I wasn’t about to admit my fears to a complete stranger. Instead, I said, “I have many reservations, but it wouldn’t hurt to first know what it is you want from me.”
He licked his lips and took his time when choosing his words carefully. Erin interrupted and called my name. “Sam, we can have the contract by the end of today.”
Gemma stepped forward. “Assuming all goes well today.”
Walker knew he had his out. When I was certain he wasn’t going to answer my question, I swung my gaze over to Gemma.
Something in the way she said “Assuming all goes well today” didn’t sit well with me. It made me think that whatever happened today would dictate how the contract would be written. Again, I was having my doubts—paranoid that we might be taken advantage of in some regard I couldn’t yet see.
“Let’s not get too excited,” I said.
Gemma masterfully changed the topic by stating to Erin, “We had the pleasure of watching your documentary work.”
Erin perked up.
“It was marvelous.” Walker smiled. “I do hope you’ll be doing more in the future. Perhaps one of these cases in the folder?”
“Doubtful.” Erin laughed. “But never say never. Podcasts are my new story form.”
“Yes. Of course.” Walker nodded just as my cellphone dinged.
I checked to see who it was. Dawson. Shit. “We got to go,” I said as if realizing for the first time just how late I was to meet with my editor.
“Well, you’re quite good at what you do.” Walker turned to look at me. “The both of you.”
“Thank you.” Erin stepped to the door. “Shall we get started?”
“Yes.” Walker held my gaze when he smiled. “I can’t wait to put your skills to the test.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Carol King was fidgeting with the remote, unable to get the TV to respond, when she grumbled to the nurse, “I pay for this service. The least you can do is make sure that it works.”
The nurse, Tristan Knight, reached for the remote. “It’s not the TV. It’s the remote, Mrs. King.”
“It’s not the smelly remote.” Carol whacked the plastic against the wooden armrest of her chair before pointing the remote back at the TV. “If it was, it would be doing what I’m telling it to do.”
“Mrs. King, please just listen to me.” Knight struggled to get Carol to stop banging the remote against her kneecap, afraid she might break it or, worse, cause injury to herself. “Use the input button and select the TV option.”
“This thing worked fine before the move.” Carol ignored the advice and kept repeating the same efforts that repeatedly failed her.
“Please, allow me to do it for you.” Tristan reached for the remote but Carol quickly reeled it back, tucking it deep into her armpit, guarding it like a pit bull.
Carol snarled at the nurse when suddenly her son appeared at the door.
“Mom, he’s only trying to help.” Alex King entered his mother’s room at the assisted living facility, rolling his eyes. His mother’s behavior was a test of patience and he felt sorry for the nurse having to put up with her stubbornness.
“Now get away from me, you no-good nothing,” Carol growled at Tristan.
“Mom, relax.” King raised his voice getting her to listen. “He’s only trying to help. If you would only listen.”
Tristan retreated with both palms facing out. King’s mother was as hard-headed as a hammerhead shark, but King also knew that he was one of the few people in the world she would truly open her ears for.
King nodded to Tristan, muttered a quick thanks for the effort, and gave the sorry about my mother, she can be a handful look that made Tristan accept his apology. A second later, Tristan exited the room and gently closed the door behind him.
Carol stared at King, still unsuccessfully clicking away at the remote. “I told them my son chose the cable TV package, but look at this blue screen.”
“And you’re right,” King said. “I did.”
He opened his palm and asked to have the remote. Carol reluctantly gave him what he asked for and, as soon as he had it in his hand, he hit the input button and selected the TV option—just as he heard the nurse say to do. The screen flicked to life and he surfed the channels to make sure his mother had access to the service they paid for. It was just as it should have been.
“Would you look at that,” Carol said, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Then she narrowed her eyes and said to Alex, “The breakfast today was awful. It tasted like cardboard.”
King grinned, thinking how his mother could never be satisfied no matter what anybody did. “I’m sure it was just fine,” he said.
Carol spat, “It was awful. Trust me.”
King’s mother lived her life one problem to the next. If it wasn’t the remote or how awful breakfast was, it would be something else entirely. King was prepared for it—knew the first month away from home would be the toughest. He just hoped his mother wasn’t asked to leave before she settled into her new life at the facility.
“How did Dad ever survive living with you?” King teased.
“Your father and I saw the world the same way.”
King knew that wasn’t true. Dad was optimistic, saw the good in everything and everybody—even after witnessing the worst society threw at him.
Carol was still giving a deadpan look when she flicked her eyes back to her son and asked what he was doing here.
“The director called about your behavior, Mom.” King kneeled beside her and looked his mother in her grayish blue eyes. “You haven’t even been here a full week and I’m already getting a call from the principal.”
“Really?” Carol frowned. “Because it feels like I’ve been here for years.”
“It’s not that bad, Mom. You agreed to come here.” King bounced his gaze around her quaint and homey room. “We talked about this. Remember?”
Carol stared at the television, not making any indication she was listening to anything her son said.
“The good news is,” King stood, “I’ll be picking you up for dinner.”
Without taking her eyes off the TV screen, Carol said, “I’m not interested in being a third wheel to your dinner date with Samantha.”
King assured her she wouldn’t be. “Avery has agreed to come, too.”
His mother’s eyes perked up. “Avery? Really?”
King nodded. “You wanted to congratulate her on her new position. I thought this might be a good way to get us all together.”
Suddenly, the local news station stole both of their attentions. “Denver police are investigating the suspicious death of an elderly woman—”
Carol tipped forward and King turned to look. Then the news anchor gave the location of the crime and King could see on his mother’s face she recognized the street address.
“Did you know about this?” she asked.
King bit his lip and sighed.
“Is it—?” Carol’s voice cracked.
“It’s Peggy Hill, Mom.”
Carol’s face froze as she stared at the TV—a look of shock drifting over her eyes.
King stood and found himself staring at his mother’s bed pillows, thinking about how he needed to track down Orville Boyd before another innocent woman found herself dead.
Carol looked up at her son. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” King knew Peggy and his mother had been friends and he wasn’t sure how best to break the news. He now realized she’d learn of it sooner or later and regretted not being the first to tell her what happened.
Carol’s face hardened when she turned her eyes back to the screen. “At least now Dad has some familiar company with him. He always did like Peggy.”
“Yeah.” King swallowed the lump down in his throat. “Yeah, he did,” he said on his way out the door, once again reminding his mom to be ready for dinner at five.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Walter Walker wanted action
but instead I gave him a glimpse into what it was really like doing the exhausting work of journalism. Stepping inside the newsroom, I turned to Walker and said, “This is where the real story lives.”
Walker stood about a foot taller than me and I watched him slowly take it all in—the sights and sounds—a slow frown pulling his lips toward the floor.
I’d told him on our way from his office to mine how my editor had a story waiting for me and I needed to report for duty. He was insistent to learn the details, but I had nothing to reveal as I didn’t know myself.
“The decline of the free press,” he muttered out with a breath of disbelief.
A satisfying grin tugged at my lips as I kept moving toward my desk. As we walked, I kept my eye out for Dawson. It was one thing to hear the struggles of a newspaper, and something else entirely to see it for yourself.
The collective mood of my colleagues trying to salvage whatever might be left could be felt—desperation was in the air at every step.
“These people are the real stars to the show,” I said, pointing to the men and women with pencils tucked behind their ears, their fingers tap dancing across their keys.
Walker puckered his lips and made a sour look. “Pitiful place to work.”
I smiled. Indeed it was, but it was my pitiful existence that I cherished with all my heart. I was happy to present it to him, because the more I got to know this man of power and influence, the more I believed it was my responsibility to pull his expensive designer shoes back down to earth so he could see what exactly was at stake.
“Money might be drying up for papers like the Times but the stories aren’t.” Erin made sure Walker knew our value. “There are more stories now than ever, and it’s up to us to make sure we continue telling them.”
“Exactly.” Walker snapped his fingers and pointed at Erin. “The one constant in life is change, and you two are leading the next wave into the new frontier. It doesn’t matter what happens here,” his eyes lifted as he looked around, “because you’ve secured your future by taking control of your careers.”
Stepping inside my cubicle, I ignored Walker’s renewed pitch as to why now was the time to step out on my own. I set my car keys and phone on my messy desk and listened to my voicemails and checked my emails. There was nothing exciting to report—not even anything from Dawson.
“So, where is the story?” Erin asked.
I shook my head. “I’ll have to find Dawson.”
“But there is a story, right?” Walker planted his hands on his hips. “If not, we can start with any of the cold cases I laid out in your folders.”
“Just hang on a second, cowboy.” I stood and looked for signs of Dawson.
When I didn’t see him, Walker asked me, “What are you going to do when these doors finally shut?”
“The same thing I’ve always done. Survive.”
“If the doors closed today, would you be able to support yourself financially?”
I knew I couldn’t. Not even if I took every penny for myself of the ad dollars our blog and podcast were making. Walker knew I was vulnerable, and a part of me thought that could be the reason he was so aggressive in his pitch. He wanted a piece of the pie before I had leverage to negotiate how much I was actually worth.
I said, “Let’s not play hypothetical.”
“Are you asking Sam to leave her job?” Erin asked Walker. “Because, if you are, you can consider your deal DOA. Dead on arrival.”
I didn’t react—couldn’t afford to reveal my sudden appreciation. Erin was guarding what I held close to my heart and it made me happy to know she was actually internalizing my concerns.
Walker swept his gaze off Erin and grinned when he asked me, “How much would it take for you to leave your job and go fulltime today?”
I froze and blankly stared at his bold—yet tempting—question. “You can’t be serious?”
Walker raised his eyebrows, a glint in his eye. We squared off and, just before I was going to tell Walker to go to hell, Dawson arrived, saying, “I told Samantha before we moved to this dump that there wasn’t much of a future here, but now I’m curious to know what is being offered.”
“Nothing worth discussing,” I said, turning to my computer.
Out of the corner of my eye, I kept seeing Dawson glance at Walker like maybe he recognized him. Erin introduced the two of them without mentioning anything about the vision Walker had for Real Crime News. Then Dawson launched into editor mode, not realizing which ears were listening.
“Sam, I was hoping you would have been here sooner.”
My fingers tapped at the keys. “I’m moving as fast as I can.”
Then Dawson said something he should have kept to himself. “I hope it’s because you were working the murder that happened last night.”
I spun around to see his face with my own eyes. Everyone seemed to have leaned forward at the same time. Six round eyeballs stared at me like I had grown a second head—all of them willing me to respond. I knew the exact murder Dawson was referring to, but now that Dawson had Walker’s full attention as well, I wondered who Dawson’s source was. He didn’t stop there.
“An inside source is saying the victim was close to King.” Dawson furrowed his brow. “Did he say anything to you?”
I thought about my brief encounter with Angelina, could feel myself softly whispering a quick prayer for her mother. “I’m aware.”
The collective gasp I thought I heard was only the force of my imagination. But the eyeballs were still staring as a wave of heat moved up my collar.
“So you know how the victim died?” Dawson pressed further, his mouth inching its way closer to my ear.
Everyone was waiting to hear my answer. I did, but didn’t want to share what I knew in front of Walker—the bloodhound with his nose to the air.
“I’d like to know.” Walker coaxed Dawson into telling him.
Dawson took a step back and angled his body toward Walker as he explained everything he knew about Peggy Hill, still unaware who he was telling.
“The Pillow Strangler?” Walker asked with arms crossed.
We all turned our heads, surprised to hear Walker say the name. They were talking like old friends, finishing each other’s thoughts. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing.
“You know?” I said with knitted brows.
Walker met my eye, his neck still craned forward with held interest. “It was in the folder I gave you as possible stories to investigate.”
He went on to tell me what I already knew. How the police had a suspect they never brought charges against—how they let a murderer go free. I didn’t recall seeing it in the folder from Walker, so how did he know?
Now Dawson was the one giving me the look of surprise.
He stared with his eyebrows forming the narrowest V I’d ever seen. I knew what it was he was thinking. I could see the sense of betrayal flashing over his eyes. This was a mistake. I should have never brought Walker here. My mistake snowballed when Walker launched into his pitch of how he was actively recruiting Erin and me to be the two stars of Real Crime News for his next big investment opportunity.
“Is that right?” Dawson said with barely moving lips—one eye on Walker, the other on me.
I kept my mouth shut as I eyed the exit.
“Maybe this is it?” Walker said excitedly as he turned to look at me.
I cast my gaze to the floor. My worlds were colliding—my loyalties being tested—and I wasn’t ready for any of what was about to happen next.
From the very beginning I’d suspected Walker was a bad idea, but now I was sure of it.
When I turned my attention to Erin she mouthed a quick apology, taking the blame for what was happening. I could see she was excited to start working the story of the Pillow Strangler.
“Orville Boyd,” Dawson said, pressing a folded piece of paper into my hand. “If there is a story here, Sam, I’d like you to find it.”
I closed my grasp and felt the pa
per crumble inside my hand. Dawson gave me a knowing look—a look that said he owned my time first before anyone else. And he was right. The Times came before anything Walker was currently offering me.
Dawson said, “Maybe Detective King can weigh in on the matter.”
Walker folded his arms and smiled like he’d just declared victory. But was he smiling because we now had a story, or for his sleaze-ball move to make it look like I had already accepted his investment money? Probably both.
Dawson made for the exit but, before leaving the cubicle, he rolled his gaze off Walker’s shoulder and looked me in the eye. “And, just so we’re clear, you still work for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Detective Alex King was on his way out of the assisted living facility when Tristan Knight caught his arm. “Detective—before you go, can I have a word?”
King quickly glanced to his vehicle where John Alvarez was staring through the glare of his windshield wondering what was taking so long. King had been worried about his mother’s behavior but he still had police work to do. “You’ve got a minute,” he said to Tristan.
“It won’t take long. I’ve printed off an itemized list for services paid for.” Tristan handed it over to King. “Just so there isn’t any question what your mother has available to her.”
King scrubbed a hand over his face and reviewed the invoice.
“Of course, we can add or subtract anything you’d like at any time.”
King shook his head no and proceeded to fold up the printed invoice. He tucked it into his back pocket and inched closer. “I’m sorry about my mother. I know how difficult she can be.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tristan said sincerely. “I can only imagine how tough the transition can be.”
King nodded and opened his wallet. He plucked out his business card and handed it to the nurse. “I want you to personally call me on my cell if she acts up again. Your job is difficult enough without her sour attitude.”
“I appreciate it.” Tristan took the card into his hand. “But I’m sure there’ll be no need for me to call.”
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