Please find the enclosed check for $50,000 and a matching donation from my husband, Jackson Darenbrook, for the same amount.
It is our greatest wish that the memory of your husband may further serve to inspire young people. I know, firsthand, of the numerous good qualities you and your husband have inspired in your daughter, Sally.
We are, in fact, hopeful we may entice your daughter to join our staff at our affiliate station in New Haven, WSCT- TV. In that regard, Sally may expect to hear from us directly.
On behalf of all of us at DBS, I send our sincerest best wishes. Cassy Cochran, President, DBS Television Network
"Can you believe it?" Mother says.
I pass the letter to Spencer and look at the checks. Fifty thousand dollars, fifty thousand dollars—one hundred thousand dollars for the endowment of the Dodge Harrington Foundation! That just about quintuples it.
"I have no idea what the WSCT reference is about," I say.
"Oh, she's waiting out front to talk to you," Mother says, taking the letter back from Spencer.
"Who is?"
"Cassy."
"Cassy Cochran?"
"She's right outside, dear. Go talk to her."
I look at Mother and then at Spencer, who's suppressing a smile. "Go on," he urges.
I open the front door. Yep. There she is, Cassy Cochran, wearing khaki shorts, a pale yellow t-shirt, Top-Siders and gold hoop earrings. She's on the other side of the driveway, throwing sticks for Abigail and Scotty. For a TV executive, she's got a pretty good side arm.
"Hi," I say, coming down the yard.
"Oh, hi." She throws one more stick for each before coming toward me.
"Mother's absolutely over the moon in there about the donations. Thank you so much. I hope one of you will come out when we award the scholarships next spring, because there are going to be an awful lot of grateful people."
"Sure, that would be great, that'd be fun."
As if they have nothing better to do! "And that was so generous of Jackson. We'll all be writing to him. And you. Rob, me and Mom.”
"We're just glad to do it, Sally. Your family's been through a lot."
There is an uncomfortable pause.
Cassy clears her throat. "What do you think they're going to do about O'Hearn? Can they get him on anything?"
"Oh, yeah. We have absolute proof now, from that guy in Durham, that he purposely used faulty building materials in the school gym. And it wasn't just the cable. They found pipes that were defective, and air vents that had some sort of illegal construction, and evidently there was even a problem with some of the Sheetrock he used."
"But surely the statute of limitations—"
"On the building violations, yes," I explain. "So the way the D.A. has approached it is, okay, we can't prove who set off a demolition charge, but we can prove that the faulty building materials used in the construction of the gymnasium directly contributed to the collapse of the wall, and therefore, to my father's death. And there's no statute of limitations on that. They're charging him with murder in the second degree."
She shakes her head sympathetically. "I hope they get him."
I make a sound of disgust, walking over to Scotty to take his stick. "It'll drag on for years, and he's got all the money in the world, so who knows." I throw it. "But we'd have absolutely nothing if it wasn't for you," I add, turning toward her. "You have no idea the effect all this has had on my family. It's as if we're all waking up for the first time since Daddy died. You've given us a kind of release I can't begin to explain."
"You don't have to explain. I know what it's like."
"Of course you do," I say quietly. "With your father."
"You know, Sally," she says, "working on that interview with you has been a very good experience for me."
I slap a hand over my eyes, groaning.
"No, I'm serious, Sally." She touches my arm. "Really. It's been very good for me."
I drop my hand.
"In fact, I was wondering if maybe I could read what you wrote. What you would have written."
"Verity's running the photographs as a photo essay. Did you know that?"
"Really?" Cassy says. I can see that she is pleased. She's right, working on this piece has been good for her. A month ago she would have been trying to crawl under the car to hide from this.
"I'll put my stuff together and send it to you. I think you'll find it rather enlightening."
She is reaching into her pocket. Out of the comer of my eye, I see Abigail and Scotty sneaking up the hill toward us, each dragging what looks to be an entire branch from Mother's brush pile. Cassy pulls out a piece of paper, unfolds it and hands it to me. It's handwritten in ink, dated yesterday.
DEAL MEMO; One-year contract, investigative reporter, WSCT News, New Haven, $75,000 salary, full health benefits, perks in contract (clothing allowance, company car), 401K—
Can still write for Herald-American or other periodicals.
In good faith I approve this offer in principle and hereby extend it to Sally Harrington
There was a line, under which said Alexandra Waring.
And on the next line, it said, In good faith I accept this offer in principle to DBS News, Inc., a space and her name printed out by hand, Sally Harrington.
"You sign down here," Cassy says, pointing. She slaps her back pocket, finds what she's looking for and holds out a pen. "It's not a lot of money for TV, even out here, Sally," she says, "but it is a trial job, and you can still do some writing to supplement your income."
Supplement my income?
Thank heavens she doesn't know what I've been making at the Herald-American.
"I don't understand who I'd be working for."
"DBS News through our affiliate, WSCT. It's a trial training period. They want you, they want to try it, but we're footing the bill."
I take a breath and look at the paper again, trying to think.
"I'd love to, you know that," I finally say. "But this is just like what happened with Verity. I'm being offered an incredible opportunity for every reason other than the caliber of my work. I don't ever want to be in that situation again."
The dogs are dragging branches and they're looking at me and Cassy in hopeful collusion.
Cassy laughs. "Sorry, guys, those are beyond me."
As if they understand, the dogs release their branches and start playing, tumbling around together on the grass.
"You're wrong, Sally," Cassy tells me, "We're offering you a job based on the skills we've seen firsthand. There are two things we know about you, absolutely. No, four. You're smart, you can write and you have character. And as Alexandra herself said, the camera likes you. You saw yourself the other night, Sally. The lens likes you."
I did notice and she's right. I'm beginning to come around to this idea.
"And Good Lord," she continues, lowering her voice, "surely you've noticed the caliber of reporting we're getting out of that station. I mean, come on, Sally, talk about gobbled-gook—needless to say it sure would be nice to have at least one literate person in the field."
Another good point. I know I can do better than most of the station's on-air talent.
"So, what do you say?" Cassy says.
"I say—I gratefully accept your offer in principle."
"Hooray!" Mother cheers from her upstairs window. "Oh, can you believe it, Mack? Sally's going to be on TV!"
"Hold out for a cool car," my brother advises from the bathroom window. "Don't let them stick you with a compact."
"You go, girl," Spencer calls from the same window.
Abigail runs over to bark at the men's voices.
"With audience demographics like these," I joke, holding a hand out to Cassy, "how can I possibly miss?"
"I don't think you will," she says, shaking on it. She looks down at Scotty, who's just sitting there, smiling, looking up at her. Cassy leans over. "And what about you? What do you want?"
Scotty rai
ses his paw. And so Cassy shakes on it with him, too. Now I know it's a good deal.
Exposé: First of the Sally Harrington Mysteries (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 5) Page 37