by Nenny May
“There’s a special guest among us,” Christian said vaguely.
“I already have enough on my plate and no time for guessing games.”
“Governor Bernard Sutter’s already seated, and his appointed D.A. is not in attendance.”
Color drained from her face.
“I’m… I was… Shit.” She grasped at her words, the blood in her veins frigid. She blamed Julie… No, Lisa… She blamed Julie for putting Lisa in her path. Julie hadn’t been able to shut up about her psychologist neighbor. She had mentioned Lisa in the past, passively, but never with the fervor of trying to play matchmaker. Regan dreaded it, whenever Julie did that. It just meant she didn’t have faith that Regan could find her Mrs. Right on her own. It wasn’t as if she was trying… “I was in the middle of something,” She gestured to her computer.
Christian rose an eyebrow and she waved him over.
He leaned over her shoulder and adjusted the medicated lenses he’s worn as long as she’d known him.
She wasn’t scatterbrained. She late for pop-up briefings. That wasn’t like her. Her team was the textbook definition of unreliable. Not her. She was put together, collected, and all it took was a blind date tucked between the sheets of a contract to unravel the straight line that was her life?
No, she couldn’t let that happen.
She was almost done with Lisa Patterson’s contract. Much to her own dismay, she hadn’t been able to finish it before Lisa had to return to the office. It was better that way. She would have another reason to meet with the espresso skinned woman.
Did she want to meet with her outside the boundaries of the contract she was drawing up? She’d deliberated over it minutes into the woman’s exit.
“Whoever this Patterson woman is, she’s teetering on the edge, I’ve never seen so many exclusion clauses in a client-therapist contract,” Christian observed taking his time to skim through the document.
She was rusty. Spending years out of the dating game would do that to a person. She had her reservations against women. Exclusively younger women.
“From what I gather, she thinks he did it. Working with him off the grid gives her time to break down his walls and not have to explain to some board of directors.”
“You’re not buying this are you?” Christian turned to her.
She acknowledged his familiar scent, he always seemed to smell unmistakably of ginger.
“And what if I am?” She wasn’t. She had her own reasons for keeping the woman nearby. Dancing around a serious affair, it wouldn’t hurt to dip her toes in the water. Get a feel of dating world.
“Bullshit.” He straightened and left her desk.
“What?” Regan closed the program and put her desktop to sleep.
“She’s barking up the wrong tree.” Christian was by the rack of wines and liquors. “You said it yourself, you have a killer in mind. I doubt you believed it was the prodigal son?” He picked up a glass.
It was true.
She had her own spin on what she supposed happened to Blake Campbell. That didn’t disregard the fact that Lisa Patterson was in direct contact with the son of the deceased. And she was going to take it as an opportunity to have a woman on the inside. Someone who would dig and relay their findings to her. Someone other than her investigators down at the Sherriff’s Department. Someone who would pry into the mind of the only other living Campbell.
“Should you be doing that?” She gestured to the bottle of white wine he was reaching for, desperate to change the subject.
“Don’t let the hair fool you, I’m not that old, my dear.” He spilled the content of the bottle into the glass.
She reached for her phone and keys and rose to her feet. He downed the content of the glass in one go. She resisted the urge to shake her head and pulled the door open for the both of them.
She knew the way to the much-despised conference hall on the third floor and she and Christian had walked in silence down the halls to the elevators, the click and clack of their shoes against the marble flooring filling the taut air.
Lisa Patterson was as good a starting point as any. It wasn’t as if other women were ogling her the way Lisa had. Regan was a lot of things, but she wasn’t blind. The woman had been flustered. It had been years since she’d had that effect on a woman… No, it had been years since she’d paid attention to the effect she had on a woman. Heat flooded her cheeks tinting them a rose hue.
At scorned thick mahogany double doors, she filled her lungs. She was green with envy. Relationships were ruined for her and she had no one else to blame besides Linda Wilde. She pushed the double-doors open. Behind it, she’d been welcomed by eyes, disapproving, curious, and tired eyes from familiar faces. There’d been one that sent a chill down her spine. Governor Bernard Sutter was distinctive. He had a way of dominating a room even by just sitting there. He’d been at the farthest end of the room. The table he’d sat at was long enough to fit him and the executive team, with two remaining chairs that belonged to Regan Sinclair and Christian Lewis.
She picked up her pace and took the chair closest to Gabriel Ackerman, one of the two Deputy District Attorneys she’d worked alongside. He leaned towards her. “We get you’re the D.A. and all but, some of us would like to not sit here with Tom all afternoon,”
She knew what an afternoon with the chatterbox Tom entailed. And she was deeply apologetic.
“I’m sorry,” She mouthed.
Tom cleared his throat. “I’ve called you here to discuss one of two things.” His voice boomed. “Before I delve into it, I would like to acknowledge a special man in our midst, Governor Bernard Sutter. We wouldn’t be here without his wise decision to appoint us.” All eyes turned to the broad pot-bellied man at end of the table, and he rose a hand and offered a nod, pleased by Tom’s introduction. “I’m sure by now we all know of the indiscretions of our D.A. Regan Sinclair?”
“This isn’t because I was late to the meeting is it?” She glared at her colleague.
“That interruption aside, I don’t know if you know this,” He rose to his feet and begun to pace the room. “But you caused an uproar amongst the people of Tillamook by admitting that we the office of the District Attorney don’t have an idea of who this killer could be,” He stopped by a monitor in the front of the room and tapped the screen.
A news report played, and they’d watched in silence. Regan’s stomach sank.
It was a press briefing, she’d been sincere. Days into the murder the people of Tillamook would be mad to expect a killer to be found. Indeed, sorrow ran through the streets like a flood, she’d taken an oath in her position and she didn’t have it in her to lie to the people of Tillamook.
Not that she’d voiced her defense in the presence of the Governor.
She’d been by a podium, her voice the previous day had been steady as spoke about the deceased Blake Campbell and expressed the efforts her office was making to get to the bottom of it. In the process, she’d let it slip that the office of the D.A. was scrambling for the killer.
Tom paused the video and turned to the table. “I’m opening up the table to a brief discussion.”
Silence seemed to be in attendance as well.
“She should have kept that part out of it.” The Office Manager, Caroline Parks shook her long head of blonde hair. Regan bothered a glance at her, the woman’s blue eyes had been on the special guest.
“When was this anyway? I wasn’t informed of a press briefing,” Joshlyn Sears wanted to know. She was one of the firm's Legal Assistants.
“From the looks of things, neither was Regan.” Caroline answered expertly.
“The people are livid.” Tom ceased the attention once more. “They’re taking to the streets and protesting ‘Justice for Tillamook’s Grand Mother’, something we as an office are working on and ought to assure them that we have a handle on the situation.”
“It’s just protests.” Regan pitched helplessly.
“Protests are riots waiting to happen,
Miss. Sinclair.” Bernard Sutter scolded.
She looked to Christian for help, he had his eyes fixed on the monitor.
She was all alone in this.
“Now I have men overlooking the situation, but D.A. Sinclair this is trying times for Tillamook and we would rather have you not reek fear into our people while we try to find who killed the neighborhood sweet-old-lady.” Tom continued.
She huffed.
“You called a meeting with the executive team and the Governor to tell me something you could have in my office?” She tilted her head. “You have gone mad with power.” She said more to herself and once again was on her feet. “I’m sure our team,” She gestured with her hand to the people at the table. “Have more pressing matters to attend to, rather than sit here all day while you exercise your power.”
“Enough!” Bernard Sutter roared.
“If you’d bothered asking, D.A. Sinclair, Tom was acting under my orders to gather the executive team.” Sutter took the floor, his hands smoothening down his suit. Fists clenched on either side, she returned to her seat. “He merely requested to have this discussion since we were all gathered. As for why I called you all here, it’s to discuss how soon we can shut this case down.”
Her brows creased. Mumbles and muttering filled the air.
“I get the feeling shutting it down is going to cause more harm than good,” Christian spoke up.
“It’s a complete waste of resources, old ladies die all the time. We need to push this under the carpet. And it would have been an easier task had D.A. Sinclair not gone and stirred up trouble.”
She’d had her own spin on what had happened to Blake Campbell. She’d heard about the poor woman’s demise at the hands of a killer that had struck Tillamook once before and gotten away with it. A killer whose position made it that much harder to get caught.
Regan Sinclair was convinced, this killer was a certain pot-bellied Governor, Bernard Sutter.
◆◆◆
The unemployment rumors ceased. The bitter glares from colleagues were nowhere to be found. Annabelle Dawson didn’t saunter into work in her best pair of heels, no. She’d bought herself a new pair, Saint Lauren leather pumps. The ones she’d been eyeing on her way home, the pair she’d never been able to afford.
Her breakfast treat had been a croissant filled with chocolate from the new overpriced breakfast bar on 4th.
The tears that had run down her rose cheeks when she’d glanced at the ratings at home the previous night were natural, raw. Not only had their ratings skyrocketed, it was neck and neck with Lucy Wilken’s Channel Nine News. Annabelle Dawson had done it. She’d climbed the career ladder. But she couldn’t stop there. This was only the beginning.
She wasn’t going to lose her job. She’d been taken off probation, though Simon Neil still threatened to have his eyes on her. It was after all, her lack of initiative that almost cost her a career in journalism.
She wasn’t going to let that happen. Not again. She still had a lot to prove to Simon Neil and she was going to stop at nothing to ensure he saw her determination and zeal. She was going to demonstrate her skill and creativity with her documentary on Blake Campbell.
And despite threatening to watch her like a hawk, Simon Neil had invited her to a gala hosted in celebration of the climbing ratings. From what she’d heard it was an exclusive gathering on 7th Street by Laurel Avenue over the weekend. Neil had requested she bring whoever she wanted and she’d invited Amanda and Chase… he could finally introduce her to the Detective he was always going on and on about.
◆◆◆
The viewers had slurped up the last story, the one with the dead lead. Simon wanted more of that, he wanted to give the viewers everything they asked. He wanted a group interview. Anyone they could get from the party Richard Dean had taken Blake to. He’d tossed the idea to Annabelle in the dead the night. And even though she’d been tempted to slip back into a slumber, she’d pulled another all-nighter and she’d gotten her band of Amanda and Frank back together, and the three of them had tugged on whatever strings available and secured an interview at what was now an event center on Elm Avenue with Josephine Dean, the youngest sibling of the deceased Richard Dean and Mark Flint, a colleague of Richard Dean. They’d both been at the party with Blake Campbell. They both had a perspective.
The camera already rolling, she and Amanda had been seated on foldable metal chairs provided by the event center, on a stage in what was once a ball room in a privately owned home, now a theater.
“Blake Campbell was already dressed for the occasion. I didn’t speak to her that night, but I’d seen her. Everyone had, she was the type of woman that was noticed when she walked into a room.”
Her chest had swollen with pride as she’d stepped into the gold and white ball room; a chandelier lit foyer, tables and chairs pushed to the walls, and a grand-stairway spilling into the middle of the room. Despite not having the latest Valentino mini, she sure as hell had an expensive alternative curtesy of Christopher Campbell’s lavish spending before, he’d passed on.
An Amuage pencil midi with a deep plunging neckline paired with a shimmering pearl necklace—an anniversary gift—and Armani pumps that clicked and clacked above the white-chocolate marble floors, she’d fit right in with the skimpily, yet gracefully clothed women that had their chins in their air and breasts at eye level. Smooth jazz filled her ears, her matte-red lips curled into a faint smile. The party had been an invite only event, a bit absurd for a charity banquet, but she hadn’t questioned it.
Christopher had taught her to question little in events like this. She didn’t have any business sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and she’d made an effort to keep it out of it.
Josephine Dean who’d had her eyes on Blake Campbell however, knew it was more than just a banquet. It was always more than what it seemed at events of this caliber.
She’d let her date, suited appropriately for the night, lead her around the grand foyer. She had to admit; she hadn’t expected to be hauled back into this world. Christopher’s world. A world she was all too used to. A universe where expensive parties were a normal occurrence in Christopher’s life and as his wife it was mandatory that she accompany him. If it wasn’t a charity banquet it was a company gathering. She didn’t have to do anything at those parties, looking breathtaking and lingering by Christopher’s side had always been enough. She hadn’t been prepared to return to riding in the best cars… when the dirt had covered his coffin, Paul’s hand in hers, she’d been convinced that was the end of their lavish lifestyle. Richard promised her everything Christopher had introduced her to and more!
With his hand on the small of her back, she took in the glimmer in his glacial blue eyes and the smile on his thin pink lips beneath the snow-white hair that wrapped his chin and ran up atop his lips. It had intrigued her since they’d met at the bar.
“Son, when were you going to introduce me to your…plus one?” An authoritative, clipped voice asked. It belonged to a lean woman whose hair and glacial-blue eyes were a carbon copy of Richard’s. She was however, older, in her mid-fifties perhaps with defined smile lines and crinkles around her eyes and corners of her nose.
Richard chuckled sightly.
“This is Blake Camp—”
“Slaughter,” Blake corrected. The woman’s head tilted.
Josephine with a champaign glass in her hands had inched closer to her brother and mother.
“I know you,” Blake drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Why did that crack open a door to a bitter dread. She’d been recognized many times before. Never once by people she cared about…
Did she care about the Deans? Sure, they were a ticket to a world she missed, to a lifestyle she would surrender if they didn’t accept her. Did that mean she cared about their opinion of her?
“You’re that—”
“Mom, how about we let Miss. Slaughter enjoy her night.” Richard rose to her defense.
“Well, I have other guests
to attend to, and son…” She drew him away from Blake and irrespective of the fact that she hadn’t heard what the fifty-something-year-old woman had whispered in her son’s ear, she had a good enough idea that it involved getting her out of that party.
How could Blake have thought she would be accepted back into this world?
She was dreaded the last time she was in it, clinging to a man that could have been her father. A little girl with a man like that, in a town as small as Tillamook. She was never going to fit in.
“I’m sorry about her, she can be a handful.” He’d taken her hand in his and brought it to his lips. Her eyes fluttered shut for a splinter of a second and she allowed her muscles to ease.
No one ever said this was going to be easy…
Her eyes snapped open.
“It’s okay, not many people in this town actually like me,” She hadn’t been looking at him, but at the clustered bodies that spun and danced the night away. That had never been her, jutting her hips and kicking her legs in the air as if no one was watching. There was always someone watching…
“And does that bother you?” There was a sincere curiosity in his voice.
“It shouldn’t should it?”
He shook his head. “Not in the slightest.”
His hand returned to her back. “Now, I promised to help you market your business, and it’s about time I keep up my end of the bargain.” She grinned even though the tightness in her stomach hadn’t reduced in the slightest.
The first man he’d lead her to, was a large man, indeed much like Christopher, he was tall and doughy in the middle, he’d had a rough salt and pepper beard and sharp blue eyes that she didn’t trust. “And who is this beauty, you’re with?” He’d slurred. Men like this, Christopher would scowl at. At the time, she’d urged him to ease his taut muscles… he’d been protecting her. How hadn’t she seen it before? And how was the large doughy man drunk already? The party had just begun!
She’d expected Richard Dean speak of her in high esteem, to introduce her as Tillamook’s most influential businesswoman. He hadn’t.