Lorna Michaels - The Truth About Elyssa

“I hear Channel 9’s news at six is number one in its time period,” Elyssa said.

“I’ll take credit for that,” he said, preening a little.

“You deserve it, I’m sure.” Nothing like a compliment to soften Derek up. “Susan Dalrimple is a sharp gal.”

Derek, who had started to relax, stiffened. Probably afraid she’d remind him that the six o’clock anchor spot was once supposed to go to her instead of Susan. She wondered if he thought she was here to threaten him. With a lawsuit perhaps? For discrimination against the facially challenged?

She decided to end his misery. “I came for some information about Randy Barber.”

Relief showed in his eyes. “Ask and it’s yours.”

“You told Jenny that Randy covered a school board dispute over new buses before he died.”

“Right.” Comfortable now, Derek leaned back in his chair and smiled expansively. “It wasn’t a big story. In fact, it never developed into much of anything.”

“What about his next assignment?”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t remember. You know, a year and a half is like a century in the life of a news director.”

Did he think she didn’t know that? That she’d forgotten that news focused on today? “Jenny thinks he was working on something big.”

Derek chuckled. “Yes, she told me that herself. I didn’t want to disabuse Jenny of her illusions, but Randy was a novice. He wasn’t experienced enough for the, quote, big story.”

Didn’t want to “disabuse” her? Pretentious jerk. Derek knew damn well that Randy had been a good newsman, even for a rookie, but he obviously felt he could get away with saying that now. Who, after all, would Elyssa tell? Certainly not Jenny. “Whatever Randy was working on made him nervous. Jenny says he thought he was being followed.”

“Really, Elyssa, Jenny is being paranoid. Or Randy was. School buses are not the stuff of diabolic plots. Besides,” he added slyly, “if anyone would know, you would. You were with Randy when he died.”

Elyssa shut her eyes. “I still can’t remember anything after we got in the car. Maybe I never will.”

Derek leaned across his desk and patted her hand. “I’m sorry. I know how tough this is for you.” His voice softened. “Jenny was thoughtless to put you through this.”

Elyssa fixed the carefully manicured hand covering hers with a hard stare until Derek removed it. The fact that she’d once welcomed his hands on her body made her want to shudder. “Jenny didn’t put me through anything,” she said. “I came on my own.”

“Don’t tell me you’re becoming paranoid, too.”

With an effort Elyssa controlled the urge to walk around the desk and slap the condescending smile off Derek’s face. “I found some notes dated the day before Randy’s death. I thought you might know what they mean.” She took out the paper on which she’d copied Randy’s scribbles and handed it to Derek.

He glanced at it, then gave it back. “Looks like a kid’s secret code,” he said in an amused tone. “Where did you find it—buried in Randy’s backyard?”

Something told Elyssa he wasn’t as amused as he tried to appear. “Does it mean anything to you?”

Derek shook his head.

“Could it be related to a news story?”

“It could be related to something, but I don’t know what. What is all this, sweetheart? Have you taken up a new career? Elyssa Jarmon, girl detective?”

This time her temper did flare. “Don’t patronize me, Derek. And don’t—don’t ever—call me sweetheart.” She rose from her chair. “Thanks for your time.”

Elyssa took a deep breath as she walked into the hall. She shouldn’t have lost her temper, but damn! Derek was such a slime. She glanced over her shoulder. Through the half-open door she could see him staring after her, a troubled expression on his face.

Elyssa spent two fruitless hours in the library, hunting for the meaning of Randy’s note. She left with barely time to hurry home and get into costume for her Tuesday-afternoon clown class.

She clamped down on her anger and shut out thoughts of Derek as she worked with the children. She’d given each of her students a magic trick to learn and perform today for the others.

Trace was last. He looked good today, Elyssa thought, with a hint of color in his usually sallow cheeks. He hung back after the other children left the conference room. “Dr. Cameron says I might get to go home pretty soon.”

“Really! That’s great news.” She hunkered down beside his wheelchair. “I’ll miss you, though.”

“I thought maybe I could get my grandma to bring me by on Tuesdays if…if I could still be in the class.”

Elyssa swallowed. “Of course you can. In fact,” she added, smiling at the youngster, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t come back. You’re good at magic.”

“You think so?” His eyes brightened. “Maybe I could do some shows if I go back to school. One year I played soccer, but…but it’s too late to try out for fall leagues.”

She tried to imagine Trace on a soccer field, with his stick-like legs that barely supported him for walking, and winced. “Magic would be a great hobby for you,” she said. “Next week I’ll bring some information about the Junior Magicians.”

“Cool.” His smile seemed to take up his whole face. He gave her a thumbs-up and guided his chair out the door.

Would he get well? Get another chance to play soccer, go to school with his friends? Would he grow up, have a girlfriend, an after-school job? Elyssa prayed he would. She knew she shouldn’t get emotionally involved with these kids, but Trace had touched her heart.

She made herself a note to look up the information on Junior Magicians, then packed her equipment and headed for Brett’s office. Her heart, dammit, fluttered in her chest.

Jean Torry, the receptionist, looked up when she came in. “Dr. Cameron’s not available.”

“Oh.” She’d told him not to ask her out again, hadn’t she? Apparently, he wasn’t interested in settling for half a loaf. Trying to conceal her disappointment, she backed toward the door.

“He had an emergency up on three,” Jean continued. “He said to tell you he doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”

She shouldn’t have felt relief at the explanation, but she did. “Tell him I’m sorry I missed him.”

Since Brett wasn’t there, she’d go back to the library, she decided. Maybe she’d overlooked something. But she had to get out of her costume. Should she change here? Risk running into Brett? Jean said he’d be upstairs a long time. She headed for the ladies’ room.

Inside the rest room, she discarded her wig and false eyelashes, creamed her face and removed the makeup, then changed into navy slacks and a rose-colored blouse.

She brushed her hair and pulled it into a pony tail, applied lip gloss and stepped back, still thinking about her visit with Derek. She’d always had a good instinct for interviews. Derek hadn’t told her everything. This wasn’t the first time he’d acted that way. It was just like him to hold back, the jerk.

She supposed he could be stonewalling because someone at the station had recently gotten a tip about Randy’s death and was checking it out. That was unlikely, but if it had happened, Derek wouldn’t want to hand over a sensational story to her and ruin Channel 9’s chance for a scoop. Tough! To the station, Randy’s death would be one story out of hundreds; to her it was the most important story of her life.

Bundling her costume into her case, she slammed it shut and stepped back into the hall. She passed the small lounge area and the staff elevator. Its doors slid open and two doctors in green scrubs stepped out.

One of them was Brett.