“I don’t appreciate being compared to a dog.” He took another drink and tried to change the tone. “Frank said you’re a shooter. That must be a fascinating career.” I didn’t answer so he said, “Do you mind if I call you Lilly?”
“You’ll do better with me if you come right out and say what you want.”
He nodded. “Why did you come here today and is it related to my sister in any way?”
“It has nothing to do with Mary or what happened to her last year.” Now that I’d spoken with Warner, there was no reason to keep Junior or Erabelle in the dark about my motives. “My uncle was shot this morning, and I think your father is somehow connected to what happened.”
He looked surprised, but he could easily have been faking it. “Who’s your uncle?”
“Bud Hawkins, although your aunt calls him Allan.”
Junior clearly recognized the name, but didn’t say so. I forced myself to remain quiet while he considered the matter. I’m not good at controlling myself, and it wasn’t easy.
Finally my patience was rewarded. “Someone with that name called yesterday on Dad’s direct line, so you’re right they must know each other. That number’s private.”
“What did they talk about?”
“They didn’t talk at all. Dad was having an angina attack and the nurses wouldn’t put him on. I guess your uncle got very cross with one of them.”
That at least explained what the nurses knew and whom Bud had been yelling at over the phone.
The door suddenly opened. Erabelle stormed in despite Frank’s attempts to stop her.
“You want to try knocking?” Junior smirked. “I’m entertaining a lady. We could have been doing anything in here.”
“No,” I said louder than was necessary. “We really couldn’t have.”
Erabelle didn’t even acknowledge me. “You miserable little . . .” Erabelle struggled, but finally decided against completing the insult. “I’ve just been on the phone with my people. I know what you’ve done.”
Junior reverted to his previous superficial charm. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t pretend. You’ve cut off the funding to my foundation. Do you know how many women are counting on those loans? You’re ruining lives.”
Her anger didn’t rattle him. “With Dad incapacitated, I’ve had to take a hand in the family finances. You wouldn’t believe the people and causes he was sending checks to.” Junior shrugged. “Last month I put a hold on all of his discretionary expenses until I can make sure each is legitimate.”
“Oh, please. That money’s going straight into your pocket. You’re trying to sponge off as much as you can to pay off your own debts.”
“You should watch how you speak to me. Dad may not get better.” Junior didn’t raise his voice, but somehow that made him sound even more menacing. “And after the will is read, you’re going to need me more than I need you.”
They stared at each other. Erabelle didn’t even seem to know I was there. Frank, still hovering in the doorway, was similarly invisible to her. I wondered how many scenes like this had unfolded in front of him and if their casual disregard made him angry.
“As lovely as this is,” I said, “I need to get back to the subject of my uncle.”
Junior jumped on the change of topic. “That’s right. How exactly does Dad know this guy?”
Erabelle was still too angry to answer.
“They were best friends,” I said, then turned to Erabelle. “But I’m afraid Bud was shot this morning. He’s in surgery at Bakersfield Medical Center.”
I immediately regretted telling Erabelle so bluntly. Her passion, so provoked by her nephew, wavered, then vanished as though I’d blown out a flame.
Junior either didn’t notice her distress or didn’t care. “I didn’t think Dad had friends—just employees and family.”
Erabelle’s head stayed down, but her eyes rose to look at me. “How is he?”
“Very bad. They don’t know who shot him or why, but I think it has something to do with your brother. Apparently Bud got upset about something and tried to call him yesterday.”
She turned for the door.
“Hold on,” I called. “We have more to talk about.”
She exited without looking back.
“Excuse me,” I said to Junior while starting for the door. “Thanks for being honest with me.”
He took a seat on the sofa and spread out his arm along the backrest. “You’ll keep me informed if you find out anything relating to Dad? I only ask so I can head off trouble if it’s brewing.”
I stopped at the door. “If you’ll do the same for me.”
He nodded. “For what it’s worth, I only ever heard one reference to Dad having a best friend. I’m hazy on the details, but I believe the fellow walked off with our family heirlooms. I always wondered if that experience was what soured Dad on friendship.”
I’d been in a hurry to catch up with Erabelle, but that gave me pause. Was this the real reason Bud and Warner hadn’t seen each other in over fifty years? “What kind of heirlooms?”
“Military medals from back in mother Russia. Czar-type stuff. Mom made it sound very romantic, or melodramatic, depending on your point of view. I guess there was a big police investigation when they were stolen.”
I shook my head. “Bud might be a little shady, but he’d never rob his best friend.”
Junior raised the glass in a toast. “Like I said, for what it’s worth.”
SIX
Christmas Eve, 11:11 a.m.
I left Junior and hurried to follow Erabelle. I’d hoped that she was on her way to confront Warner and drag the truth out of him, but I was wrong. Frank gestured to a closed door down the hall.
There was no answer to my knock. “Erabelle, you can’t just walk out and think I’m going to let it go. What do you know about Bud’s shooting?”
I heard the click of the lock, then the door opened just enough to reveal her face. “Whatever Allan and Leland are up to, I’m not a part of it.” She started to close the door. “And I don’t want to be.”
I jammed my size-ten boot in the door. Having large feet sometimes has its advantages. “You said you brought me up to the house specifically because you wanted to know what was going on.”
“It was a mistake. I don’t want to backslide like this.”
She tried to close the door again, but I held my foot firmly in place. “You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”
“There’s a reason I live in Indonesia now. I’ve spent years trying to make a life for myself outside of this family. I came home for Christmas this year because Leland is sick, but I can’t let myself get drawn back into his scheming. It’s not healthy.”
“Bud is dying. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you, but I love him.” I felt my eyes sting. “You may be done with Bud, but I’m not. I care that someone deliberately tried to end his life.”
A slight hitch in her voice betrayed the emotion under the words. “I didn’t say I don’t care. But there’s a reason your uncle and Leland used to be friends. They were both very good at hurting people.”
This last statement took me so much by surprise that when Erabelle moved to close the door, I forgot to stop her.
I knocked again, but this time there was no answer at all.
Frank had one of the guards drive me back to my news van at the front gate. Before saying good-bye he passed on Junior’s cell phone number and took mine in return. Apparently Junior was serious about the two of us keeping each other informed.
I drove back to the station to regroup and see if there was any news about the police investigation. After parking in the fenced KJAY lot, I decided to call Rod again. I wanted to talk over what had happened at Warner’s and get his opinion. The call went immediately to voice mail, which meant his phone was off. I left another message asking that he call me as soon as he was done with the police.
I then called Leanore at the
hospital. There was still no news about Bud. I told her to go home, but she offered to stay and call me if Bud got out of surgery. It was a lot to ask of her, and I hadn’t asked, but Leanore was the kind of person who instinctively knew what was most needed and didn’t hesitate to help.
My profuse thanks were interrupted by a yipping sound outside the van. I hung up and opened the door. At first I thought the thing looking up at me was a possum or giant rat. I instinctively jerked back, but then it barked again and I decided it was just a really ugly dog. I swear, one of the thing’s eyes was bigger than the other. Its black hair looked as brittle and unappealing as a porcupine’s coat.
The animal shelter’s truck sat in a space nearby, but if they thought anyone was going to adopt this thing, even on Christmas Eve, they were nuts.
Despite its small size, it tried to jump into the van. I reached down to pick it up, but it leapt at me and licked my face. Before I could jerk back, a cloud of monumentally bad breath made its way into my nostrils.
“What did you eat?” I held the dog at arm’s length while walking to the building. “Poop? Vomit? Vomit made of poop?”
I found the shelter guy in the break room. He had several crates with dogs and cats, and one birdcage.
I held out “Thing” for him to take. “I found this dog in the parking lot. Is it one of yours?”
Right after I said the words, I felt uneasy. What if it wasn’t a dog? It would be just like me to casually walk around with some dangerous wild animal that I’d mistaken for a pet.
Fortunately the shelter guy recognized Thing and apologized for letting him get away. The man’s manner was edgy and preoccupied. I guessed he was the lowest employee on the totem pole—hence his working Christmas Eve—and probably inexperienced.
By the time I entered the newsroom it was eleven forty-five.
Instead of the scanners and the usual mix of typing, conversation, and cable news channels, I heard the chorus of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” One of the writers had brought his guitar to work and was accompanying the celebrants. I guessed most of them were scheduled to leave after the noon show and were coasting through their remaining time on the job.
I picked up three homemade Christmas cookies on my way to the assignment desk. I did a double take when I saw Freddy sitting in Callum’s spot.
“Dude,” he said when he saw me. “How’s your uncle?”
I avoided the question. “Has Rod called in?”
Freddy shook his head, and the mop of curls whipped back and forth. “No, but Callum’s here. He shot video at your house and is totally trying to cut something for the noon.” Freddy leaned down and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell him I said so, but it’s not half-sucky. He’s got an eye for composition.”
“Is there anyone who can relieve you from the assignment desk? You don’t even work here anymore.”
“Callum’s putting me on as a freelancer.” Freddy gestured into the newsroom. “Most dudes are saying adios after the noon, so I offered to stay.”
Scanning the dry-erase board where the day’s stories were listed, I could see he was right about our staffing. Already thin for the holiday, we were now stretched to the breaking point with the sludge crash and Bud’s shooting.
“We’re lucky you’re here.” I pointed up at the board. “But you might want to take down that last story.”
Freddy turned, read Grandma vs. Sleigh, and jumped up. “I can’t look away for five seconds.” He finished erasing the joke, then yelled into the newsroom, “Not cool, dudes. Some of us are trying to work.”
The ten-thousand-year-old demon entered.
Since she was coanchoring the noon with Ted, I thought I should warn her. “The shelter is here with the animals, but the guy’s distracted and nervous. You may want to spend some extra time with him going over how the adopt-a-pet segment works.”
She gave me a frosty look, probably because of the words we’d exchanged earlier that morning, but thanked me.
After she’d left, Freddy said, “Just saying, dude, think about the old olive branch. It’s smart to make friends with the friend of your friends.”
I couldn’t imagine who’d want to be friends with her, so his argument didn’t move me. “Whatever. Is the live shot ready for the noon from the scene of the sludge accident?”
“Totally.” Freddy’s face lit up. “And rumor’s going around that it wasn’t sludge that spilled. I’m hearing it was some kind of secret, toxic military waste.”
I bit into the last sugar cookie and spoke while chewing. “Weren’t you trying to convince me earlier that a giant snake escaped from the same crash?”
“Dude, I hear a lot of stuff. Not all of it’s gold, but I seriously got a feeling in my gut about this toxic-waste thing.”
“Hey, Lilly.” Callum stood in the open doorway of an edit bay. He still wore his casual vacation clothes and the beard. The hair growing out of his ears was longer than normal too. “I uploaded all my raw video from the scene to the server. Be kind when you look at it. The camera work isn’t the greatest.”
“I’m sorry you had to give up your vacation.”
He waved me toward the edit bay. “Come on. I’ll fill you in on what I found out. It won’t take long.”
I followed him in and slid the sliding glass door shut to block out the Christmas carols.
“How about Freddy on the assignment desk?” Callum sat down. “I’m trying to hang back and let him get a feel for it. Don’t tell Freddy I said so, but he’s not half-bad. He’s got a real ear for the scanners.”
He reached for the mouse. The edit bays, which previously housed decks and monitors for editing videotape, had been retrofitted with computers. Reporters could now edit their video digitally and push it directly onto the control-room playback server via our network.
“I’m trying to cut some B-roll and a couple sound bites for the noon.” He clicked on a file. “It’s taking me forever because I have no idea what I’m doing.”
He played the raw video from the scene and also what little there was of his going door-to-door on my block, which even by his own admission had been a complete failure.
“There’s some drug and gang activity in the neighborhood.” I felt awkward admitting it. Rod had wanted to move. Maybe I should have agreed. “The people who aren’t involved themselves make a point of not seeing crime for fear of retribution.”
Callum nodded. “One of my sources at the Sheriff’s Department says it’s looking like a robbery gone bad. They figure your uncle walked in on a thief who shot him.”
I hesitated. How much should I tell Callum? Could I trust him to keep quiet if it turned out Bud was doing something illegal? “Is that their only theory?”
“I heard they’re taking molds of tire tracks from the alley behind the house. Your uncle’s ’71 Plymouth Fury was found back there, and they think his attacker parked next to it. Preliminary word from the scene is that they’re looking for a pickup.”
“Good luck with that. As Bud would say, you can’t toss a sack of armpits in this town without hitting a pickup.” I waited while Callum laughed, then stepped cautiously out onto the proverbial limb. “I think Bud was meeting someone.”
Something in my voice got Callum’s attention. “Why? You know something you’re not telling me?”
I decided to tell Callum about Bud’s visit to the pawnshop and subsequent call to Leland Warner. I finished with the message Bud left on my cell that morning. “I think Bud was trying to make sure the house was empty so he could meet someone there. He needed privacy and even mentioned that the police couldn’t know what he was doing.”
Callum leaned back in the chair and whistled. “You got Leland Warner, pawnshops, an implication of illegal goings-on, and an actual shooting, all mixed in together. What a rat orgy.”
We were each silent for a moment. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. “It’s a great story.”
“No need to say the obvious.” He tried to pat me on the shou
lder. The gesture was actually more touching because of his awkward execution. “You probably need to be at the hospital for the next few days. If at some point you want to investigate this thing for KJAY, all the station’s resources are at your disposal.”
I shook my head. “I’m starting now while the leads are still fresh, but what about Bud’s phone message to me? If he didn’t want the police to know what he was doing, then he’s probably implicated in something illegal. I may not want to broadcast that on television.”
Callum hesitated. “If you change your mind and drop the story, the less I know about your reasons, the better.”
Callum’s professional ethics would prevent him from suppressing news. Even this Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell suggestion was probably costing him some self-respect.
Now it was my turn to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
Callum, never comfortable with emotion, reached for the mouse again. “After I finish editing this for the noon, is there any background work I can do for you?”
“Yes. I need information on the Warner family. Leland has a son who may need money and a sister named Erabelle. She lives abroad and seems to have some old issues with Bud.”
I hadn’t wanted to say that Bud might have treated her badly. I’d never thought of him as a settling-down kind of man, but I also hadn’t thought of him as a callous womanizer either.
Callum nodded. “I can do basic background-type stuff, run a LexisNexis search, but my contacts are all cops and politicians. We’ll need somebody else for society gossip.”
I remembered what Junior had said as I was leaving his room. “There’s an old story about Warner being robbed of some family heirlooms. Military medals or something like that. Can you see if any of your police contacts remember an investigation?”
I refused to believe Bud would steal from his best friend, but I did have doubts about what soured that relationship. People grew up and apart, as Warner had said, but those two had spent fifty years living in the same city and pretending not to know each other. That rift sounded traumatic and final.
“I’ve never heard of it,” Callum said. “So that means the theft was before my time. For something that old, the cops will be retired. Let me make a few calls.”
Going to the Bad Page 5