Small Town Spin

by Walker, LynDee

“My mother’s minestrone will cure anything,” he said, settling the lid back in place and turning to me. “It’s full of vitamins, and it tastes good, too. It’ll be ready in about half an hour.”

  “I have less than no appetite.” I folded my arms on the table and dropped my head onto them, muffling the words. “I just feel…gross. Stupid germs.”

  “Which is why you need to eat. And rest.” He looped one arm around my waist and fit the other under my knees, scooping me out of the chair and walking toward the bedroom.

  “In all the times I’ve imagined you carrying me to bed, this is not what I had in mind,” I said, laying my head on his shoulder.

  “You imagined what?” His voice dropped. “Let’s hear that story.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have said that,” I said. “My brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. Disregard.”

  “Not on your life.” He settled me on the edge of the wide cherry four-poster that dominated the floor space in my tiny bedroom. “But we’ll table it for when you feel better.” His dark eyes sparkled and my stomach cartwheeled.

  “You really are an interesting guy, you know that? I never would’ve expected you to play nursemaid.”

  He chuckled. “Thank you. I think.”

  “Shutting up now,” I said. “All the cold medicine I’ve taken this week is affecting my filter.”

  I kicked my eggplant Jimmy Choo slingbacks onto the floor and splayed my toes. “Everything hurts.”

  “Pajamas, medicine, and under the covers,” he ordered.

  I saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the doorframe. “Well?”

  “If I had the energy, I’d throw a pillow at you. Get out.”

  He raised both hands. “You said something about your filter being off. Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He stepped into the hall and shut the door.

  I dug for cute pajamas and finally found a matching set. Wriggling them on, I climbed under the covers and called an all clear.

  “So, what’s the deal with this kid? Looks like he had it all and he just killed himself? Why?” Joey perched on the edge of the bed.

  “That’s what I said.” I forced myself to focus on the story, so I wouldn’t go all giggly at the sight of Joey on my bed. “I’m trying to figure it out, but honestly? The more I poke around, the more I think he didn’t kill himself.”

  “Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrows. “How come?”

  “Well, because of what you said. It just doesn’t add up. None of the suicide markers I’ve written about before are here. There were four kids who jumped off the Lee bridge three summers ago. I talked to more suicide prevention specialists and counselors and shrinks that summer than I did cops. This doesn’t fit what any of them told me. Plus, my friend Emily is a big shot psychologist in Dallas. She can’t talk to me on the record, but she says it doesn’t fit, either, unless there’s some big secret. I can’t see anybody in that town breaking wind without everyone knowing. Yet for some reason, the sheriff is determined to mark it a suicide and close the file.”

  “Maybe you should think about why he’s so eager to be done with it,” Joey said, adjusting the covers so he could massage my foot. “Is he covering for someone?”

  “Oh, Jesus, I hope not,” I sighed. “That feels really good.”

  He smiled.

  “I guess that’s something to check out, though,” I mused. “There was this kid I met at the school today. Luke… I can’t remember, but the sheriff said his last name, so he knows him. Or his family. Kid was pretty blunt about being jealous of TJ. And I didn’t care for the vibe I got from him. I’ve been around more murderers than anyone ever should, and there’s something about that kid. He might not have killed TJ, but it’s not because he’s not capable of it.”

  He switched to the other foot and I leaned my head back and let my thoughts roam.

  “There’s something else going on out there, too,” I said, eyes still shut. “I’ve been to the sheriff’s office twice in two days, and both times, there was a guy hanging out there badgering him about something that the sheriff swears isn’t illegal. I sort of asked today, but he didn’t take the bait. Could be an interesting aside if I can catch up to the other guy, though.”

  I sat up, thinking about the paper I’d brought home. Maybe there was a clue in there.

  “I don’t suppose you feel like bringing me the newspaper that’s in the front seat of my car?” I smiled at Joey. “Not that I’m not loving the pampering, but I grabbed a paper in Mathews today. I’d like to get a better feel for the town and the people.”

  “I need to check the soup, anyway.” He patted my foot and replaced the covers as he stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks.” I grinned at the warmth in his eyes, pushing aside the where-could-this-possibly-go thoughts that came often when I was with Joey. He was sexy and exciting (and sweet, too, which was a cool bonus). We were having fun.

  I grabbed the remote off the night table and clicked the TV on, CNN flashing up by default. Anderson Cooper was in California covering an earthquake. I wondered who they’d sent to Mathews. I flipped to ESPN, and found a young reporter in a polo shirt and blazer standing on the football field at Mathews High, talking about TJ.

  “Okerson seemed on the verge of following in his father’s footsteps, leading the Mathews Eagles to the state title last year. But he took a hard fall in the fourth quarter of the championship game, resulting in a knee injury that might have ended someone else’s playing days. Tony Okerson talked to ESPN about his son’s recovery last month.”

  They cut to a clip of that interview, and I watched Tony’s relaxed smile, his eyes not the haunted ones I’d seen in his living room the day before.

  “I’m very fortunate to have access to some of the best sports medicine folks in the country,” he said. “Because of that, we were able to get TJ the treatment he needed soon enough after the injury to save his playing career, if that’s what he chooses to make a career of.”

  The screen flashed a diagram of the ligaments in the knee, and a doctor from Johns Hopkins came on, talking about the type of injury TJ had, and why it was so unusual for him to recover. I fumbled a notebook and pen out of the nightstand drawer and jotted down the name of the injury, pondering that.

  “He had a better tolerance for pain than any kid I’ve ever seen,” Coach Morris had said.

  What if he hadn’t recovered as fully as everyone thought?

  I flipped back to CNN, where a young female reporter I didn’t recognize was “Live from Mathews County, Virginia,” standing on the front steps of the high school. She didn’t have anything I didn’t know, and everyone had been gone by the time she got there. Maybe no one else had talked to the coach. I’d have to watch Charlie’s broadcast at eleven o’clock and check the Newport News media websites to be sure of that, though.

  I flopped back into the pillows and sighed. I probably ought to get my story written, but I didn’t want to do anything except sleep. Maybe I’d feel more like working after I ate something.

  Joey strolled back in with the paper and my bag and handed both to me, glancing at the TV. “Media circus, huh?”

  “I knew it would be. It’ll be a miracle if they get through the funeral without someone getting nasty. I’m waiting for the commentary about his famous father pushing him too hard.”

  “Was he?”

  “Not that I’ve been able to find. Grant Parker at my office is an old friend of the family, and he would have told me if that was the case. I think. Maybe I’ll ask. But I did ask the baseball coach today, and he said he never saw any evidence of that.”

  Joey nodded. I glanced back at the TV, which showed a shot of the Okersons’ front gate with a voice over about the idyllic little town being rocked by the popular athlete’s suicide.

  “Dammit, I can’t afford to be sick right now,” I grumbled. “Going up against Charlie is bad enough, but I’m trying to beat out everyone in the country,
here.” I shook an antibiotic from the bottle I dug out of my bag and swallowed it. “Pharmaceutical industry, do your thing.”

  “You need to get well so you can do your thing. The soup should be ready.” Joey walked out of the room.

  I spread the Mathews Leader open over my lap. The front led with a short write up on TJ, most of the page dominated by a photo of him hoisting the trophy after the championship football game. Lyle had quoted the sheriff and the football coach, who was reached by phone in the Outer Banks. That was the kind of connection I didn’t have out there, and I was glad to see it. I knew how it felt when the networks descended on one of my bigger trials.

  The second story on the front was also Lyle’s, and made me giggle because it was such a one-eighty from the Okerson story. A giant snapping turtle had wandered up from the water and chased a preschool class down Main Street.

  The photos of the ensuing melee, showing Sheriff Zeke and a deputy facing off with the turtle—which was roughly the size of a child’s picnic table and looked mean, with its hooked upper lip—were fantastic.

  It was the perfect portrayal of why I loved my job, wrapped up in one printed page. I never knew what each day would bring. And that was often truer for reporters in little towns, who covered a bit of everything instead of one dedicated beat.

  Since I was pretty sure the turtle population wasn’t what had Amos’s suspenders in a twist, I kept flipping. I made it through all sixteen pages without finding anything suspect, but I did learn the names of the mayor (Jeff Ellington), plus the high school principal (Bill McManus) and PTA President (Lily Bosley). I found TJ’s obit, too—it took up all but a business-card-size ad slot on page five.

  Joey came in carrying a tray just as I set the paper aside.

  “That really does smell good,” I said. “And I can’t smell much of anything. Thank you.”

  “Anytime.” The way his lips edged up made me drop my eyes back to the newspaper.

  He set the tray next to me and chuckled. “Find anything in the paper?”

  “Not really. Some names I might need, but not what I was looking for.”

  “Maybe some rest will help you figure something out.”

  “I have a story to write. And then we’ll see about that.” I set the paper aside and laid the tray across my lap, lifting the spoon. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “You didn’t ask.” He took a seat in the small chair in the corner.

  “And me with the whole ‘questions are my livelihood’ thing, too.” I took a bite. The soup was blistering hot, but amazing.

  “This is fantastic. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  I continued to mull over the story aloud between bites. By the time I put the empty bowl on the night table, I could’ve sworn I felt a little better. “Is there magic in that stuff? Or liquor?” I asked.

  Joey shook his head. “Just vegetables.”

  “It was nice of you.” I said, reaching for my laptop. “Truly.”

  “Someone has to make sure you take care of yourself. But I get the feeling you want me to go.”

  I frowned. “I don’t want you to go. And I’m certainly not trying to be rude. But I have work to do, and sleep to get, so I’m afraid I’m not going to be great company. I’m shocked my Blackberry isn’t already buzzing with Bob wanting a story. I really should have done it when I got home.”

  “No offense taken.” He stopped in the doorway. “Feel better. Maybe I’ll see you next Friday?”

  “Girls’ night with Jenna,” I said, scrunching my face apologetically.

  “Saturday?”

  “You’re on. I better be back to a hundred percent by then.”

  “Keep eating the soup. I put the rest in your fridge. It works, I’m telling you.”

  “I’m a believer.” I smiled.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Sleep well.” He stared at me for a moment, then crossed to the bed and dropped a kiss on my head. “Be careful.”

  “You know something I should know?” I tried to focus on his words, when all I wanted was to melt into a puddle on the bed.

  “Nope.” He raised both hands in mock-surrender and backed toward the door when I arched one eyebrow at that. “I swear it. I’d never heard of Mathews, Virginia until I read your story this morning. Probably why Okerson moved out there in the first place, right?”

  “You know anyone who might know something?” I asked.

  “About this kid? I can’t imagine why.”

  “Or his dad.” I felt an idea looming. “Tony Okerson was a big deal football player. Who knows who he might have come into contact with? I’ve never heard or seen anything about him being into gambling or anything…” I let that trail off, almost feeling traitorous for wondering such a thing.

  Joey nodded thoughtfully. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not. You’d be surprised at some of the athletes and celebrities who are. Hurting the kid to get at dad is low, but not unheard of.”

  “Yeah?” I didn’t care for this idea, except that it’d be an exclusive. I didn’t know any other reporters with an in at the Mafia.

  He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why do I have a feeling I’ll regret this conversation someday soon?”

  I opened my mouth to object and he shook his head.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll see if I can find out anything for you if you swear that you won’t go poking into this alone and you promise to watch yourself and call someone for help if it looks like it might be more dangerous than playing fetch with Darcy.”

  The dog popped out of her bed and yipped when he said her name.

  “Who am I going to call for help?” I asked. I didn’t want to make him a promise I couldn’t deliver on.

  “Your friends at the Richmond PD?” He dropped his eyes to the floor. “Your friend at the ATF?”

  I nodded slowly, catching the resentful note in his voice, but unsure what to do about it. My long-ago ex-boyfriend was a Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives supercop.

  He was also interested in no longer being my ex-boyfriend. Joey didn’t like Kyle. Kyle didn’t like Joey (what he knew about him, anyhow, which wasn’t much). I liked them both. Em was right. It was a mess.

  “I promise,” I said.

  “I’ll see what I can find.” He backed out the door with a wave. “Get well.”

  I heard the kitchen door click shut and sank into the pillows for a second, closing my eyes and breathing deep. Kyle. Joey. Equally gorgeous. Equally exciting. Almost equally problematic.

  Pushing the covers back, I sighed. “Since I’m not deciphering my love life anytime soon, what say we figure out what happened to this kid, Darcy?” I asked the dog, slipping out of bed. She pricked up her ears and bit her favorite old stuffed squirrel.

  After washing my face and making some tea, I climbed back in bed and opened my computer. My fingers hovered over the keys, but I didn’t get a single word into the lead before my Blackberry lit up.

  I glanced at the screen and frowned at the unfamiliar number. Not Bob.

  “Clarke,” I said, pressing it to my ear.

  “Zeke Waters in Mathews County,” came the reply. “Remember that epidemic we talked about? It’s been thirty-six hours. And I have another dead kid.”

  6.

  Like wildfire

  “You and the local paper are the only media being notified tonight, and I only called you because TJ’s parents brought you into this,” Waters said tightly, letting me through the yellow crime-scene tape blocking access to the area under the drawbridge. Deputies combed the rocks with flashlights, and I tried not to slip as I tagged after the sheriff.

  I’d had the sense to leave my Jimmy Choos at home in favor of a pair of Tory Burch ballet flats when I’d dragged myself out of bed and back to the coast, but I wasn’t expecting rocky shore terrain. The flats were slick, and my balance was already off from being sick. I hadn’t come this far to wait by the road for an intervi
ew, though.

  Sheriff Zeke swept the area with a wide orange beam, and I swallowed hard at the memory of the summer I’d had the four jumpers in Richmond, scanning the rocks for blood. I turned to the sheriff when I didn’t see any.

  “Is this bridge high enough—or the water shallow enough—for a jump to be lethal if they didn’t hit the rocks?” I stared at the far bank, which I couldn’t really see, but the deputies were all on this side.

  “No,” he furrowed his brow, looking up at the underside of the bridge. “This wasn’t a jump. The kids have parties here a lot.”

  “Another party?” I clicked out a pen, glancing at the stout man with the dark beard and glasses who appeared next to me, holding a tape recorder. Lyle, probably. “Same kids?”

  “Some, yeah,” Zeke said.

  “Cause of death?” I asked.

  “Not immediately apparent,” he said. “I’m sure the tox screen will reveal it.”

  “Then why did you tell me on the phone you suspected it was a copycat suicide?”

  “There’s a note,” he said. “Maybe another overdose, or intentional alcohol poisoning.”

  “Are you releasing the name of the victim?” Lyle asked.

  “Sydney Cobb,” Zeke said, one hand flying up to rake over his face. “It’s Sydney Cobb.”

  Something rang familiar, but I was too beat to get it on the first try.

  A look flashed between Sheriff Zeke and Lyle.

  “What am I missing, guys?” I asked.

  “She was TJ Okerson’s girlfriend,” Lyle muttered. “Those of us who work here all the time know that.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. Of course. “Sydney was the only one he ever wanted,” Ashton had said. The picture in TJ’s locker floated to the front of my thoughts.

  “She left a note?” I asked.

  Zeke nodded. “‘It hurts.’ That’s all it said.”

  I closed my eyes for a second, then scribbled that down.

  “Listen, folks,” Zeke said, “every hotel in Gloucester and Hampton is full of news crews, and what happens here has the potential to happen in other places because of that. This is new territory for me, this national stage thing. But I want to do everything I can to keep any more children from dying.”