by Cindy Myers
“I never saw a press release.”
“I faxed it over last Thursday. All about how this year’s show is going to be bigger and better than ever.”
“You sent a press release about a local pageant to the Dallas Morning News?”
“We get a great many visitors from Texas, so I thought it would be of interest. When you said you were from the paper, I naturally assumed that’s why you were here.”
He nodded. Clearly, the woman was a little nuts, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be a good source of information. “The press release must have arrived while I was already on my way to speak with you about another matter,” he said.
The V between her eyes deepened. “This isn’t more about Gerald Pershing, is it?” she asked. “Because I really don’t want to talk about him. I hardly knew the man.”
“Who the hell is Gerald Pershing?”
Cassie pruned up her lips. “There’s no need for profanity.”
He took a deep breath. Time to calm down. “I don’t care about this Pershing guy, whoever he is. I wanted to ask you about Shelly Frazier.”
“Shelly Frazier?” Now Cassie looked as confused as he had been.
“I understand she’s a member of the historical society.”
“Yes, she’s currently our secretary, but I can’t imagine that little mouse has done anything to warrant mention in the paper.”
“It’s not anything she’s done lately that interests our readers.” He leaned forward, glad to be back in control of the conversation. “They care about Shelly because of something that happened when she was a child. Do you remember a story twenty-five years ago, about a child trapped in an underground cavern in North Texas? Everyone called her Baby Shelly.”
“You think our Shelly is Baby Shelly?” Cassie eyed him skeptically. “I’m sure she’s much too old.”
“She’s thirty. And I know she was Baby Shelly. I confirmed the information with her yesterday.”
“Thirty? I was sure she was at least forty. Sharon!”
The assistant popped out from between the stacks, like a prairie dog shooting out of a burrow. “Yes, Cassie?”
“How old is Shelly Frazier?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe early thirties?”
“I thought she was older.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I don’t really think—” Travis began.
“Did you know that Shelly Frazier was Baby Shelly?” Cassie ignored him and directed the question at her pretty assistant.
“Well, I, um, I guess I assumed she was a baby once,” Sharon said. “I mean, we all were.”
“Oh, you’re too young.” Cassie waved her away and turned her attention back to Travis. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
“I’m looking for the people in town who know Shelly best.” He lowered his voice, his tone confiding. “Since the two of you work together closely in the historical society, and since you are a longtime resident with a clearly observant nature, I’m sure you could provide the kind of detail that really enriches a story like this.”
“You think I have all the dirt on Shelly and I’ll give it to you.”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but yes. I want you to tell me everything you know about Shelly today, so that I can provide a complete picture for my readers.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. Oh, she was a shrewd one, all right. A woman who was used to getting what she wanted. If he wanted her to talk, he’d have to sweeten the deal. “I’d be sure to include a mention of the Founders’ Pageant with your comments,” he said.
“I can’t help.” She pressed her lips tightly together, a sealed vault.
So she wanted to play hard to get. Never mind. He knew how to handle difficult people like her. “I’m sure whatever information you can provide will be very helpful,” he said.
“I can’t give you any dirt on Shelly because there isn’t any to give,” she said. “The woman does her job and keeps quiet. She’s devoted to her family and she never makes waves.”
“Seriously? Nobody’s that perfect.”
“You’re wasting your time and mine. Move along.” She actually made a shooing motion with one hand, as if he was a five-year-old walking too near her flower beds. Her steely gaze made it clear he wasn’t going to get anything more out of her. The assistant, Sharon, had disappeared back among the stacks. Travis switched off the recorder and pocketed it.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Wynock,” he said, and left the building.
Outside, standing on the sidewalk, bright sun almost blinding him, he debated his next move. If all the people in town were like Cassie, thinking Shelly was a saint, he wasn’t going to get anywhere. What he needed to find was someone who didn’t like Shelly Frazier. The woman her husband had dumped in order to marry her, or the clerk she’d beaten out for the job at the bank. Where was the cranky neighbor or jealous rival? Those were the kinds of people who would give him the juicy quotes readers wanted. He couldn’t make Shelly look too bad—after all, people still had a soft spot for sweet Baby Shelly. But as much as they’d loved the innocent toddler, they’d take delight in knowing she’d had at least a little more tragedy in her life, and that she’d made mistakes, just as they had. He couldn’t even think of what he was doing as digging up dirt, really. He was only gathering material to make Shelly more sympathetic. More human.
He checked his phone. Only ten-thirty. Too early to talk to the patrons of the Dirty Sally. Later, if he could buy a few drinks for the right person, no telling what he could find out. But not now. For now, he’d stop by the local newspaper. In a town this small, a fellow journalist might have just the information he needed.
On Monday, Mindy made herself wait until noon before she headed into town. She’d spent Sunday trying to get Shelly to open up about her past, but her sister had refused to talk about anything juicy at all. Shelly had passed the day cooking and sewing and reading; Mindy had been ready to run screaming from the house, she was so bored. She’d telephoned Travis to complain, but he’d been no help. He was spending the afternoon in his motel room, watching a ball game and drinking beer. “Every assignment has some down time,” he said. “You have to learn to suck it up.”
Easy for him to say; he wasn’t staying with a sister who didn’t even have cable. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Never mind. She could finally get to work and be on her way to getting back to the city, where she belonged. Ten minutes ago, she’d watched Shelly head out on her lunch break. Now was Mindy’s chance to interview her coworkers.
The Eureka Bank occupied a gray stone pile crouched in a grove of blue spruce, each tree protected by a chicken-wire cage. Trees in bondage. A good name for a rock band. She laughed at her own joke. She’d have to try it out on a local—if she ever met anyone who might actually get it.
A white banner with red and blue letters stretched over the bank’s wide front door advertised something called Hard Rock Days. Mindy paused to read the dates. Was this little town really hip enough to have a rock festival? Maybe she wouldn’t die of boredom after all.
The inside of the bank featured two desks, two smaller glassed-in offices, two tellers’ windows behind a brown granite counter, and a few green plants Mindy would bet were fake. One of the tellers, a stocky blonde wearing an unbecoming shade of yellow, leaned out over the counter and beamed at Mindy. “May I help you?”
Mindy glanced at the woman’s nameplate. Tamarin. “Hi, Tamarin. I’m Mindy Payton—Shelly’s sister.”
Confusion clouded the blonde’s baby blues. “Shelly?”
“Shelly Frazier. I’m her younger sister.”
“Shelly’s sister!” Tamarin’s voice rose to a squeal. “I had no idea. Does Shelly know you’re here?”
“I’m staying at her house. You know, catching up on old times.” Mindy laughed, keeping the tone light, not the mule bray that sounded so much like their mom. “I popped in to surprise her, hoping we
could have lunch.”
“Oh, hon, you just missed her. But she usually goes home for lunch. You want me to call and see if she’s there?” She already had the phone in her hand.
“Oh no, don’t bother her.” The last thing Mindy wanted was for Shelly to know she was here, snooping around. “I’ll meet up with her later anyway. I just thought it would be fun to see where she works.” She tried to keep an expression of avid interest as she looked around the bank. A middle-aged man in one of the offices was talking on the phone, a serious expression on his face. Was he turning down a loan applicant? Calling about a late payment? More likely, he was building a fantasy football team or planning a fishing trip. No other employees—or customers—were in sight. Travis had suggested she pump Shelly’s coworkers for information, but what, exactly, was she supposed to find out?
“There’s not much to the place.” Tamarin waved her hand to take in the small area.
That was definitely an understatement. Mindy could imagine few things more mind-numbing than to be stuck here all day, having to smile and be nice to everyone who came through the door. “Have you worked with Shelly long?” she asked.
“Oh gosh, forever. Or, at least ever since I came to Eureka.” Tamarin wrinkled her nose in thought. “It’s been five years now, I guess. I met her first at the historical society. She was pregnant with her youngest, and I’d just had my Tommy, so we had a lot in common. Then my husband, Tom, was killed in a mining accident and I had to go to work. Shelly told me about the job here and we’ve been working side by side ever since.”
“So you two are pretty good friends?” Mindy leaned forward, her tone confiding.
“Oh, the best.” Tamarin’s smile faltered a little. “But she never mentioned a sister. Come to think of it, she doesn’t talk about her family at all. I kind of thought she didn’t even have one.”
Tamarin was giving Mindy the hairy eyeball now. Maybe she thought Mindy was a bank robber, trying to case the joint. Any second now, she’d push the button under the counter for a silent alarm and cops would surround the place. She’d better think fast.
“After the scandal, I think she was too ashamed to show her face,” Mindy said. “But the rest of us never felt that way. Like I told her last night, we were always ready to welcome her back with open arms.”
Tamarin’s eyes widened until she resembled a Kewpie doll. “What scandal?”
“Oh, it was nothing, really.” Mindy looked around again. “If she’d given the money back and apologized, she never would have had to leave town at all. But that’s all water under the bridge. She has nothing to be ashamed of.”
Tamarin’s mouth hung open. Coupled with the goggle eyes, she resembled a cartoon frog. Mindy brightened her own smile. “I’ll try to catch up with her at home. It was nice meeting you.” As she pushed through the door onto the sidewalk, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Tamarin still gaping at her. She laughed. If she couldn’t find out any good gossip about Shelly, she might as well make some up. See how Perfect Big Sister deals with that!
Monday afternoon, Maggie stared at her computer screen, mesmerized by the blinking cursor. She tried to focus on her article about the dangers of invasive weeds, but all she could think about was how much she wanted to sleep. Once upon a time, she had fantasized about hunky men and hot sex, but since the arrival of Angela her daydreams revolved around soft mattresses, crisp cotton sheets, and blissful slumber.
The cowbell attached to the paper’s front door clanged and a lanky man with a fuzz of auburn hair around his head stepped in and looked around. He spotted her and reached her desk in three strides. “Travis Rowell, Dallas Morning News,” he said, and offered his hand.
“Maggie Clark, Eureka Miner.” She shook hands. “Can I help you?”
“You sure can.” He grabbed the rolling chair that was usually occupied by Ellie Harrington, the ad sales rep/circulation manager/administrative assistant and general dogsbody, and rolled it over to face Maggie. “I stopped by Saturday afternoon, but your office was closed. In fact, pretty much everything in town seems to shut down over the weekend.”
“We only put out the paper once a week,” Maggie said. “So, unless something big is happening, we close at noon on Saturdays. What can I help you with?”
“I’m working on a story,” he said. “A really big story. I’m hoping you can help me with some background info.”
She rolled her chair back a little, unsure of the eagerness in his expression. She couldn’t imagine anything in Eureka to get this excited about. “What kind of story?”
“What can you tell me about Shelly Frazier?”
She blinked, trying to put a face to the name. “Shelly from the bank?” Of all the people she might have guessed would be involved in something newsworthy, Shelly was not one of them.
“Right. What do you know about her?”
“Nothing, really. I mean, she’s very nice.”
“No one is nice all the time.”
“Some people are.” Though she wasn’t so sure about him. He was starting to make her uncomfortable. “Why do you want to know about Shelly?”
He looked around, as if to verify they were alone, then leaned toward her, his voice low. “Can you keep a secret?”
“It depends on the secret.” She was, after all, a reporter. And if this story was really so big . . .
“Shelly Frazier is Baby Shelly.”
“Who?”
“Baby Shelly. The cute little girl who was trapped in the underground cavern in North Texas twenty-five years ago.”
Maggie remembered now. She’d been fifteen at the time. She and her mother—and everyone else she knew—had been glued to the television as the dramatic search for the curly-haired tot unfolded. When rescuers had finally pulled the little girl, dirty and bruised, from beneath the ground, Maggie and her mom had hugged each other and cried happy tears. But she had a hard time connecting that child with the sweet but reserved mom and wife who cashed her checks at the Eureka Bank. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Absolutely. She confirmed it to me herself yesterday.”
“That’s interesting, but since that all happened so long ago, I don’t see how it’s big news.”
“How long have you been a reporter?”
Maggie stiffened. She’d taken the job with the Miner the year before, when she’d first arrived in Eureka. She had no journalism degree, but she could compose a grammatical sentence and was willing to work for the poverty wages the paper provided. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she said.
“If you’d been around very long at all, you’d realize that the twenty-fifth anniversary of almost anything is news, especially if the person involved has been hiding from the press for the past decade.”
He made it sound as if Shelly had been living as a recluse or something. “Shelly has been working at the bank and taking care of her family,” she said. “She’s not a fugitive from justice.”
“She moved, changed her name, and she refuses to talk to the press.”
“She has the right to her privacy.” Though Maggie didn’t know Shelly very well, she liked her, and she felt the need to defend her from this abrasive man.
“People all over the world feel invested in her story,” he said. “It’s my job to give that to them.”
“So talk to Shelly. I don’t see how I could help you, anyway.”
“I’m looking for background on her life here in Eureka. What she’s like, things she’s done . . .”
“I can’t help you.”
“Then point me toward someone who can.” He pulled a reporter’s notebook and the stub of a pencil from the back pocket of his jeans—a quaint touch in this day of smartphones and tablet computers. “Who’s the biggest gossip in town?”
“Eureka isn’t like that!”
“Of course it is. All small towns are.”
“You’d better leave now.”
He stuffed the notebook back into his pocket. “As soon as I do
, you’re going to call Shelly, aren’t you?”
That was exactly what Maggie intended to do, but she’d never admit it to him. “Go,” she said.
He stood, his expression still smug, and flipped a card onto the desk in front of her. “If you learn anything interesting, give me a call,” he said. “And don’t try to scoop me on this. My paper can afford a lot of lawyers and they’re not afraid to use them.”
Chapter 5
Maggie resisted the urge to make a rude gesture to Travis Rowell’s back as he left her office. She waited until she was sure he was out of sight before she picked up the phone and punched in the number for the bank.
On the second ring, the door from the street burst open and Cassie rushed in, face flushed and out of breath. “I thought I saw that reporter fellow come in here,” she gasped.
“What reporter fellow?” Maggie was curious to hear Cassie’s take on Travis Rowell.
“He says he’s from the Dallas Morning News, but I bet he’s really working for one of those scandal sheets—the Inquisitor, or whatever it’s called.”
“The Enquirer?”
“I might have known you were familiar with it.” Cassie dropped into the chair Travis had vacated.
“How do you know him?” Maggie asked.
“He came by the library Saturday morning. What did he want from you?”
“You first,” Maggie said. “Why did he come to the library?”
Cassie narrowed her eyes, apparently debating whether to hold her ground, but curiosity—or maybe impatience—won out over stubbornness. “He wanted me to tell him everything I know about Shelly Frazier. He said something about her being Baby Shelly—the toddler who was trapped in that cavern in Texas years and years ago.”
“That’s what he told me, too,” Maggie said. “I wonder why he came to you first.”
Cassie sat up straighter. “Libraries are always a source of information.”
“And maybe someone told him you work with Shelly on the historical society.” And that she might very well be one of the biggest gossips in a town full of them.