Hot Off the Press (A Hailey Webb Mystery, Volume 1)

by Deany Ray

  My mind whirled like a clothes dryer, tumbling, and tangling my thoughts. Once I managed to get to my feet, I wobbled to the door and glanced at the dogs, who leaped and whined in their mad fervor to follow their noses to the action. I didn’t have any professional training in criminology, but I was pretty sure the cops would frown on even more contamination of the scene—or so it seemed to me from what I saw on TV.

  “Can’t you move them, Kat?” I asked.

  She shrugged, looking guilty and a little pale, and moved away from the cabin while pulling the dogs as close to her as she could without falling off the side of the boat. I stepped out of the cabin and pulled the door closed, careful to move paws and muzzles out of the way so they wouldn’t get caught. I breathed easier with that taken care of, but still, my mind was reeling.

  Kat was breathing like she’d just run a marathon; her body was quivering. She held the leashes in one hand and the dogs seemed to have calmed down just a bit, now sniffing around the bow of the boat.

  “Can you manage to call nine-one-one, or should I do it?” I asked softly, trying to keep my calm.

  She nodded mutely as she pulled her cell from her pocket. She sounded close to tears as she explained what we had found.

  Groaning at an aching in my foot, I looked down to see that the leather of my favorite pumps was torn to shreds. The heel looked rough as well—like it might shatter if I put all of my weight on it, and to complete the pretty picture, I realized the huge tear in Kat’s sweater went straight through my blouse as well. Now not only did I owe Kat a sweater, I was also flashing my bra to the world, or at least I would be when the cops came rushing in.

  Perfect.

  “I can’t believe this,” I said as soon as Kat hung up. “I finally find a job, and I manage to find a dead body on my first day. How did I get so unlucky?”

  Kat seemed to get her composure back and just shook her head and glanced in the direction of the cabin door. “Speaking of unlucky, what do you think happened to this guy?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “Nobody deserves a death like that.” I shivered and turned my attention to my clothing, trying to tuck the edges of the sweater into my bra to cover more of myself up. “What should I do about the peep show? Someone will be here any minute.”

  Kat picked up one of the smaller dogs and climbed over the edge of the boat and back onto the dock. “Look on the bright side,” she said, giving me the weakest of smiles. “It can really only go up from here.”

  That’s what I’d thought before, standing stunned in my favorite Italian restaurant with champagne in hand, watching as my engagement suddenly imploded. “I’ve already lost everything,” I moaned. “If I lose this job, I’m screwed.”

  “Why would you lose this job?” Kat asked. “You didn’t kill the man.”

  “I know that,” I said. “Still . . . I have a feeling I failed here somehow.”

  My thoughts of doom were interrupted by the sound of wailing sirens getting closer, which stirred up the dogs again. “Let me get off this damn boat,” I said.

  We’d just managed to get all of the dogs off the boat and onto the dock when the police arrived. Kat tried to calm the dogs with snacks as the officers made their way through the marina, clearly looking for us.

  I glanced nervously back at the cabin door. “I hope we didn’t mess things up enough back there to get ourselves arrested for tampering with a crime scene. That would be the putrid cherry on the top of a craptastic year.”

  Kat chuckled. “I think it would be the dogs who get the blame for that, not you.”

  We were startled by a voice.

  “Are you Katherine Rexwinkle?” A police officer was standing at her side.

  “Yes, officer, that’s me.” A little smile had formed on her face. I could see why, too. Mr. Officer was tall, muscled, and handsome, his rugged face etched in a five-o’clock shadow that must have had Kat drooling. “And this is Hailey Webb. She’s the one who found the . . . person.”

  The cop looked me over, his eyebrows flying up into his hairline as he took in my torn sweater, exposed bra, and broken shoe. I probably had a few weird looking bruises too I hadn’t even noticed.

  I nodded to him, my lips forming a thin line. “He’s in the cabin.”

  The next two hours were a whirlwind of questions and uniforms. The dogs managed to get in some naps between greeting the officers and forensics people who flooded the scene.

  Another in a parade of officers, an older man this time, appeared to question me some more. “I’m Officer Marcus, and I would like for you to recount once again the details of the evening: how you came to be on the scene and how events unfolded after that. So I need to ask you some questions.” He pulled out a notepad, and I cleared my throat nervously. I didn’t like how serious he looked.

  “Ask away,” I said, my voice sounding weirdly croaky.

  “What were you and Ms. Rexwinkle doing on Derek O’Connell’s boat?”

  I glanced at Kat, who was being interviewed separately by the handsome officer who had approached us at the start of this long process. Crazily, she seemed almost to be having a good time, giving him some flirty looks as she tossed her hair.

  I turned my attention back to my own interviewer. “I am an assistant for the Palm Shores Gazette, and I was doing some follow-up for a story. Derek O’Connell had done an interview about some treasure he found on some ancient shipwreck, and they sent me here to check some details.”

  The older gentlemen ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “How did you come to be inside the boat?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

  Crap.

  I could see how it might look like I was up to no good, like we’d been out to steal from the guy or something. “I came to the marina to talk to him,” I said, “and when I got to his boat, I called out, but I got no answer. That made me wonder if he could have been inside asleep or something. But when I went to knock, I kind of stumbled into the door and I . . . well, I ended up face planting in the cabin. That’s when I saw him.” I shivered, a chill running down my spine. “It was . . .” But I didn’t have a word for what I’d felt: a mix of horror, shock, and panic and a million other things that I couldn’t name.

  “You fell into the crime scene?” the officer asked, looking incredulous.

  “It was slippery, and I had on these heels,” I said, turning red.

  The officer stared at me.

  “First day on the job,” I said in a tiny voice. “I didn’t know the dress code.”

  The officer studied me like he was trying not to laugh. The wrinkles deepened around his mouth and eyes, and the slightest twinkle of mirth lit up the gray depths of his gaze. “Is that so, Miss Webb?”

  “Yes,” I babbled on, “then all those dogs descended on me.”

  “Well, that explains all of the dog hair we found at the doorway.”

  I flinched at the reminder. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  By then, it was dark, and a crowd had gathered. Yellow police tape cut the area off from curious passersby. I hated all the questions and waiting around, knowing a dead guy was just a few feet from where I stood on the dock, feeling dizzy and dying to go home.

  “Well, I think we’ve asked you everything we can think of, Ms. Webb,” the officer said, shutting his notebook. “You and your friend are free to go.” He glanced back at Kat, who was still obviously flirting with the younger cop. “We’ll contact you if we have more questions.”

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  The officer frowned but nodded politely. I moved my hand to my chest, part of the constant effort to arrange the pieces of the sweater in a way that kept me decent. Then I was finally on my way, dragging Kat and the dogs with me.

  “I almost had his number,” Kat said mournfully as we piled the dogs into the Jeep. At that point I didn’t care what kind of mess they would make or if they ripped the leather. I just wanted to go home.

  “What am I going to tell Jerry?” I asked, not really expe
cting Kat to answer. “What if he fires me?”

  Kat scoffed. “Again, for finding a dead guy? I’m sure he’ll understand. You’re being ridiculous.”

  Of course, she was right. She had to be right—I hoped. People don’t get fired for finding dead bodies, I tried to reassure myself.

  I dropped Kat off at the home where one of the dogs was to be delivered, offering to help her get the other pooches home. “Nah, but thanks,” she said. “These guys will enjoy a brief walk home after the excitement. They’ll sleep like babies tonight!”

  I wished her good luck explaining why her charges were so late. She had sent quick texts to the owners before, but I’m sure they would have all been shocked by the details she left out. Then I turned around and headed out of the neighborhood of little stucco houses and back out onto the highway. I was aching to be home, and my head was throbbing like it was being squeezed inside a vice. I desperately needed a shower and a really big glass of wine.

  The silence was broken by “The Imperial March” from Star Wars coming from my phone, also known as “Darth Vader’s Theme.” I groaned out loud; it was a custom ringtone, so there was only one person in the world it could be.

  My mother.

  I really didn’t think I could deal with Mom’s theatrics right now, but I knew she would get even more dramatic later if I didn’t answer. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself before I took the call. And to think that Kat had said this day could “only get better.”

  Lies.

  “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Oh God, Hailey. Where are you?” Mom sounded weird, like her voice was muffled.

  “I can’t talk right now, Mom, because I’m driving. It’s the law in California. I’ll have to call you back.”

  But my mother was having none of that. “I neeeed you,” she said, dragging out the e until my already-torn up nerves were beyond repair.

  “Sorry, Mom. I have some other things I have to—”

  But my mother was no longer listening; she was too busy wailing in her dramatic, no-one-loves-me voice. “Here I am in desperate need, and not even my own flesh and blood will save me.”

  I cut her off before she started really howling. “All right, Mom. What’s so important?”

  “My pain pills. All you have to do is stop at the pharmacy and bring them to me.” She made her voice sound faint, like she was pretending to pass out on the couch while she spoke.

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine, Mom, but I can’t stay long. Is your prescription ready now?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  I pulled my phone away from my ear at some loud sound in the background as she hung up. She never even said goodbye. Or thank you.

  I managed to make it to the pharmacy and come to a complete stop in my car before banging my head against the steering wheel. I shouldn’t have answered the damn phone.

  But it was too late now for regrets. After more futile tugging at the pieces of the sweater, I walked into the store. The pharmacist was a young lady with pretty black hair and olive skin. She eyed me with suspicion as I walked up to the counter.

  “Prescription for Sheryl Selway, please,” I said, smiling.

  “Are you Ms. Selway?” the woman asked, as if she already knew the answer.

  I shook my head, feeling like I was drowning in exhaustion. I didn’t have the patience or the energy for this. “She’s my mom. She said you’d have something ready for her. You can call her to verify if you want.”

  After looking over my ripped-up sweater and torn heels, the pharmacist had apparently come to the conclusion that I was someone to be wary of. She spent the next few minutes trying to get my mother on the phone. Go figure; my mother hadn’t thought to tell them someone else was coming.

  By the time I was out of the pharmacy, pills in hand, I was more than ready to be done with the day.

  Heading to my mom’s house, I thought about my day. I’d been on top of the world that morning, but things had gone from the thrill of a new job to utter bloody chaos. I wanted to go home and sleep forever, maybe eat a pint of ice cream and find a movie about someone whose life was sadder than my own. Then my mind flashed back to the image of that fishing spear jammed into O’Connell’s chest, and that made me wonder if I could sleep at all. His situation was sadder than mine, so why was I complaining? I wondered what had happened to the guy. Could it have had something to do with the latest treasure he’d discovered? That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

  I frowned, turning off the exit toward Glenndale, the pretty little neighborhood where my mother lived. The brick houses were one-story and low to the ground to battle against the heat, and the yards were filled with tropical plants and trees. The occasional Audi, Porsche, or Maserati in a driveway or along a curb spoke to the wealth of those who made their homes here. Each house was obviously new. All of them, I was sure, were filled to the brim with the latest and greatest in technology. Every house had its own pool, and some of them also had massive outdoor barbecues and kitchens.

  Moving to the opposite end of the good-luck-bad-luck spectrum, I pondered the final hours of that poor man in his boat. Like me, I supposed, his morning might have started out just fine. This guy, after all, was living the sweet life, going after his passion hard, finding the kind of haul hunters dream about, and—bam! A chill ran down my spine.

  After pulling into my mom’s drive, I leaned back in my seat and took a deep breath. I couldn’t put off the call I was dreading any longer.

  “Jerry Gambill.” He sounded annoyed already.

  “Hey, Jerry. It’s Hailey Webb.”

  “Webb! Hello! Why are you calling so late?”

  “Well . . .”

  “How were things with O’Connell?” He sounded interested and friendly, and I winced, knowing that his good mood would soon take a dive.

  “Not good, Jerry.”

  Understatement of my life.

  “What happened?” Jerry asked.

  “I went to talk to O’Connell and found him dead.”

  “You what?” Jerry screamed in my phone.

  I told him the whole story, becoming more and more worried as my words were met with only silence. I could almost see him rubbing at his temples.

  After I finished talking, there was a shaking sound, like he was dumping Advil out into his palm. When he began to speak, his voice was nearly empty of emotion. “So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me you found him dead, a guy who just hauled in some major treasure from the bottom of the sea? You’re saying it did not occur to you that you should call your boss when the business we are in is to report the news? Do you understand what news is, Webb?”

  I felt like someone had just dropped ice cubes into my veins. He was completely right. What had I been thinking? “The whole thing just left me shocked,” I scrambled to explain. “There he was, this dead guy; there was all this blood, and then there were the cops pounding me with questions. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” I took a breath and told him in an almost whisper, “I apologize.” My first thought hadn’t been my job, but perhaps it should have been. Now my mind was filled with lost opportunities. Pictures on my cell phone—that would have gone a long way to get me back in Jerry’s favor.

  “I don’t want to sound insensitive,” he said, “but this stuff is my bread and butter—or more like steak and lobster in this case you’ve just described. This could be a huge boost to our online viewership if no one else has picked it up. It’s all about the speed at which you get it out. A thing you’re learning now the hard way.” Jerry sounded distracted, like he was writing things down as he spoke. “I’ll be back at the Gazette in an hour. Meet me there.”

  Bye-bye, butter pecan—sugary comfort in a bowl.

  “Yes sir. See you then. I mean, Jerry.”

  I hung up the phone, glancing at my mom’s house, and I felt my chest tighten. Yep, I’m pretty sure this day could get worse.

  Taking another deep and calming breath, I got out of my Jeep and went to the front doo
r, which she answered almost before I knocked.

  “Hailey, get in here. What the hell are you doing, sitting in the driveway like a damn stalker?” My mother, Sheryl Selway, stood in the doorway of her home, looking like she was waiting for someone to take her photo. She was tall and rail-thin but commanded far more space than she physically took up. Looking like a TV mom from the 1960s, she was wrapped in a silk designer robe with a pattern so loud it almost hurt my weary eyes. Even that late in the evening, her makeup was layered thick and her blonde bobbed hair was perfect, in spite of the fact that she obviously had no intention of leaving the house.

  My mom and dad had been divorced since I was ten. Although a lot of people think my mom’s wealth came from alimony, she in fact had rejected any money my father ever tried to give her. She was a hundred-percent self-made, having built a successful PR business from the ground up. Although she was not technically retired, she spent little time at the office, letting her employees handle most of the day-to-day business of the firm. But every evening, she wanted a full report and kept a firm hand on the wheel. Her activities these days were mostly attending meetings and delegating, delegating. She loved to delegate.

  I’d stayed close to my mom even after I moved out, and every month or two I saw my father, who lived with his girlfriend in LA.

  Now it hit me there was something very . . . different about my mother. “Jesus, Mom, what happened to your face?” I stared at her face—beautiful brown eyes, surgically smoothed skin— and winced. She was beautiful, and not just for her age, except for one thing; it looked like her lips had been attacked by a whole hive of bees.

  She waved me inside. “Before the neighbors see my mouth! Darling, please.”

  “Did you get more injections? You don’t need all that, Mom. I mean it.”

  But Sheryl Selway rolled her eyes. “It takes a lot of work to look as pretty as I do at my age. You could use a few updates yourself.” Snatching the pain meds out of my hand, she took a handful of pills without taking the time to read the label or to even grab some water to help wash them down.

  “Is that what the pills were for? Your lips?” I was livid now. This was her big emergency?