Gossip (Desire Never Dies)

by Clara Grace Walker

  Of course not. She was too busy trying to blame him. “What about Peter?” he asked. “Did you get any details on Janelle’s murder from him, or is his lawyer doing all the talking?”

  “Mr. Arnold’s attorney is funneling all communications through him. Where your wife’s murder is concerned, however, he has an alibi. Looked like a pretty flimsy one at first, so I checked it out and I really don’t think he killed your wife either.”

  “That’s not possible.” Janelle’s death had to be connected to Rod and Peter somehow. It was the only thing that made sense. “What kind of alibi could the guy have that’s convinced you he’s not involved?”

  “He was home eating breakfast. We have phone records showing a called received at his house right before your wife’s body was found.”

  “Are you kidding me? That’s his alibi?” Now he was just flat out pissed. “I suppose it never occurred to you his wife might have taken that call.”

  She barely flinched. “Don’t raise your voice with me, Mr. Beck. Of course it occurred to me. Not as if I haven’t been doing this job for a while.”

  “Well, then-”

  She held her hand up to stop the interruption. “It happens in this case the current Mrs. Arnold was out of town that day. And if you’re looking for another hot-news tip where your rival is concerned, I understand she’s filing for divorce.”

  “She is?” The gossip in this town was getting to be more than he could keep up with.

  “That’s right.” Sarge nodded her head. “Apparently the third Mrs. Arnold hasn’t been any happier with him than her two predecessors. She really isn’t motivated to lie for him. She says she was out of town that day and I believe her.”

  Nick made a mental note to have Danny do a story on Peter’s latest divorce scandal. “So, that’s it then? We’ve followed all these leads, and we still don’t have any idea who killed Janelle?”

  She said nothing. Just looked at him in a way that made him uncomfortable. His gut tightened. She still thought he was a suspect. She was ready to let Rod Skinner and Peter Arnold off the hook, but still wanted to regard him as a suspect.

  He rose from his desk. “I think you’ve wasted enough time hounding my every move. Maybe it’s time you showed this much attention to Peter Arnold and Rod Skinner. Then you might find out who killed Janelle.”

  “Mr. Beck, we’ve investigated those avenues already. And for the record, now that we’ve busted the porn studio, we know Peter Arnold went there for a little fun with some underage actresses after his argument with Patrice McKenzie, making it unlikely he killed her either.”

  “Then look at them again. And dig a little deeper this time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.”

  She got up smiling and headed for the door. “I’m sure you do. But this time, take my advice and do it from your office. I may have to find other means of keeping tabs on your whereabouts if you decide to leave town again.”

  Chapter 54

  Jamie had waited all morning and Nick still hadn’t called. She’d expected to hear back from him by now; about her photos; about Heather; about something. She could have called him, of course, but no way was she doing that. He might take it as a sign she felt all gooey and lovey-dovey about making love with him last night. Or that she wanted him coming back for more. Which she didn’t. He’d broken through enough of her defenses already.

  Did he even want to come back for more?

  No. Scratch that thought. She didn’t care. She was not going down the ‘I want a relationship’ road. No way was he ready for one anyhow. He was hurt and lonely. In need of companionship. Last night her emotions had escaped and she’d given it to him. Today was different though. Today she had her emotions bottled back up. Today her relationship with Nick was back where it belonged: business.

  So here she stood, in front of Rod Skinner’s house pressing his doorbell, after finding the gate to his driveway left open. She knocked on his door, half expecting him not to answer, and prepared to leave a note asking him to call her. To her surprise, however, he answered the door, dressed in a Twisted Sister t-shirt and a pair of navy jogging pants. A puzzled frown replaced by a wide smile, greeted her.

  “Hey, the lovely Miss Jennings, is it?”

  “Yes.” Already, she felt uncomfortable and unsure of her decision.

  “This is certainly an unexpected surprise. What can I do for you?”

  She hesitated. This was either a really great idea, or a really stupid one. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about Peter’s arrest.”

  He stopped smiling. “Are you doing a story for Nick?”

  “No. Well, I mean, yes. I’m sure Nick’s doing a story on the arrest, and maybe you’ll have something to say he would be interested in, but the truth is, there are some things I’m just curious about. Can I come in, please?”

  Opening the door wider for her, he stepped back. “Sure. Come on in. I’m sure you remember the way to the kitchen.”

  She said nothing. Obviously, he knew she’d been the one to break in and steal his movie of Janelle. She smiled sweetly at him and left him to his own thoughts about the matter as she followed him through the house. She remembered the layout well enough to be thankful he was, indeed, heading toward the kitchen and not his bedroom.

  Full, early-afternoon sunlight filled the room when they got there, and a salty breeze blew in off the ocean from an open window. Waves, breaking out on the surf, echoed up from the beach, and she thought briefly of how wonderful it must be to live here, staring out at an endless blue sea every morning, sipping coffee. She nodded at Rod. “Nice place.”

  He grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment, and pulled out a chair for her at a small white-washed wooden table in the breakfast nook.

  “It is actually. I love living here. But I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here to compliment my taste in living quarters.”

  “No,” she agreed. “I didn’t. I came to talk about Peter and the, uh, film studio the two of you have been running.”

  He joined her, sitting at the table, and stared intently in her direction. “Peter owns the studio,” he said. “But I suspect you already knew that.”

  “I did. Danny tracked that little nugget of news down yesterday.”

  “Really?” He arched his brow, grinning at her. “I guess Peter didn’t hide the information as well as he thought.”

  “He certainly made a decent attempt at it. Unfortunately for him, Danny is even better at uncovering things than most people are at hiding them.” She regarded Rod for a moment. He looked relaxed, carefree. Not at all like a man about to go down with a sinking ship. “Did you know Peter was using underage girls in those movies?”

  He shook his head. “No. They always came in with proper ID.”

  “I’m sure they did, but didn’t you ever suspect something was wrong? I mean, some of those girls had to look awfully young.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not looking for work as one of those folks offering to guess your age at the carnival, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “That’s a nice, vague answer.”

  “You mean that’s not what Nick was looking for?”

  He grinned. Like a wolf, she thought. Like the one dressed in grandma’s clothes, trying to sucker in Little Red Riding Hood. He was a coy one. No doubt good at playing games. “Were you the anonymous tipster that led police to Peter’s underage operations?”

  “Oh yes.” He chuckled. “I’m sure you’d like to know that. But if I were the anonymous tipster, then I couldn’t very well tell you and still remain anonymous, now could I?”

  “Touché, Mr. Skinner.”

  “You’re a pretty girl,” he said. “Nick ever make the moves on you?”

  She flinched. “No,” she lied, and could tell by the cocky grin on his face he did not believe her.

  “Right.” He laughed outright. “That’s why your cheeks just turned as red as a stop sign.”

  “I didn’t come he
re to discuss my personal life, Mr. Skinner.”

  “Please.” He looked at her as if he were being overly patient. “Call me Rod.”

  “Fine. I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life, Rod. I would like to get back to the underage girls Peter had working at the studio.”

  “I already told you I didn’t know they were underage.”

  “You did. I’d like to talk about one girl in particular though. Heather Sorenson.”

  The cocky grin finally left his face. “What do you want to know about Heather?”

  “You couldn’t possibly have thought she was eighteen.”

  A serious glint took over his eyes. “You understand, don’t you, the names of the minor girls involved in the movies cannot be printed in the paper?”

  “Yes, Rod. I do understand that. My interest in Heather is personal.”

  “Personal? How?”

  “I’m the one who coaxed her away from her apartment a few days ago. I had her put up at my place and was trying to help her out, until she freaked out thinking I was going to call the cops and ran off.”

  “She was at your place?” He looked truly shocked. “I thought she’d run off to work the streets again. Or worse, that she’d ODed and wound up in a ditch somewhere.”

  “So you knew she was on drugs?” It was an ‘Aha!’ moment, and her words came out sounding like an accusation.

  Rod was now tight-lipped and shaking his head. “Not for a fact. No. But I suspected as much.”

  “So why didn’t you call the police?” Her accusatory tone now turned to outrage.

  “And tell them what? I have a porn film actress I think is using drugs? They would have laughed themselves silly before hanging up the phone.”

  She didn’t know what to think, and wondered now whether he really was the anonymous tipster. Worse, she wasn’t sure she’d gotten any useful information out of him. “Look, will you just tell me one thing? Off the record?”

  “Off the record? You sure about that?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Fine. What would you like to know?”

  “Who was giving Heather the drugs?”

  “That’s what you want to know?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Guess I just figured you’d want to know something more about Peter.”

  “You mean Peter wasn’t the one giving her drugs?”

  “Hell no.” Rod laughed. “That man’s way too stuck on himself and into being physically fit to get involved with drugs.”

  “So who was giving her the drugs then?”

  “If you want my guess, I’d have to say D-bag.”

  “D-bag? You mean the hired thug?”

  “The one and only.”

  “What makes you think it was him?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s using himself.”

  “Why?” She didn’t find that too hard to imagine, but asked anyway.

  “The usual things. Guy was always showing up late for work. Glassy, bloodshot eyes. Emotional outbursts, you know? That sort of thing. I even complained about it once to Peter.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Told me to threaten to have him drug-tested. See if that scared some better behavior into him.”

  “And did it?”

  “For a while. And that’s more than one question. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other things to do today.”

  “Sure. Of course.” He rose from the table and she followed suit, taking his cue that he was done talking.

  After leading her back to the front door, he paused. “Now, we’re clear,” he said. “That conversation we just had is off the record.”

  “You have my word, Rod. If Nick wants to do a piece on D-bag, he’ll have to do an independent investigation.”

  “Good.”

  She stepped back outside into the bright, hot, Florida sun, and knew she had delayed the inevitable as long as possible. Time to go talk to Nick.

  Chapter 55

  Rod closed the door behind Jamie and walked back into his bedroom. “It’s okay, babe,” he said. “She’s gone now.”

  Darla sat on the edge of his bed, having dressed into a pair of blue jean shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank top with the name of one of her favorite designers emblazoned in rhinestones on the front. She kicked her bare feet back and forth in a restless manner.

  “What did she want? She want to talk about my old man?”

  Rod sat down on the bed next to her and slid an arm around her waist. Never had a woman confounded him the way she did. Many people compared her to the late Taralynn Clarke, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. Where Taralynn had been vain, shallow and spoiled, Darla was insecure, vulnerable and at times, emotionally volatile. She made him feel strangely protective, like she needed him to intercede on her behalf against the rest of the world. He put a hand on her knee, soothing her incessant kicking. “Don’t worry, honey. I didn’t tell her anything about your old man the police don’t already know.”

  She jerked violently away from him. “Well, why not? Why does everyone act like that man deserves to look good? The man is a fucking bastard! And you know it.”

  “Hey.” He pulled her back close to him, and saw she was crying. “What did your father do to make you feel this way about him? You can tell me.”

  “He’s not my father!” She spat the words out like poison. Her feet resumed kicking. Tears streamed down her face.

  Rod sat stunned. “He’s not?”

  “No. My mother had an affair with our gardener, because Peter wouldn’t have sex with her anymore. That’s who my father really is. The family gardener.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because Peter told me.”

  “He told you?”

  “Yes, when he was busy explaining why it was okay for him to have sex with me.”

  Rod’s stomach turned and felt like it was going to drop right out of his body. He held Darla close.

  “I was only fifteen.”

  She sobbed uncontrollably, her small, thin body heaving in his arms. Peter was a sicker piece of shit than he had ever imagined. His own daughter. Biological or not, the man had raised her. In her eyes, he was her father. And he had betrayed her in an even worse way than Rod’s own father had betrayed him.

  “Why didn’t you call the cops on that sick bastard?” he asked, knowing as he did it was a lot to expect of a fifteen-year-old girl.

  Her cries grew louder. “B-because he said he’d have a DNA test done if I did, and tell the whole world that I wasn’t his daughter, and disinherit me, and then I wouldn’t have any father at all.”

  Rod pulled her up onto his lap. “It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking her hair. He didn’t know what else to say.

  Chapter 56

  Jamie felt strange walking into The Tattletale offices in mid-afternoon, like she had the phrase I just slept with Nick tattooed on her forehead. Every glance thrown in her direction, she imagined to be a disapproving stare. Every conversation she observed between people out of earshot, she imagined to be subtle snickers and shared gossip. When it got right down to it, she felt like Scarlet O’Hara entering the party wearing that damn red dress, or Hester Prynne with the giant letter ‘A’ sewn onto the front of her blouse.

  She paused when she reached the door to Nick’s office, held her hand up to knock, and hesitated. Candi, who’d been on a call when Jamie approached, hung up the phone and nodded toward the door. “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s alone in there.”

  “Thanks, Candi.” Jamie knocked and Nick called her in at once. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  Nick rose from his desk, smiling. “Jamie,” he said. “I was just going to call you.”

  Because he wanted to come back for more? Last night’s earthquake, the one that had started in her loins and ended just outside her heart, sent small aftershocks vibrating through her. Being with him last night, knowing the urgency of his kiss, the tenderness of his touch, the
hard feel of him inside her, had punched a hole in her carefully constructed emotional wall, and she had no idea how to repair it.

  Before she had a chance to respond, he’d reached her side, wrapped his arms around her and greeted her with a kiss. He tasted of coffee, breath mints and something else she could only describe as Nick. Instantly, her thighs warmed and she gave in, cursing herself.

  “I’ve been thinking about you since I woke up this morning,” he said, pulling back only slightly.

  She arched a brow. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

  He laughed. “I’ve been thinking that since I woke up, too. Why is it you’re so all-business and I’m the one doing all the swooning? Aren’t I supposed to be the man in this relationship?”

  Relationship. The word alone shocked reason back into her and she stepped away from him. She looked away from his puppy dog stare. “I came by because I have a lead in Janelle’s death.”

  He frowned. “You do?”

  Good. Back to work. “Yes. I have the name of one more person to check out.”

  He stepped forward, closing the gap she’d made between them. “Who?”

  Jamie took another step back. “That hired thug at the film studio.”

  He stayed put this time, crossing his arms over his chest. “You mean D-bag?”

  “Yes. D-bag.”

  He looked up, as if thinking it over for a minute, before turning his gaze back to her. “The guy’s obviously a low-life, but why do you think he’s involved in Janelle’s murder?”

  “Because he was the one supplying drugs to Heather Sorenson and the other girls.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.

  Nick leaned back against the edge of his desk. “How did you find this out?”

  Jamie paused. He was not going to like her answer. “I can’t tell you.”

  “What do you mean you can’t tell me?”

  He sounded annoyed. Well, he was just going to have to stay that way. Even Nicholas Beck didn’t get to have his way all the time. “I promised my source it was off the record.”