C Corwin - The Unraveling of Violeta Bell

“Now-where were we?” Bob Averill asked when we were seated.

Tinker glowered at him like a just-castrated bull. “You were about to answer my question. Am I managing editor of this paper or not?”

Bob responded calmly. “Yes, you are, Alec. And you will remain so.”

Alec’s response to that was not so calm. “Don’t count on that, Bob!”

Said Bob, “There are plenty of starfish in the sea, Alec!”

Said me, “Let’s not get into a pissing match, gentlemen.” I turned toward Tinker. “Bob didn’t ask me to look into Violeta Bell’s murder for the paper. He asked me because his wife was on his back. And she was on Bob’s back because her sorority sister, Jeannie Salapardi, was on her back. Because Eddie French was her brother. And so Bob got on my back. And I got on Detective Grant’s.”

Tinker wasn’t appeased. “Sounds a little unethical, doesn’t it?”

Prince Anton was amused. “Not to mention a little kinky.”

We all laughed. And while everybody was still in good humor I tried to put things into perspective. “Alec,” I said, “the only way it would have been unethical was if Bob had included you in our conspiracy. Bob is an ethical man. He would never blur the lines between editor and hen-pecked husband. That’s why he turned to me. As a friend. And now you, Mr. Managing Editor, have one hell of a good story to cover.” I turned to the prince. “Assuming that the prince doesn’t mind sitting still for an interview.”

“I’ve already told what little I know to Detective Grant,” the prince said. “I’ve no objection telling it to you good people as well.”

Bob Averill relaxed into his big chair and started playing with the uneven ends of his necktie. “The ball’s in your court, Alec.”

And so Tinker took over the meeting, demonstrating for the umpteenth time in two years why Bob had brought him in as managing editor. Tinker addressed his first question to Detective Grant. “You’d better wait outside.”

Grant stood and bowed like a bad Shakespearean actor. “I’ll get some coffee.” He left the office.

Tinker then turned his attention to the prince. “Telling the media a different version of what you told the police can get you into trouble,” he cautioned. “And there is still a murder investigation going on. By the police and apparently by one or more employees of this paper. So before you talk to us keep in mind that-”

Prince Anton interrupted him. “Everything I say can and will be used against me?”

“I just want you to go into this with a clear head,” Tinker said.

I playfully leaned toward the prince and pretended to whisper. “We’re going to do the story whether you talk to us or not. So you might as well give us your side.”

The prince nodded that he understood. “The police don’t suspect me of anything. And rightfully so. And I’m sure the people of Hannawa are as curious about Petru’s old life as I am about his new one as Violeta Bell. We’ll all fill in the blanks together.”

Tinker nodded back at him. “We’ll go ahead then.”

Prince Anton was visibly pleased. He reached out and patted my hand as if to say thanks. “Is it my turn to exit stage right?”

“If you don’t mind, we do have a couple of things to hash out,” Tinker said.

The prince gave us an even grander bow than Scotty Grant had. He left.

I started to get up. “Time for me to bow out, too, I suppose?”

“Not so fast, Maddy,” said Tinker. “You know more about this story than anybody else. We’re going to need your wisdom.” He turned to Bob Averill. “If that’s okay with you, Bob.”

Bob was still playing with his tie. “If it were up to me, I’d wear those clip-ons,” he said. “But the wife says I’m too important a man.”

That was Bob’s way of playing Pontius Pilot, washing his hands of the whole mess. And why not? He’d been forced to get involved because of Jeannie Salapardi. And now Eddie was no longer a suspect. Jeannie had thrown a wonderful barbecue for him.

Tinker happily continued with his ideas for our coverage. “As I see it, the story is this: An exhaustive Herald-Union investigation uncovers Violeta Bell’s shocking past. Finds her brother living on an island in Canada. A brother who, lo and behold, is a pretender to the Romanian throne. Which means Violeta’s claim to be royalty was true. How will these revelations affect the police investigation? Which plods on with little success.”

“Sounds more like a book than a story,” I hissed.

“We’ll give it all the space it needs,” said Tinker, undeterred by my sarcasm. “And of course we’ll do a story on you, Maddy. How your dogged research once again saved the day. We’ll recap your work on the Buddy Wing and Gordon Sweet murders.”

It was time to for me to rain on his parade. “Absolutely not.”

Pontius Pilot was suddenly interested in throwing his weight around again. “You’re a big part of the story, Maddy.”

I wasn’t intimidated. “Let me put it in the clearest English I can. No way, Jose.”

Unfortunately, Tinker wasn’t intimidated either. “To quote one Dolly Madison Sprowls, ‘We’re going to do the story whether you talk to us or not.’”

I looked to Bob Averill for mercy. His grin told me none was coming.

Tinker moved on with his plans. “It’s not exactly a police story. But I think Dale Marabout’s the guy for the job.”

Dale Marabout is my best buddy at the paper. A terrific reporter, too. So I was as surprised as Bob and Tinker when I heard myself squeak, “Marabout?”

Said Tinker, “He’s the best we’ve got when it comes to a big investigative piece like this.”

I surprised myself again. “What about Gabriella Nash?”

“She’s a gutsy girl,” Tinker said. “But I don’t think she’s ready for something this complex.”

His “gutsy girl” crack stuck in my craw. “You want me to cooperate, you give the story to Gabriella.”

Tinker put his foot down. “I’m giving it to Marabout.”

“Then I’m keeping my lips zipped,” I threatened.

Pontius Pilot metamorphosed into Solomon. “You could put them both on the story, Alec.”

Tinker immediately saw the wisdom of his suggestion. “Gabriella did interview Bell before her murder. And she could certainly add a lot of background color to the story. There’s no question about that.”

“And she is a gutsy girl,” I added.

It was decided. Dale Marabout and Gabriella Nash would do the story together.

The next thing to do was break the news to Dale and Gabriella. I cautioned against it, but Tinker had them summoned upstairs together. And of course both immediately balked at working together. “I’m not a big fan of double bylines,” Dale said.

I knew what his real objection was. Gabriella had not only cried when Violeta Bell was murdered, she’d had a hissy fit when Dale was given the story. “Gabriella will behave,” I assured him. “Won’t you, Gabriella?”

“I don’t like double bylines either,” she said, slumping back into an about-to-explode pout.

Bob Averill now played his best role. God. “We assign the stories. You write them.”

Of course even God needs a little help from time to time. “I don’t know beans about the news side,” I said. “But couldn’t they do separate stories? Dale a hard news story for tomorrow on Violeta’s previous identity and how we found the prince. And then for Wednesday, Gabriella could do an in-depth feature on the prince. And then for Thursday Dale could write about the police investigation going nowhere. Friday you could run that worthless story on me you want, written, of course, by Gabriella.”

Tinker loved my suggestion. “A four-day, page one series. Outstanding!”