Brenda Novak - Dear Maggie

“Don’t twist my words, Ms. Russell. I’ve already given you my statement.”

“So you have. And it was gem, let me tell you. There’s just one more thing. I’d like to see a copy of the coroner’s report.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, excuse me. I’ll drive it right over.”

Maggie ignored his sarcasm. “Fax would be fine. Or I’ll pick it up at the station. You name the day and time.”

“I’m booked up through next week. How about the following Friday?”

What was this guy’s problem? “At least your buddies on the force are pretending to cooperate with the press.”

“I’m not going to insult you by playing games.”

“Well, you’re doing a good job of insulting me without it. So what’s the big secret?”

“No secret. A woman was killed. We’re looking for her murderer. I have enough to do without chronicling my every move for you.”

“Sorry, I don’t believe this murder was an isolated incident—at least not anymore. Who else was killed, Detective? Has there been another victim?”

Mendez cursed, then the phone clicked and he was gone.

What a jerk, Maggie fumed. If this guy thought he could shut her out that easily, he had a shock coming his way. This story might very well be her ticket to a promotion, a raise and some respect. And after what she’d sacrificed to make Tim happy, heaven knew she’d do almost anything to be able to take a little pride in her work.

“Mommy? I have to go potty.”

Zach stood in her doorway, rubbing his sleepy blue eyes. Earlier they’d watched a Disney movie together and he’d fallen asleep before she could help him through his nightly routine. Smiling at his tousled blond hair and round soft cheeks, she scooped him up and carried him to the bathroom.

When she’d tucked her son snugly into bed, she returned to her bedroom and cranked up the air-conditioning unit in the window. If it was this hot at night on the first of June, she was going to be in trouble later. The wallpaper, the yard, the paint, everything would have to wait until she paid for central air. She couldn’t take another summer like the last one. Zach had a fan in his room, but it would never be enough.

Sitting down at her computer again, she signed on to the Internet, intending to pull up newspapers from around the country. Mendez had claimed Ritter’s murder was an isolated incident, but he’d volunteered the information before she’d even asked and he’d said it in a defensive tone. Why? Was he afraid she might connect this attack with something else? There’d been nothing like it in Sacramento, at least not since she’d come to town, but perhaps there’d been other murders elsewhere. If so, the police could very well have a serial killer on their hands. And that would certainly make them cranky.

“You’ve got mail,” her computer cheerily informed her.

Maggie clicked on her mailbox to find a message from her mother in Iowa, a joke from Aunt Rita, who lived with her mother, spam from travel agencies and credit card companies and a whole bunch of junk mail forwarded to her by Darla. At the very bottom she found a message from someone called Mntnbiker.

Who was that? she wondered, but before the message appeared on her screen, she remembered. Oh, yeah, the guy from the chat.

Zachman,

You seemed a little shy the other night, so I thought I’d drop you a line to see if you might be interested in getting to know me via e-mail. I don’t usually join chats and think it’s pretty hard to decide what people are really like in that forum. Those rooms can get crowded and noisy, and the subjects people talk about can be either boring or a little over the top. Anyway, if you’re already involved with someone or you’re not interested, no problem. Just thought I’d make contact.

Friends?

John

“Well what do you know,” she murmured. “Mntnbiker’s name is John.” She hit the reply button but before she could type anything, an instant message popped up from Darla.

Catlover: What are you doing tonight, Mags?

Maggie thought about telling Darla she was planning to scour the country for articles of murders like Sarah Ritter’s, then decided against it. Darla didn’t have the stomach for the gritty details involved with following the cop beat, and Maggie was probably wasting her time, anyway.

Zachman: Just messing around on the net.

Catlover: Anything fun?

Zachman: No.

Catlover: Nick Sorenson talk to you last night?

Zachman: He wasn’t in the office.

Catlover: Oh, so you know he was out. You keeping tabs on him now?

Maggie didn’t want to admit it, but glancing down the hall toward Nick’s desk was becoming a habit.

Zachman: Of course not.

Catlover: I can’t believe you don’t think he’s a babe.

Maggie didn’t have to think he was a babe. She knew he was.

Zachman: I just don’t want him to get too close. He makes me uncomfortable.

Catlover: You need to loosen up, have some fun.

Zachman: What makes you think I’d have fun with him?

Catlover: Are you kidding? Is there any question?

Maggie chuckled.

Zachman: He’s too hard-bitten for fun. He’s focused, driven.

Catlover: Yeah, and just imagine what it would feel like to have all that raw masculinity turned on you.

Zachman: For what? One night? What good would that do me?

Catlover: Forever the realist, aren’t you? Okay, forget Nick. You going to do the dating service?

Zachman: No, I’m going to save up for an air conditioner.

Maggie stretched, feeling the effects of working all week without getting enough sleep.

Zachman: I’d better go. That murder’s kept me pumped full of adrenaline since it happened. I’m just now starting to come down.

Catlover: Gee, how do you get all the good stories?

Maggie returned the sarcasm.

Zachman: By leaving all the award-winning baton twirlers to you.

Catlover: Very funny.

Zachman: Sorry.

Catlover: Get some sleep. Zach wakes up awfully early in the morning.

“No kidding,” Maggie muttered to herself. She signed off the instant message with a friendly goodbye, then stared at the blank screen addressed to Mntnbiker. Now what? Should she really answer him?

Why not? Anonymity was empowering. If he wrote back and turned out to be a fruitcake, she wouldn’t answer him again. If he bothered her, she’d change her e-mail address. It wasn’t as if he knew where she lived. After two years in Sacramento without any romantic interludes, she was ready to expand her horizons, and e-mail seemed the perfect forum.

Dear Mntnbiker:

I’d be happy to get to know you, although I’m not sure I’m ready for anything more than friendship.

Big lie there, but she definitely didn’t want to sound desperate.

Tell me a little about yourself, who you are, where you live, what you do.

You might remember that I’m a single mom. I have one little boy who’s three and a half. I’m 5’5”, 115 lbs, have red hair, freckles and green eyes. And if that doesn’t scare you off, maybe this will: I work nights as a cop reporter and am currently following a murder. At any given point, my life is filled with the details of abuse, rape and other forms of violence. But in the meantime I try to be an average “girl.” I’m a bit of a health nut, but when I’m splurging, I like to eat coffee ice cream and chocolate-covered strawberries (not necessarily together ). I also like lying on a warm beach and reading romance novels, probably because what I deal with at work is so harrowing. I like happily-ever-afters. I hate to wait for anything and can’t cook a can of soup or sew on a button, but I can change my own oil and mow my own yard.

Now that you probably know more about me than you ever wanted to, it’s your turn:)