Blues at 11

by Rebecca Grace

  His gaze zeroed in on me. “We’re getting slammed on this story. Four and Seven were first to interview the new girl and everyone in town got her dad. We’re honoring your request not to bother your family, but we need something. This is your chance to let people know how you feel.”

  I’d used that “opportunity to tell your story” ruse too many times to fall for it. “I’d like to, but Oliver won’t let me.”

  His large shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “I can’t force you, of course, and we’re trying to be here for you.” Now he was turning to a guilt trip.

  I wouldn’t give in to that either. “I appreciate it. Did Reba tell you I still have the rental car?”

  “I thought you got your car back.”

  “Yes, but people keep following me.”

  Before he could answer, his phone buzzed and he reached for it, looking relieved. I started to rise, but he gestured for me to remain seated. He didn’t speak more than a couple of words before putting down the phone. “Vincent wants to see you.”

  I made a face. The general manager had seldom spoken to me since he made a drunken pass at me at a party. I let Evan perform all negotiations with him. The two were golfing buddies who worked out contracts between tee shots.

  “Shouldn’t we discuss when I can come back to work?” I asked. “I’m ready to go back on the air after Rick’s memorial next week.”

  He held up a large hand. “Talk to Vince.”

  My stomach muscles tightened. I was picking up strange vibrations. “What’s going on?”

  He shook his head, a small strip of hair on his comb-over wriggling like a silver snake on his balding head. He reached for his phone in a gesture of dismissal. “Call me if you decide to do an interview.”

  ****

  The executive offices on the fourth floor resembled a hushed cave as I got off the elevator. The entire floor was decorated in shades of gray. Light gray walls with reprints of Ansel Adams photos, smoke-colored carpet, slate drapes.

  I was ushered immediately into Vincent’s corner office. Its sweeping views of the Capitol Records Building and Hollywood sign resembled a wrap around poster. He greeted me at the door, gesturing me toward a gray leather chair opposite his enormous glass and chrome desk.

  “Kimberly, thanks for coming. Would you like something to drink?” He waved a manicured hand toward a built-in wet bar, but I shook my head.

  Vincent was the opposite of Alan. Tall, slender, and sleek with black hair carrying an appropriate touch of silver, he portrayed elegance but with a lethal twist. His face bordered on gaunt, with most of the flesh on his protruding nose and jaw. He favored designer suits, silk ties and custom shirts. Mr. GQ in his sartorial best, a charcoal suit and blue-gray tie.

  “This murder investigation is an ugly thing,” he began with a benign smile as he unfastened his suit jacket and settled into his custom-made executive chair. Unlike Alan’s desk, Vincent’s contained only a pile of papers in the center and an Emmy statue in one corner.

  “Tell me about it,” I replied. Adrienne and I considered Vincent cold as a fish, more like the Shark King swimming upstairs in his gray walled aquarium, looking for fresh victims to devour from his black leather throne.

  “I can imagine how you must feel,” he said, shaking his head and displaying a sharp-toothed smile. “To lose a friend and be looked upon as a possible suspect.”

  I fought to hide my grimace at his words. “It’s not quite that bad.”

  He leaned forward, hands folded. “It’s drawing a good amount of negative national attention about you.”

  I nodded, sensing something disturbing in the air—or the tank. Like a shark passing by so close it brushed against you.

  His dark emotionless eyes zeroed in on me. “It must be difficult to stay away from work, but I want you to know you’re not to worry. You are on leave until this is settled. I have made arrangements to have Gwen Cardinal fill in for you until further notice.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ouch! The Shark King had just taken a big bite out of my midsection.

  “Gwen? Not Miranda?” Our weekday morning anchor had been filling in and was my normal replacement.

  “Since we don’t know how long you will be gone, we need a regular replacement. This is the best alternative.”

  The words hit me like a crashing wave of cold water. I struggled to catch my breath. “What do you mean ‘replacement?’ I’m prepared to go back on the air now. I know James would have to read the murder stories, but other than that, I’m ready.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s not necessary.” His face showed little emotion beyond the bland smile that contained no humor. His flat black eyes betrayed nothing. Adrienne and I were right about his being a shark. Here I was in the middle of a Jaws moment, and I hadn’t even sensed him circling. Hell, I hadn’t even realized Alan had tossed me overboard! Vincent struck with a swoosh so sudden I’d barely had time to register pain.

  “What’s the bottom line here? I’m fired?” My throat constricted.

  “Not at all. I simply think it would be best if you remain off the air for now.”

  My mouth had grown incredibly dry and I fought to keep my tongue from sticking to the roof of my mouth. “I could work behind the scenes on pieces for July sweeps.”

  “I admire your courage, but again, it’s not necessary.” The Shark King circled again, looking to take a fresh bite. “Actually, it would be best if you sever your connections to the station for the present.”

  “Wh...” This time I did sputter, as I treaded water in a battle to save my life. “Sever?”

  “Perhaps that’s the wrong terminology. I simply mean you should devote your time to getting this misunderstanding cleared up.” He offered the toothy grin he gave clients before he shoved their shows into midnight time slots next to the infomercials.

  “How can you yank me off the air? That is what you’re saying, right? May I remind you I have a contract to anchor the news? Have you talked to Evan about this?”

  “Of course.” He lifted the papers on his desk, and I recognized my contract. He dropped it and tapped it with a manicured finger. “He knows I’m right. We always include a clause about causing embarrassment or bringing negative publicity to the station.”

  The tightness in my throat released long enough to allow a hoarse whisper of protest. “Embarrassment?”

  His sharp nose wrinkled. “All the news stories say the same thing. Channel 8 Anchor Kimberly delaGarza. We’re mentioned like we’ve done something wrong.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong either.”

  He inhaled sharply. “Accept this and don’t complain, okay?”

  I jerked to my feet, refusing to let this damn shark catch me again. “I’m not going to accept anything until I’ve talked to Evan and Adrienne.”

  He remained calm, tapping his nails on his desk. “Evan understands our dilemma. He knows that fighting this could only be detrimental to your career. As for Adrienne, I hope that you don’t bring her fire-breathing act into this. It could only make matters worse. I’m certain she’ll want to do battle, but any steps she takes in the short term could only make things more difficult in the long run.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Don’t fight this, Kimberly.” His expressionless eyes tracked me like prey. “Don’t make the guys upstairs unhappy.”

  The “guys upstairs” were actually in New York, but they were meaner than Vincent and ten times more lethal. He might take a big bite out of your leg. Those guys chomped you in whole chunks and left your skeleton for the plankton to finish.

  I drew a deep breath. Maybe the wisest plan was to simply get out of this pool. “You’re saying that I’m taking time off to deal with personal difficulties?”

  “Exactly,” he agreed with a tight smile. “You’ve elected to take time off.”

  “I’ve elected?” Another bite, and I hadn’t seen that one coming either. Damn, this guy was lethal.

  “Yes. I’m suggesting
this be your choice.”

  Now I fully understood. He’d cut me in half. Now there was only the battle to keep from drowning. If I made the decision, it appeared that the station was being the good guy—letting me take time off to deal with my problem. But it also made me seem like I was guilty, as though I expected to be charged.

  “This sucks!” I protested, but I sank back onto the chair. “I’ll take the time off but I get paid, right?”

  As he lifted his flat eyes to me, I felt my arm being torn off. “Do you think that would be fair? We contracted you to be an anchor and you won’t be fulfilling those terms. Your contract calls for six weeks of vacation a year and you’ve earned three. According to our records, you’ve taken off two weeks, and we’ve given you this week for bereavement, so I would say that you are out of leave and all our payment obligations are at an end.”

  Unbelievable. I was bleeding all over the place, and he’d done it in such slick motions. And then it hit me. He thought I was guilty. He was cutting our ties before things got worse.

  “I’m off the air and I’m not getting paid?”

  He returned my challenging glance for a minute and then his eyes slid away, studying the papers on his desk as though they might be the most exciting things in the world. “Correct.”

  “For how long?”

  He flipped through the pages, shrugging. “That depends. Once there is an arrest in the case...”

  “If I am arrested, what then?” I didn’t think that could happen, but I wanted to toss anything I could into his smug face.

  He drew back, black eyes glittering in shock. Finally a reaction from that slippery shark. I could see the wheels turning in his narrow head, probably thinking about what other stations would say. Not to mention millions of dollars in promotion that would go down the tubes. There were all those buses with my picture.

  “Do you think that’s possible?” he asked, a hint of concern in his tone.

  I feigned a Mona Lisa smile, hoping to make him nervous. “Who knows? It’s a ghastly business.” My voice dripped sarcasm.

  “May I ask you a favor?”

  This should be good. Vincent didn’t ask for favors.

  “What?”

  “If it does happen, will you call me first?”

  I stifled a laugh. “You mean, like before I call my attorney?”

  Putting his elbows on his desk, he leaned forward, hands together. “Kimberly, we’re like family. I can call him for you.”

  This time I did laugh, though it came out as more of a bark. “Family? You’re kicking me out the damn door like used garbage, and you have the fucking nerve to talk about family? The way I see it, you’re on your own. Hell, I may walk out of here and call Paula Gardner for an interview. I don’t see that I owe TV8 any favors.”

  The black eyes never wavered, though his lowered lip twitched—the shark was irritated. “You’re being childish.”

  Maybe so, but it hurt to learn that people I thought I could count on were leaving me to drown. Damn Alan! Why hadn’t he hinted the sharks were circling? Why hadn’t Evan called me?

  “I might do an interview, if you keep paying my salary until this is over.”

  His face grew hard. “We don’t pay for interviews.”

  I couldn’t stay any longer. If I did, I was liable to reach across the desk and pick up the damned Emmy and throw it through the window at the Hollywood sign.

  No. With my current string of lousy luck, he’d be found dead later, sprawled across the desk with dried blood on his temple and my fingerprints on the statue.

  “Call Evan when I can go back on the air.” I stomped through the door and tried not to slam it. As I punched the elevator button to get out of that gray, underwater world, it hit me that I didn’t know when I might get another paycheck.

  Maybe it was better if I did drown.

  ****

  I walked to my office trying to retain my composure, even though my hands shook with anger and frustration boiled inside. Did people know what was happening? I doubted Gwen would keep quiet about getting an opportunity to anchor “until further notice.”

  I remained stoic until I was inside and closed the door to my office. Tears threatened, but I refused to let them fall. I was Queen of L.A. TV!

  My phone rang, making me jump. I started to let it go to voice mail, but saw Reba’s extension. I swallowed hard and kept my voice calm as I answered. “I can’t talk.”

  “You okay?” Reba’s voice was filled with sympathy.

  “Iron maiden.” I felt more like glass at the moment, ready to shatter.

  “The whole thing sucks.”

  “You knew?” Shock sliced through me.

  “The pricks put out a release when you went upstairs.”

  “Alan and Vincent?”

  “Vincent and Evan. Didn’t you know Evan is also Gwen’s agent?”

  No wonder Vincent had been so confident. But why would Evan push Gwen at my expense? I made more money…oh, hell. Unless he thought I was guilty.

  “Are you still at the Four Seasons?” Reba asked.

  “I’ll have to leave. I don’t think Alan will continue paying.”

  “He may not pay at all.” Her voice lowered. “He’s pissed you’re in a suite and kept the rental car. I can’t fight him after Tuesday’s debacle. I took time off while everyone in town got Miles Brookings. Like I’m the only one who can get a tip. Did Alan mention an interview?”

  “Can you believe that? One minute they’re asking for an interview and the next they’re tossing me under the bus.”

  “Hey, Anchor Stud is headed your way. Want me to head him off?”

  I didn’t want to see anyone, but I refused to hide. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Pushing aside neat piles of mail left by Lindy, I took my compact from my purse. I checked my face, but it showed no sign of inner turmoil.

  I pretended to be looking at mail when Brad knocked and peered inside.

  “Hi, Kimberly. I’m sorry,” he began.

  “I’m just taking time off.” I raised my voice, hoping people in the newsroom heard me. “Let me grab my mail and you can buy lunch and explain this interview thing.”

  I scooped up the pile marked “personal,” shoved it in my oversized bag, and linked my arm with his. I marched through the newsroom with a smile firmly fixed in place. I might be bleeding, but the Queen wasn’t leaving like a body washing up on the shore.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brad turned to me with a smile as we reached the sidewalk. “Are you serious about the interview?”

  I felt bad because Brad was one of my supporters, but I had to shake my head. “Oliver won’t let me.”

  “Then why the game?” he asked, irritation hardening his voice, waving back at the building.

  I couldn’t say I wanted word to get back to Gwen that we left together, so I used another excuse. “So Alan would let you take me to lunch.”

  He checked his watch and his lips tightened in annoyance. “Unfortunately, all I have time for is coffee. Let’s go to the Starbucks across the street.”

  While he ordered lattes, I claimed a table in a corner. A few people from the station waited in line, including Susana. Good! Let them know I wasn’t running away. Word of our meeting would be back in the newsroom in time for the afternoon meeting.

  I sat back and took a deep breath, fighting frustration. Work had been a steady part of my life since high school when I took my first job helping my mother as a maid. Days off were fine if you had something to do. This past week I had lounged at the pool one day, visited a spa before dinner with Brad the next day, and gone shopping in Newport Beach. I couldn’t spend more time doing things like that—especially if I didn’t have a salary.

  Feeling bored, I lifted out several of the pieces of mail from my bag. I only read the top line of the first letter. “You murderous bitch…”

  Holy shit!

  The next piece was only slightly better. “I am praying for you. You need to confess
. Jesus says…”

  I flipped to the next letter, a repeat of the first. “I know you did it.”

  Were they all that way?

  Shivering with disbelief, I put down the offending letters. My phone buzzed and I saw my mother’s number. Brad remained in line so I clicked the “talk” button.

  “Mija, I was so worried. My neighbor, Ida, said you might get arrested. Those reporters keep talking like you did it.”

  I sighed heavily. “Stop worrying, Mom. It’ll be okay once they arrest the killer.”

  “But who coulda done it?”

  Yet one more person asking that question. “I don’t know.”

  “Ida says it’s probably someone who knew him. Didn’t you know the same people?” Her voice was tense, worried.

  “Mom, I don’t believe it’s anyone we knew. I think someone broke into the shop. I returned some jewelry and he probably saw Rick unloading my car and waited until I left. You know what that area is like at night. Police will arrest the guy when he tries to sell the stuff and the case will be solved.”

  “Mija, you should go on the news,” she urged. “Tell them about that robber and that you didn’t do it. Your brother agrees.”

  “Tell Stevie my lawyer won’t let me say anything.”

  “Your friend called to ask if I could talk to her.”

  “Reba?” She wouldn’t do that, would she? She knew I didn’t want Mom involved.

  “Not Reba, Mija. Paula Dominguez. That friend who used to work with you.”

  That damn rat! She hadn’t gone by Dominguez in years. But I could see her using the name and pretending we were friends. Anger streaked through me, but I clenched my teeth and tried to sound normal.

  “Tell her I won’t let you talk. Mom, maybe you should go to San Diego and visit Stevie.”

  “I don’t like the train and it’s too far to drive. Unless you want to drive me down tomorrow.”

  I’d walked right into that trap, but getting her out of town again might be a good idea. And I could scare Hank’s cops if they followed me. Let them think I was headed for Mexico. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”