, starting to rise. “It was presumptuous of me to show up in your office like this. I should have called, and I should have been better prepared.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, motioning her back to her chair. He came around the desk to sit next to her. “I think it perfectly charming of you to come. As for a résumé, I don’t think that will be necessary. Was the AJC your only job in journalism?”

  She nodded. “Except for my college newspaper.”

  “Where did you attend college?”

  “UGA. University of Georgia.”

  “UGA is a fine school.” He beamed at her. “I know a number of people in the journalism department there and at the AJC. I can make a few calls. Do you know Jason Tilman?”

  Allie nodded again. Her boss had answered to Jason Tilman.

  “Jason can tell me anything I need to know,” he said, settling back and crossing his legs. “How long have you been in Cocoa?”

  Allie still felt uncomfortable, but she didn’t know how to extricate herself from the situation without looking like even more of a fool. “I’m living in Cape Canaveral at my aunt’s house. I’ve been here only a few days. In fact, I got back the night before they found the woman at the jetty.”

  His lips pursed, as he shook his head. “Terrible thing, wasn’t it? It must have been dreadful for you, finding that woman’s body.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you didn’t pack your bags and leave the same day.”

  “I’ve come back to stay.”

  His face creased into a smile. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. He picked up a pen off the corner of his desk and tapped it against his hand, all business now. “And you worked for the AJC until?”

  “A little over six years ago.”

  “What have you been doing since then?”

  Allie sat back. Was the question proper in the context of an interview? Cornelius already knew it wasn’t newspaper work, or she’d have mentioned it. Still, she got herself in this stupid position. “My husband and I lived in Europe.”

  His eyes immediately went to her bare left hand. He looked up at her, his face a question. She waited him out. After a minute, he smiled, and the tension eased. “Which part of Europe?”

  “Brussels. Garrison is in the diplomatic service.”

  “What a delightful experience that must have been for you.”

  When she said nothing, he asked, “Is your husband here with you?”

  She didn’t like the way this interview was going, but she could blame only herself for bringing it up. She didn’t know why she didn’t want to tell him she and Garrison were divorced except that it was none of his damn business. The hell with the job. All she wanted now was to end this inquisition. “No, he isn’t. Garrison is still in Europe.” She picked up her purse. “I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she said, rising.

  He stood as well. Her face must have shown her feelings because he said, “Miss Grainger—Allison—isn’t it? Forgive what must seem to you like inappropriate curiosity. We’re a small newspaper, and I’ve always taken an interest in my employees—and my prospective employees. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “It’s no problem,” she lied.

  He smiled. “It’s very gracious of you to indulge me. I would like to talk to you more about your experiences at the AJC and the openings we have here at the Sun. We’re always looking for talented people.” He glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment
in a few minutes. Perhaps lunch?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Tomorrow, then, or Friday?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Mr. Cornelius,” she said, backing away.

  He took a step toward her and lowered his voice, even though his office door was closed. “Allison, I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you.” He must have seen the look of alarm on her face because he waved his words away. “Not about the openings at the paper. We have several. I’m afraid my asking you to lunch might have seemed—oh, forward, perhaps. It’s that your aunt and I are—” He winced. “Were—very close friends, and there is no one I can talk to about her. Oh, Cord Arbutten, maybe. He was Lou’s boss, but he didn’t know about our friendship. I thought—I hoped we might talk a bit about her somewhere…” He gestured vaguely around the office. “Somewhere more relaxed.”

  Allie took a mental step back. Was he telling her that he and her aunt had an affair? The idea shocked her. Suddenly, she wanted to talk to Sheryl. Or Joe, although she thought Sheryl would be more likely to know something, if only because she was another woman. Cornelius watched her. Whatever he had been to her aunt, Allie wanted to get out of his office. Now. “I’m not sure about my schedule right now. May I call you?”

  He smiled. “Of course, you may.” He turned to walk her to his office door. “I imagine you think me a doddering old fool,” he said with a hollow laugh, “but I’m afraid I have been a bit of a fool since—well….” His voice trailed off to silence.

  He didn’t seem particularly threatening now, but she still wanted out. When they reached his office door, he captured her hand again. “I’ve enjoyed very much meeting you, Allison. I hope I’ll be hearing from you soon. I think we have a great deal to talk about.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cornelius,” she said, as the door closed behind her.

  The receptionist was seated at the front desk, her head down as she rummaged around in her purse. When she glanced up and saw Allie, she caught her breath, and Allie realized that the tobacco odor was coming from her.

  “I’m leaving,” Allie said, pulling her keys out of her purse. She could feel the woman’s eyes boring into her back, as she let herself out the door.