Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

“Real open-and-shut stuff.” Ken’s voice sounded sour. “Until the expensive lawyers get involved.”

*

Will wanted todrop Sunny off at her house, but she insisted on going in to the Courier office with Ken. This was a real news scoop, the kind that required a special edition, and Ken would be killing himself to get one out. The least she could do was help.

They arrived at the old warehouse to find the interns already at work . . . in a poisonous atmosphere. It seemed that someone among the summer helpers had leaked one of Sunny’s cell phone pictures. They’d called Ken with the news while he was still in the car, but the horse was already out of the barn by then. The picture by itself was too indistinct for anyone to run, but the phones in the Courier office were ringing off their hooks as various news organizations called for confirmation of the story. Ken let his troops admit that there had been a death on Neal’s Neck—so long as the Courier got the credit. That probably means a whole caravan of media people will be converging on Neal’s Neck to get more of the story, Sunny thought. The job facing Wainwright and Trehearne wouldn’t be getting any easier, nor would they be grateful to her or Ken for precipitating that.

She pushed the thought away to concentrate on the job at hand, working with Ken on a front-page story while the interns manned the photos. Sunny wasn’t happy that their reportage depended so heavily on unnamed sources; sources whom Trehearne and Wainwright, not to mention the Kingsburys, would easily identify as Will Price. The sensational aspects—a party in an exclusive compound, a victim who’d been drinking—didn’t put Eliza Stoughton in the best light, either. Sunny couldn’t forget the state police lieutenant’s comment: “That poor girl deserves more dignity than you’re about to give her.”

At least they’d found a photo to run that didn’t make Sunny feel as though they were working on one of those awful old-time tabloids that had featured pictures of dead babies found in garbage cans. It showed one of the Kingsbury security guys with his back to the camera, holding Eliza Stoughton in his arms as his colleagues prepared to haul her body up the cliff. His broad back with SECURITY in large letters blocked the view of Eliza’s face and torso, leaving only her legs and one arm showing.

It was a shot Sunny had gotten, and Ken insisted on giving her a photo credit. By that time, sunlight was beginning to filter through the windows, and Sunny was too tired to argue. They put the paper to bed, and Sunny sat numbly at a desk, not even noticing the noise of the press in action. She finally roused herself and called home so Dad wouldn’t worry. “And don’t forget to feed Shadow,” she finished.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Mike repeated for about the tenth time. “I was up early and heard stuff on the radio.”

Sunny assured her father that she and Ken were perfectly fine, that Will had taken care of them, and that Mike would be able to read the whole story in the Courier . By then it was late enough in the morning that Sunny staggered over to the MAX office just in time to open up.

Nancy came dashing in moments later and stared at Sunny. “You look like you slept in those clothes,” was the first thing that popped out of her mouth.

Sunny looked down at the sweatshirt and jeans she’d worn for the journey to Neal’s Neck. Probably not the most professional-looking office wear.

“No, I definitely did not get any sleep in these clothes,” Sunny replied.

Nancy goggled at her. “You were at Neal’s Neck again, weren’t you? They said on the news that a local paper had broken the story.”

As she spoke, one of Ken’s interns, looking bright and energetic, came into the MAX office with a pile of special edition copies, which he placed on Sunny’s desk.

He must be on something to be so cheerful after the night we had, Sunny silently groused, and then had the unworthy wish that the guy would share whatever it was.

Nancy pounced on the paper. She’d read a paragraph, stop to stare at Sunny, read another one, stare again, and kept it up until Sunny finally said, “If it sounds exciting, well, then we did our jobs. But really, it wasn’t. A lot of it was boring, sitting in the dark wondering if we were there yet. Then there were a couple of minutes of craziness, spiced with a bit of terror. At one point I was afraid we were going to get shot as trespassers—”

Sunny broke off when she realized Nancy was just eating this up.

“Anyway, what I need now is coffee.” Her stomach protested at the thought. “Maybe coffee and a muffin,” Sunny amended. “And eggs. Maybe tea instead of coffee. I don’t want to burn a hole in my stomach.” She fished in her pocket and found a couple of bucks, which she held out to Nancy. “Would you mind going over to Judson’s Market and seeing what you could get in the way of breakfast? I’d go, but . . .” After sinking into her desk chair, Sunny wasn’t sure she had the energy to get out again.

Nancy took the money and came back a few minutes later with a scrambled egg on a roll and a large cup of tea. Sunny dug in gratefully, but forced herself to ration her bites. She didn’t want to scarf the whole thing down while Nancy was still giving her the hero-worship stare.

They settled back into work—at least Nancy did. She even got the coffeemaker going. The phone rang, and Sunny picked it up to hear Ollie Barnstable’s voice. “Well, the local news shows are all talking about your midnight ride,” he said.

“It was more like two a.m.” Sunny broke off to yawn.

“Was Will Price there, too? It seems a dead body can’t turn up in this neck of the woods without the two of you being in on it up to your necks.”

Sunny sighed. “Yes, Will was there. And he’s sure that Nesbit’s people will try to make the most of it.”

“Well, I’m sure your dad and his cronies will work on damage control.” Ollie paused for a second. “Speaking of damage control, do me a favor, Sunny. Stay away from the office equipment. Judging by the way you sound, you’re liable to break something.”

Sunny took his advice, sitting at her desk and confining herself to simple tasks done slowly. She left answering the phones to Nancy, who spent a lot of the time saying brightly, “I’m sorry, she’s not here.”

That was how Sunny knew some other newspaper person or TV reporter was trying to find her to ask idiotic questions.

Nancy lies pretty well, she thought, listening to the girl deal with another member of the slavering press pack. Maybe she could have a future in journalism—or PR.

Still, round about the point of lunchtime, Sunny had pretty much stopped working at all, afraid she might make Ollie’s prediction come true.

She was fighting to keep her eyes open, debating whether she could safely drive home, when the office door opened and Randall MacDermott walked in.

“I need your help,” he said.

6

Sunny had toadmit that Randall MacDermott was still an attractive man, though up close she could see that a slight dusting of gray had appeared at the temples of his luxuriant head of brown hair, and there was no mischief in his face today. He looked worn, even worried, as he stared down at Sunny.

Now he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I realized that sounded silly the moment the words were out of my mouth,” he said. “Let me try again.” He forced a smile and a brighter tone of voice. “Hey, Sunny. I saw your name in the photo credit on the front page of the local paper. Somebody at the newspaper office told me I could find you here. Are you free for lunch?”