by Diane Capri
Jordan was stuck spending the rest of the evening at the assignment desk. She kept her head down and tried to stay out of trouble.
About eight o’clock, Patricia picked up a call. “Yeah. Okay. Good plan, Antonio. Nothing much new on Garfield anyway. Head over to the casino. We’ll have you live downtown. Drew’s with you, right? Great.”
Jordan’s temper flared and she clamped her jaw shut to avoid saying something she’d regret later. The clamped jaw didn’t keep her mind from fuming, though.
Drew. On her story. Totally unfair.
Banishing Jordan from the story was stupid, too. Restrain the one journalist in the world who was actually at the scene to a chair behind a desk? Real smart.
Patricia had already moved on to the next thing and Jordan could think of nothing to do about Drew or Antonio.
But she would. She’d think of something and she’d take this story back. It was hers. She’d prove she could do a better job than Drew or Antonio.
How, exactly, would she do that?
After twenty minutes, the answer finally hit her.
In her pitch at today’s afternoon meeting, Jordan hadn’t revealed that she knew the aquarium event’s honoree. She hadn’t wanted to come off as biased toward the pitch or like she was bragging or like she only knew how to find stories that were personally interesting to her.
That was then.
Now she was more desperate to make herself valuable. And she wanted her story back. Time to play the connections card. It’s always who you know. Well, fine. Drew was certainly making the most of his connections and everybody thought that was great.
She called Antonio. He picked up. Eventually.
“Hey it’s Jordan, just checking in from the desk. I wasn’t sure if you needed any details about what happened this afternoon.”
“I think we’re good,” Antonio replied using the annoying smug tone she remembered. “We have the names of a few witnesses we can call up if we need more.”
“Oh. ’Cause, I actually know the guy who was being honored if you wanted me to try to get ahold of him or anything….” Jordan’s voice trailed off, expecting Antonio to jump at the opportunity.
“Nah, we’ve got it under control.” He sounded preoccupied, like he wasn’t even listening.
Jordan pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Had she heard him correctly?
She felt stunned. Crushed, even. Were her observations and connections worth nothing? “Are you sure you don’t need me to describe what happened or anything? I took pictures if you want them, too. They’re uploaded into SkySpace.”
“We’re all set.” Now he sounded condescending, too.
Great.
Richard probably told everyone about the destroyed camera and lack of video. No one seemed to trust her and that was stupid, too. If it wasn’t for her, Channel 12 wouldn’t even have photos of the scene without the body. Shouldn’t they be a little bit grateful about that?
Clearly, if she wanted to impress and beat Drew, she needed something newsworthy. But what?
Maybe Antonio wasn’t interested in her connections, but he should be. Claire and Salvador surely would have something important to add. Last she’d heard was a text from Claire saying she and Sal were going home and they’d catch up later. Now was a good time to call.
If Jordan could take a new, undiscovered nugget of the story to tomorrow’s afternoon meeting, maybe she could start to make up for the damage she’d done today.
Would it be callous to ask Sal about the murder? She didn’t want to abuse her relationship, or, even worse, scare off the man her best friend seemed to be in love with.
But this was a huge story. And Jordan needed a huge break. And after all, Sal didn’t kill the guy. Probably didn’t even know the man. Sal couldn’t feel any worse about seeing the body than Jordan did, and except for a few shaky moments, she was compartmentalizing fairly well.
Jordan found a moment before the 11 p.m. news to step outside and call Claire. Claire had been staying at Sal’s waterfront estate for the past couple weeks now. She and Claire had argued about that because Jordan felt both she and Claire were too young to be living with any guy. They should be having fun, not playing house. They needed space. Had Jordan’s experience with her ex taught Claire nothing? At the moment, though, Jordan was glad she’d find them both with one call.
“Hey, Jordan.” Claire answered with less energy than normal. “What’s up?”
Jordan spoke quietly because she didn’t want to be overheard by the few people who were still wandering around. “I’ve only got a second. Do you think Sal would mind if I asked him a couple questions?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah, on the phone.”
“Normally he wouldn’t mind, but….” Claire sounded especially tired, and maybe a little worried, too.
“What’s wrong?” Jordan asked.
“He’s pretty upset.”
Jordan’s eyebrows squeezed together. She tilted her head a bit, as if the words would make more sense if she moved them around in her brain.
Nope.
Salvador wasn’t the squeamish type. He was a lot stronger than she was. According to Claire, he’d recovered quickly from the sudden death of his father and took over a major company right away. Why would he be any more upset about what they’d witnessed than anybody else was?
Not only that, but Claire had boasted about Sal’s teenage heroism. She said he’d rescued more than one boating accident victim and fished a couple of bodies out of the Gulf when he’d worked on the docks in the summer.
“He’s seen worse, right?” Jordan said.
“Yeah. But this one’s different.” Claire sounded sad now as well as tired.
“Because he feels responsible or something?”
“Maybe.”
“He can’t think that if his award event hadn’t happened, the murder wouldn’t have happened. That’s crazy.”
“I dunno,” Claire’s voice quieted to a whisper. “I’ve never seen him like this. It’s freakin’ weird. He won’t explain. He won’t look at the story on your website. He won’t even let me read it to him.”
“Lemme talk to him. This whole thing has nothing to do with him.” Jordan realized Sal felt responsible for some crazy reason, but he wasn’t. She could help him see that and make Claire feel less worried about him. “Look, we’re putting the story on the air in a few minutes. We’ve been talking to cops and experts all night. The decapitation happened way before the body came floating in to his event. The guy wasn’t even bleeding anymore by the time he hit the water. Get it? That means the whole thing was a premeditated plan. They killed the guy somewhere else and dumped the body in the Aquarium. It was just bad luck that Sal’s event was going on at the time.”
Claire let Jordan’s plea hang in the air a few moments, like maybe she was thinking about it. “I’m sorry, Jordan. He’s too upset.”
No harm in pushing a little to see if Claire would budge, right? “Is he already asleep?”
“I think so. He’s on the couch. He’s done for the night.”
“Why don’t you just check? I want to find out if he recognizes this weird guy in my picture on the website. Just two minutes, I promise.”
“Jordan….”
Claire’s tone warned her to stop, but she couldn’t. “My job is on the line here. I can’t even tell you how many things I got in trouble for today. It’s been a terrible first day actually. I broke a phone, I got demote—”
“Yeah, you know who else had a terrible day? The guy who got decapitated.”
“Claire, please.”
“I said NO!”
Then, silence on the other end.
Jordan pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. Call Ended.
It was the first time Claire had ever hung up on her in all the years they’d been friends.
Jordan dropped her head back against the building and closed her eyes. She’d pushed Claire too hard and she k
new it. But she’d been desperate. Her whole world was falling down around her again and her best friend had the ability to at least prop it back up for another day. That’s what best friends are for, aren’t they?
Apparently not tonight.
Jordan glanced at her watch. Time to get the news on the air. Maybe Sal’s seriously foul mood could mean he did know something. Maybe that’s why he was being so strange. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Jordan would call Claire tomorrow. Maybe Sal would be willing to talk then. She’d need to call back anyway to apologize.
Right now, though, she was late for the eleven o’clock news. She dropped the phone into her pocket and dashed back inside.
CHAPTER 6
Antonio headlined Channel 12 News at 11, live from outside the casino. Drew must have been nearby. Probably watching and learning how to use all the high-tech equipment a live shot required—a live truck, a real camera, microphones, and lighting.
Jordan recognized the green-eyed monster that swelled her chest and masqueraded as wounded anger. She should be the one on the scene, not Drew. This was her story, dammit. Why did no one seem to understand that except her?
She scanned the row of monitors that hung above her chair at the assignment desk, each tuned in to a different local news station. They were all leading with the Florida Casino Incident. Every news station probably began flocking to the Casino around the same time Jordan was running away.
Why hadn’t she stayed put? She should have guessed Channel 12 would already have the first bits of news. Hell, if she’d stayed instead of running like a scared kid, she’d at least have been able to observe and take notes until someone with a working camera arrived. How could she have been so dense?
Jordan shook her head as if she could shake the self-defeat out of her mind. Then, she squared her shoulders and got to work. She had half an hour left on her shift. She intended to make the most of it.
Chronology suggested the body could be the missing man, Ted Garfield. She wouldn’t be able to positively identify the body, but maybe she could find something that would rule him out.
Jordan pulled up pictures of Garfield from police press releases to start. Too bad he hadn’t been a swim coach instead of soccer. Every photo she found showed him fully clothed.
An older, white-haired guy named Barry had replaced Patricia on the assignment desk for the night shift. Jordan had instantly felt comfortable with him. Besides Drew, Barry was the closest Jordan had come to making any friends at work today.
“How will we find out if Ted Garfield has, like, tattoos or scars or anything like that?” Jordan asked him. “Will the police tell us?”
“If we’re lucky, they’ll issue a press release before the weekend.” Barry’s slow Southern drawl was as musical as it was slow.
Tomorrow was Friday, last day before the weekend. Tomorrow could be newsworthy. Which meant tomorrow could be a good day.
But Jordan wanted answers now. Or at least progress. At 11 p.m. on a Thursday night, there wasn’t much she could do except go back to the internet.
She searched the station’s archives, which turned up a few newspaper articles from several years back. Garfield was once a soccer coach at Knightly High School, one county north of Tampa’s Hills County. Garfield had also been a soccer coach for at least one year at James High School, a nearby private school. He’d been quoted in an article about the team heading to the State Championship.
James High. That’s where her ex, Paul Wolfe attended high school. And Paul had played soccer. Jordan scanned the article. The story was focused on the first time James’ soccer team had been to the State Championship. She did another quick archives search and found James High hadn’t been back to States since.
Which meant Ted Garfield was her ex-fiance’s soccer coach.
Yes! She did a fist pump and then glanced around to be sure no one had noticed.
Paul was in New York City now pursuing his own journalism career, a phone call and two thousand miles of pride from where she sat now.
Jordan cringed and sunk down in her seat.
After he dumped her on her college graduation day, she swore she would never speak to him again. A vow she’d kept with no difficulty whatsoever. But…maybe she should make an exception when her entire career was at stake. Bile rose in her throat.
Still, what choice did she have?
She was dying to know anything at all about Ted Garfield. A dozen questions popped into her head that Paul could easily answer. For example, if Ted had tattoos across his chest or arms, she’d know the tattoo-less body couldn’t be Ted’s. Was Ted in any way suspicious? Did he engage in any risky behaviors? Have mental problems? In short, did Paul know of any reason why he might have gone missing?
Her shift had ended a couple of minutes ago. Her co-workers were filing out.
Jordan pulled out her ancient cell phone and scrolled through the stored phone numbers. Maybe one of Paul’s high school friends could be found among her contacts and she could call one of them instead. But all the way from A through Z, she found no one. Except Paul Wolfe.
Still, she hesitated. Paul had used her. Humiliated her. It had taken weeks for her to stop crying after he dumped her. She never, ever intended to speak to him again. Not even once.
She found his number in her phone and stared at it.
Paul would still be awake. He was a night owl. He never went to bed before 1 a.m.
She weighed her options, which hadn’t changed. She had to do it.
His phone rang once, twice. He picked up. No words yet, and already the situation felt incredibly awkward. She almost disconnected, but he’d have already seen her name on his caller ID anyway.
Deep breath.
“Paul, it’s Jordan.” Her tone was all business. This wasn’t a personal call and she didn’t want him to think otherwise. “I’d apologize for calling too late, but I know you’re still up.”
“Actually, it is too late. So you should apologize.”
What a jerk. She gritted her teeth.
“Fine. Never mind. Have a good life,” she said.
Jordan started to pull the phone from her ear, when she heard his voice speaking up again.
“Hey, hey. Jordan. I was kidding. Kidding.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled the phone back to her ear. “No, forget it. I forgot how freaking annoying your sense of humor is. I don’t have time for this.”
Jordan hung up. She didn’t need Paul. He wasn’t the only kid who ever played soccer at James High. Tomorrow, she’d find another source. Tonight, she’d go home and pour a glass of wine and try to practice a little patience.
On the way out the door, Jordan heard laughter from a small, dim edit bay in the back corridor. Drew and Antonio had returned from their live shot at the casino. Drew was smiling, kicked back with his sculpted arms crossed, like he’d been working at Channel 12 his whole life. By Antonio’s side, Drew would rise to the top of the newsroom with almost no effort at all. Simply being associated with the only male nightside reporter gave Drew major points Jordan couldn’t possibly match.
She propped up her sinking spirits by remembering that while Drew might be the rising prince of the newsroom, no amount of luck or charm would give him the first-hand experience Jordan had today.
She was still annoyed with Antonio’s diss when she offered to help. But those feelings were unproductive. She swallowed a huge dose of humility and said, “Nice live shot, guys.”
“Thanks,” Antonio said, taking all the credit. Drew beamed anyway, as if Antonio’s glow bathed him in success, too, because everyone knew it surely did.
She hated feeding their egos, but office politics was a game at which she could excel. And she’d need to, because she was going to stick around at least long enough to find everything Channel 12 had collected about her mother’s murder. They weren’t getting rid of her so easily.
“So. What do you think happened to Garfield?” Drew asked her. �
�Is he the answer to the headless floating man case?”
Jordan shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine.”
The question meant Drew didn’t know. Jordan actually might. She had a lead, anyway. That was something. She bid them a friendly good night and walked to her car grinning like a canary had just landed in her mouth.
CHAPTER 7
Her dad was already asleep when she got home just before midnight. But the next morning, she jumped out of bed and told him all about her horrific yet oddly satisfying and somewhat successful first day.
“You know I’m thrilled about your byline on the home page. That’s amazing success for a rookie, Freckles. But how do you plan to pay for the broken phone?” Nelson asked. “You know I’d help you if—”
“Dad, please.” She couldn’t bear to let him finish. “Don’t worry. I don’t exactly have a plan…except…I guess I’m hoping to make a down payment in brownie points with Richard.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
She’d been dead serious, but the horrified look on his face worried her, so she said, “I’ll figure it out. I can…I dunno, sell something. And no, I don’t mean my body.”
Jordan smirked and her dad chuckled. She kissed his head on her way out to work.
On the drive, she clicked to call Claire. “I’m sorry I pushed too hard yesterday,” Jordan said when Claire answered.
She turned left to cruise down Bayshore Boulevard, the prettiest street in Tampa.
“It’s okay.” Claire sighed. “It was just a long day, ya know?”
“Of course. Still friends?”
“Always. But, before you ask—Sal still doesn’t wanna talk. I told him what you said about it’s not his fault and everything, but he wouldn’t budge. I think he might be coming down with something. He didn’t even want breakfast. I had to force-feed him a bagel.”
“No worries. If he wants to talk about it, call me immediately. Until then, take it easy and take care of yourselves, okay?”
“See you soon,” Claire said before she hung up.
By 2:28, Jordan had parked and was making the trek into the station, when her phone rang. Paulie flashed across the screen. She’d initially stored Paul’s name that way because it made him mad and he was cute when he was mad. Now, she kept it that way simply because it made him mad and she wanted to remember his less cute self.
