by Winnie Reed
Not that it mattered.
First, I searched “Paradise City News” and the name of the award. I came up with one hit linked to the name Frank Cooper. I scribbled his name down while scrolling through the article written about him. It had been more than fifteen years since he’d been awarded. “Around the time Trixie was.” I looked to Lola to see what she thought about the coincidence. She was unimpressed.
Were there others, though? I didn’t want to stop with just this one person. The fact was, I couldn’t stop. Now that I had a lead, a promising one at that, I had to keep searching.
There was a gentle knock on my door, so soft I would’ve never noticed it if Lola hadn’t scrambled around in response. “Darcy? Is everything okay?”
I got up and went to the door, unlocking and opening it but quickly returning to the sofa. “Come on in. Sorry, you caught me in the middle of research.”
I glanced up and took in the sight of Poppy’s paint-spattered overalls. She must’ve been hard at work when I came in. “I figured I would check, since I don’t usually hear you over here in the daytime. I thought maybe you were sick or there was a problem.”
“You ready for this one?” I gave her the brief rundown, hitting the major points before wrapping up. “Now, I’m trying to figure out how many of the reporters at the paper have won that award. I feel like we finally have something to work with.”
She sat down next to me, mouth hanging open. “I swear, I don’t know how you get into these situations.”
“You sound like Ethan. He was sitting right where you are when he said that exact same thing to me last night.”
When she gasped, I turned away from the laptop to find her staring at me like I’d just confessed to a crime spree. “That’s who was here last night? I thought it was Pete!”
“I almost accidentally broke Ethan’s nose last night. Long story. Let’s just say he won’t be approaching women from behind out on the street anytime soon.” Then, a flash of guilt compelled me to apologize. “I hope we didn’t disturb your work.”
“You didn’t. I heard a male voice, that’s all.” She sounded disappointed. Like she was hoping Pete had spent the night or something. I didn’t have the bandwidth for that conversation, so I went back to searching.
“Why don’t you go to the paper’s website and search for the name of the award? It’s probably in the reporter bios.”
I could have kissed her. “Thank you for coming by when you did. Maybe it’s lack of sleep or too much worrying, but I wouldn’t have come up with that.” Maybe there was something to this whole concept of asking other people for help. I smirked at myself while doing what she described.
Frank Cooper was one of the three results I came up with, along with two other names. DJ White and Michael Fitzwilliams.
“There you have it. You know anybody else who won that award would put it in their bio. It’s sort of a big deal.”
“You know, for a girl who paints for a living, you have a wide range of knowledge.”
“What can I say? I’m more than a brilliant, gifted artist.” She winked, popping up from the sofa. “My parents have a friend who owns a newspaper.”
Right. Her parents were wealthy. They would have friends like that. I let her go back to her work, and I went back to mine. These were the three people I had to look at. DJ didn’t have a photo with his bio, choosing instead to use a photo of a dog I assumed was his. Cute dog, even if the choice didn’t strike me as particularly professional. If this fancy award was so important, maybe the people who won it got a little more leeway.
I was about to start diving into their respective work when my phone rang. It was Pete, and I couldn’t have answered any faster. “You’ll never believe what we figured out today!”
I didn’t get the response I was looking for. “Tell me you had better luck than I have.”
I closed my eyes, bracing myself. “What is it?”
“Apparently, the security cameras at the news building are so old and so outdated, they only work half the time. And even then, the feed they produce is grainy, jerky. They didn’t pick up much last Tuesday night, hardly anything at all. No sign of anyone coming in or leaving after normal working hours.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. How can they get away with that?”
“Think of it this way. It’s not like we’re talking about a store or a museum. I guess they figure it doesn’t make much of a difference. Employees are supposed to take their laptops home with them at the end of the day, so nothing like that is left behind.”
I had never worked in an office, so I had no experience to go by. It seemed like a reasonable rule.
Pete was still talking, almost like he needed to make sense of it for himself. “When you come down to it, that’s the most valuable, moveable object you could find in a building like that. After hours, anyway. During the day there might be the chance to steal a few wallets or purses, but that’s not what we’re talking about right now.”
There went my excitement. I didn’t feel as buoyant as I had on answering the phone. I reminded myself there were still things to be excited about. “Well let me tell you something.” I had told him about the pictures and the creepy conversation via text, but this was the first time we were actually talking about it. “It was Mom who noticed it. Trixie won that award years ago. We’re not looking for an outside person. This was done by somebody she worked with, or at least a fellow journalist.”
“True, it could be somebody from outside the paper.”
“Then again, when I think back on that night, it seemed like she recognized the person. She might have friends working for other publications or whatever, but what are the odds of somebody unfamiliar with the building being able to get in and out with no trouble?”
“Son of a gun. I never thought about that, either. Man, I might be losing my edge.”
That struck me as funny in a cute sort of way, since I hardly thought of Pete as having an edge in the first place. He wasn’t exactly the sort of hard-bitten cop one often saw in TV shows and movies.
But he was a smart one. “There’s something else about that night that bothers me, you know.”
“What is it?”
“Whoever got in and out used a pass card or a key, whatever it was that Pierce guy called it. Remember? He made that snide little comment about needing Jane’s key back.”
Yes, I could see him in front of me, tossing an offhand remark over his shoulder. Like he had so many more important things to do. “That’s right. I was so annoyed with him that I forgot all about it. That’s what the police need to be looking into. Who used their key card that night?”
“I’ll pass that on to Mitch.” This was the first time I was getting a name on his contact in the department. I silently thanked Mitch, whoever he was.
“You know what I want to know?”
I thought I heard him sigh, even though he tried to stifle it. “I think I have a pretty good guess.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking you want to go back to the paper.” Was it just me, or did he sound the way Joe always did when Emma exasperated him?
“You know, if you really are concerned about having lost your edge, you can always go into mind reading.” When he didn’t find this funny, I pressed on. “Think of it this way. If one of the three reacts funny, like they didn’t expect to see me, we’ll know we found our guy.”
He sounded a lot like Dad when he grumbled. “I wish you didn’t make so much sense.”
“This is nice, but I don’t need a chaperone.”
Ethan only shook his head. “After everything you handed me last night? You think I would be okay with you taking a late-night stroll with nobody but this tiny dog to defend you?”
As if she understood, Lola looked back at him over her shoulder as we headed down the sidewalk. “No offense.” He snickered. “Here I am, talking to a dog. Maybe I am overworked.”
“I thought that was a given by now.�
� He didn’t need to know about the full one-sided conversations I’d fallen into the habit of conducting with Lola. At least she’d be back home with Emma and Joe soon. What would I do then? Talk to the enormous stuffed bear still sitting in my living room?
I had already told him everything we discovered earlier that day when he’d called and asked if I wanted company on my evening walk with Lola. He was all caught up as we rounded the corner, leaving my apartment building behind for the time being.
What if he wanted to come up after? Was that what he was really after? I could only imagine what Poppy would think of that one if she heard him for a second night in a row.
Was I paranoid, or just jaded, assuming he had an ulterior motive?
Whatever his motive, at least he took my situation seriously. “It sounds to me like you need to go down to the newspaper and talk to some people. I wouldn’t go alone, though. What if this guy is working there and you start questioning him and he loses it? He sounds like a seriously unhinged person. I don’t love the idea of you heading in there by herself.”
“I wasn’t planning on going by myself.”
“Oh? What, is your brother-in-law going with you? Or your father?” When I threw him a curious look, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I would want a cop there with me, to be honest with you.”
My skin suddenly felt too tight, itchy. Why was I uncomfortable? “Actually, I’ll have one with me. It’s Pete. We already made plans this afternoon.”
His jaw tightened enough for me to make out the sight of it even on a dimly lit street. “Oh.”
It was amazing, how much could be conveyed in a single sound. “I mean, you know. We were already talking about it and everything.”
“No, I get it. And he is a cop. It makes sense.” He bent down to pick up a skinny little branch that had broken off a tree and fallen to the ground, then tossed it aside a little harder than something so light required.
Now I wished I had never said anything at all. There was a bit of a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather as we continued around the block. Lola, of course, was completely oblivious and seemed very much to enjoy tracking the progress of a field mouse running from one rosebush to another behind a wrought iron fence. At least she was enjoying herself.
I couldn’t take the chilly silence for long. “Did I say something wrong?”
He shook his head, his jaw still tight enough that I knew he was lying as we passed beneath a streetlamp. His nose didn’t look as bad as I imagined it would, and I wondered if he’d taken my advice about the ice pack.
The idea that he might’ve dabbed a little makeup over it seemed too unlikely to be possible, though he did have a public-facing job. It might’ve been worth forking over the money for concealer if it meant avoiding nonstop questions.
Not that I had the guts to ask him about it, with him freezing up on me. “No, it’s just been a long day. A long week. A long everything.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Do you?” We came to a stop in front of my house, and he opened the gate for me—but he didn’t follow. “Good luck tomorrow, at the newspaper. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Now what was this all about? “You’re sure you’re not mad at me? Because if you are, I want to talk about it.”
He held up a hand, shaking his head. “Nope. Everything’s fine. I have an early day tomorrow, so I better head home. Good night.” I wouldn’t exactly say he ran away from me after that, but he didn’t exactly take his time, either.
There was being alone and feeling alone. I understood that with perfect clarity as I stood there, watching him walk away. I had no logical reason to feel like the only person on Earth, but that didn’t stop me from feeling awfully low as I walked up to the front porch.
Chapter Eighteen
“We’re here to talk to a few of your employees.”
Krystal, the switchboard operator for the Paradise City News, registered surprise on recognizing us. “You were just here on Friday, weren’t you? We still haven’t heard anything from Jane, if that’s what you’re here for.”
I guessed the fact that the police had already been asking questions hadn’t made the rounds yet. That made sense. It was barely past nine o’clock on Monday morning when Pete and I arrived. She might not have heard about the investigation yet.
“Yes, and we’re back now, and this time it’s official business.” Pete flashed his badge. “We’re here with the blessing of your local police department. This isn’t exactly official—I’m not here to arrest anybody—but I do need to ask some questions.”
“If this is a police matter, why aren’t the local cops here instead?” She looked to me, one eyebrow lifted. “Are you a cop, too? Was that whole story about being Jane’s friend a lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie, but I’m not with the police.” It was sort of a lie, but what was I supposed to say? That I’d known her for all of five minutes before watching her get… what? Beaten? Killed?
Pete stepped in. “Detective Mitch Jenner is my contact on this. Give him a call, and he’ll confirm he’s been looking into it.”
“Looking into what?”
He shook his head slightly with a regretful little smile. “Sorry. I’m not at liberty to share details. All we want to do is speak to a couple of Jane’s coworkers, that’s it. As I said, nobody’s getting arrested this morning.”
Was there ever an employee as put-out as poor Krystal? She handed us two temporary passes which we could use to access the elevator, but only on the condition that we swore she’d get them back and that she wouldn’t get into trouble for letting us upstairs. We promised, though there wasn’t much we could do to keep her from getting reprimanded if somebody felt like it.
As we stepped into the shining, chrome-trimmed car, I couldn’t help but imagine Jane’s attacker doing the same thing. Only they were sneaking up to her floor with the intention of hurting her.
When we reached the fifth floor, the doors slid open and I was greeted by the sight of a bustling newsroom. Not as bustling as I remembered seeing in movies, but then when was reality ever the same as fiction? Voices overlapped, fingers tapped keyboards, phones rang. The odor of decades of food, bodies, and probably cigarette smoke from back when it was okay to do that in public buildings hung in the air.
The first person we saw was a kid who couldn’t have been older than sixteen carrying a bag of sandwiches. “What are you doing here? Only employees on this floor.”
I tried to ignore the irresistible aroma of bacon and regretted not having eaten anything more substantial than a piece of toast before leaving that morning. “Can you tell me where Frank Cooper sits?” I gave him my biggest smile and tossed my hair over one shoulder. Was it my proudest moment? No. But sometimes a girl had to use what she had, and I had a tendency to forget I wasn’t exactly ugly.
As we made our way down the hall toward Frank’s cubicle, Pete snickered. “You’ll have to show me how you managed that some time. That was a side of you I’ve never seen before.”
“Hush.” We reached the last cubicle, outside of which hung a plaque bearing Frank’s name. I rounded the corner while Pete knocked against the padded wall.
“Mr. Cooper?” We watched as a man sitting behind an overflowing desk turned to us in his swivel chair.
And immediately, my heart sank. He had to be at least seventy years old, saggy-cheeked, white-haired. “Yes? What can I do for you?” He gave us a sweet smile, the sort of smile that immediately brought to mind a doting grandfather. There were pictures of a pair of curly-headed twins who couldn’t have been older than five or six sprinkled all over the place—thumbtacked to the walls, in cute little frames, and along with them were several crayon drawings the twins must have created for him.
This wasn’t our guy.
A glance at Pete told me he was thinking along the same lines. He cleared his throat, his eyes darting my way for a split second. “Mr. Cooper, are you friendly with Jane Brooks? That is
, do you know her well?”
His eyes lit up. “Oh, Jane? What a sweet girl. I’m so sorry she isn’t here anymore. It seems strange to me.”
“Why is that?”
“She was always so conscientious. Never late, always handed in her work in with plenty of time to spare. She wasn’t one of those people always waiting to the last minute to turn in a piece. The few times she asked me to look over her work for proofing, I found her to be a wonderful writer. Engaging, warm. Not everyone can conduct an insightful interview. She knew which questions to ask, the right angle to approach a story from. Quite a talent.”
I couldn’t help myself. “So it seems odd to you that she… just stopped coming to work?”
“Most certainly.” His eyes ping-ponged back and forth between the two of us. “Are you with the police? Is she in trouble?”
Pete grimaced slightly, like he was put on the spot and didn’t like it much, but finally nodded. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, sir.” He handed Frank a business card. “Please, if you can think of anything else, my cell number is on this card. Feel free to give me a call at any time, day or night.”
I expected Frank to slip the card into his pocket and be done with it. Instead, he stood partway, peering over the top of his cubicle walls like he wanted to be sure nobody was around. “She was troubled.” It came out in a whisper. “I overheard a phone call she made a week before she stopped coming in.”
Pete jumped on it before I could draw breath. “What was the call about? How much did you hear?” He was in full cop mode now, all lowered brows and a tone that meant business. It took a conscious effort on my part not to stare at him. I didn’t hate this side of him, let’s put it that way.
Frank shook his head. “She was out in the stairwell at the end of the floor. I like to take the stairs when I can, you know. I surprised her.” He paused, frowning. “Now that I look back, she seemed more frightened than surprised.”