Dead Air

by Robin Caroll

  Gabby gunned the accelerator. The faster she got to the station, the quicker she could begin her search and the sooner she could get some answers. She parked the rental in her regular spot, took a moment to note Eric’s car wasn’t there and locked the vehicle before yanking open the door to KLUV.

  Immediately, the soft tunes coming out of the in-house speakers soothed her raw nerves. She truly loved the sweet love ballads, the harmony and slower rhythm.

  On her way down the hall, she nodded at David Gray in the studio booth. Gabby grabbed her call-in forms, stowed her purse in her locker, then carried her laptop and slipped into the studio where David gave his promo ending.

  He slipped off the headset and queued up the station identification announcement that would run on air for nine minutes with the added commercial loops. “How goes it, Gabby?”

  “Good, good. How’re things with you?”

  David stood and stretched. “Just wondering if we’re all gonna be standing in the unemployment line before all this mess is over and done.” He grabbed his coffee mug and moved from behind the desk.

  Gabby shook her head. Poor David, he had a wife and five—count ’em, five—kids who depended on him. Depended on his job at the station for income. For the first time, she realized how fortunate they were that Clark had taken over. If Robert had still been the owner at the time of the attack against him and Howard, who knows how things would have gone. Clark had stepped in just enough to assure Mystique that KLUV was still up and running, and had then stepped back to let them do their jobs. She was grateful for that…if it lasted. But now she was less sure than ever what Clark had planned.

  “Eric was all worked up when he left earlier.” David rested his hand on the doorknob to the studio. “I wonder if Mr. McKay will scrap us all and bring in new personalities.” He threw her a lopsided smile. “We may soon be out of our jobs.”

  The lump in Gabby’s throat seemed to expand. “I don’t think so.” But she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t really know Clark at all.

  David’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, we’ll see. ’Night, Gabby.” The door shut behind him with a final click.

  She set up her laptop and then slipped the headset over her ears just as the commercial loop ended. After giving her opening spiel, she flipped on the first song before accessing the Internet. With a few clicks, Gabby had access to pages upon pages of information on none other than Clark McKay.

  Amid the dedication calls and on-air segments, she continued her research. She clicked on yet another link, and her chest contracted. This was it—pay dirt. Hunching over the keyboard, Gabby read as fast as she could about the controversial story. Controversial was an understatement. He’d written an exposé about corruption in Pennsylvania’s state government. As a result of the story, several politicians had resigned. Gabby chewed her bottom lip.

  She aired two more love dedications before turning back to the laptop. Clicking on another link, Gabby froze as a picture loaded on the page. It was Clark, looking very suave and debonair in a designer tuxedo…and a very beautiful woman, with her hand tucked into the crook of Clark’s arm. Gabby narrowed her eyes as she zoomed in on the fine print under the picture.

  Clark McKay and attorney Marissa Williams.

  So he’d had to hire an attorney. Did he have to hire such a beautiful one? A hot, throbbing ache burned against Gabby’s side. She forced herself to scroll down the Web page. Nothing about any threats. Yet another photo loaded, and her lungs trapped her breath, holding it hostage. He looked so sad in the picture announcing the sale of his newspaper.

  She went through the motions of announcing more dedications and then set the player to go through two songs and a commercial loop, but her mind remained focused on Clark McKay. And the threats?

  What kind of threats were they anyway? Nothing reported about any threats. Not in any of the gazillion articles she scanned. Her frustration mounted as she searched.

  The song ended, and Gabby looped into the station identification piece. After that, she flipped on the song waiting. A soft love ballad came over the airwaves and into the station. The phone line blinked. Gabby grabbed her pen and lifted the receiver. “KLUV, this is Gabby. Tell me what’s on your heart.”

  “There’s this woman I’d really like to get to know better, but I think I’ve made her mad at me.” The man’s voice seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it for certain. Surely it wouldn’t be Bubba Moncrief calling about Callie leaving him again.

  “Did you do something to offend her?” Gabby kept her tone even.

  “Not intentionally. You see, I kept some information from her, thinking I was protecting her.”

  Not Bubba. Yet the voice was so memorable to her. But who? “Let me guess, she found out and disagreed?”

  “That’s right. I never meant to hurt her, but I don’t know how to win back her trust.”

  Recognition smacked her in the head. No, he couldn’t be calling her here, tonight, at work. Not now.

  “Gabby?”

  Oh, yeah, it was him. The insufferable Yankee. The man who seemed to live to thwart her chances at happiness.

  “Mr. McKay, I’m at work. I’d appreciate you not calling me.”

  “Wait! Gabby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep things from you.”

  “Did you call in for a dedication, sir?”

  “What?”

  “This is the dedication line.”

  Silence filled the connection. Maybe he’d hung up on her. She hoped so. Then a loud sigh sounded. He was still there, waiting to pounce again. “Thank you for calling, sir.”

  “Gabby—” Too late, she clicked off the connection.

  The music faded, and Gabby clenched her teeth. Call and bother her at work, would he? Keep important information to himself, would he? Well, she would have the last word. At least for tonight.

  She switched on her mic. “Mystique, I have a very special dedication going out tonight for a new resident to Mystique. Mr. Clark McKay, if you’re still listening, this one’s for you.”

  The smile felt good. She pushed the button to start the music, and the recognizable beat of Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” oozed from the speakers.

  If there was one thing she was certain about, it was that she could outwit any Yankee with her eyes closed.

  The peppy song filled his living room. Clark glared at the stereo for a moment, then burst out laughing. Hearty and out loud. “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’”…very good. Game, set and match to Gabby. She’d bested him fair and square.

  On this round.

  She might have won the battle—and won it well, he had to concede—but the war had just begun. And Clark intended to be victorious.

  Despite Gabby Rogillio.

  “So, tell me what happened. I’ve never heard you use your position for personal agendas.” Immy’s stern voice echoed over the phone.

  “Thanks.” Gabby sniffed, then proceeded to fill her friend in on what she’d learned.

  “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. I had to find it out from Sheriff McGruder.” Her heart cracked at the thought of Clark’s betrayal, and her stupidity in allowing herself to be deceived.

  “Great day in the morning, Gab. Maybe he just hadn’t found a chance to tell you.”

  “And yet he had time to hear about my brother’s obsession with cars?” Gabby shook her head. “I think not. He should have told me. Especially if the threats involved me this time.”

  “Look, Gab, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t have the answers. But I do know people, and I know you.” Immy sighed over the phone. “And I love you, Gabby Rogillio, but you and I both know you’re quick to anger and judge.”

  Gabby opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. Was that the truth?

  A light lit up on the phone.

  “Immy, I’ve got calls coming in. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  She pressed the flashing button on the phone. “KLUV, this is
Gabby. Do you have a dedication?”

  “Stop looking into Howard’s murder.” The male voice crept over the line.

  Her heart raced. “Who is this?”

  “Stop, or else.” An abrupt click snapped against her ear.

  Another warning? Even McGruder couldn’t deny the connection this time. She lifted the receiver again, this time punching in the number for the sheriff’s office.

  Her mind attempted to wrap around everything. Whoever slashed her tires and called her had to be the killer. Was it the same person who cut Clark’s brake lines and vandalized his house? But how could that tie into the problems Clark had faced before? A Philadelphia criminal would have no reason to hurt Howard or Robert.

  After a moment, Sheriff McGruder came on the line. Gabby told him about the call, sure he’d see reason. But he didn’t. He told her he’d file a report, but there wasn’t much he could do about an obscene phone call. His voice told her that he didn’t really believe her.

  The warning alarm signaled the end of the commercial loop. Gabby slammed down the phone and aired two more dedications. Time to get serious. Someone was threatening her now.

  And she didn’t like it.

  THIRTEEN

  Gabby had every right to be angry. And Clark needed to do whatever it took to make it up to her. But he was scared, scared that his deceit had cost his chance for a relationship. It surprised him to admit he was ready for a romantic entanglement. But Gabby was special.

  God, give me the strength and wisdom to make this up to her.

  She moved across the parking lot.

  “I want to talk to you for a minute.”

  Gabby glared at him. The morning sun glistened overhead. “Look, I’ve had a long shift and I’m ready to get home.”

  “Please.”

  Something made her stop. “What is it, Clark?”

  He covered the distance between them, his heart racing. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention the threats. The ones from Philly or the one I got here.”

  “What kind of threats were they?”

  “Look, why don’t we go to Ms. Minnie’s and have breakfast? I’ll tell you everything.”

  She cocked her head and studied him.

  Lord, please encourage her to give me a chance.

  “Please, Gabby. I promise I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you.”

  She hesitated, then her shoulders slumped free of their defensive stance. “Fine. I’ll follow you there.”

  In less than ten minutes, they were seated at the back corner of the diner and their breakfast orders taken.

  Now he had to bare his soul. Would she rip his heart apart?

  “Okay, tell me.”

  “I wrote a piece about the corruption in Pennsylvania’s government.”

  “I know.”

  He hitched a brow. “You know?”

  Heat crept up the back of her neck. “Amazing what you can find out on the Internet.”

  “Then you know what I wrote caused several people to resign.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ms. Minnie delivered their breakfasts and quickly left to attend to the other patrons. Gabby offered up grace, then she waited on Clark to continue.

  “Everything I wrote was factual. One hundred percent. But the politicians’ supporters didn’t like me running the story.” He took a bite of an omelet.

  “I imagine not. But if it was the truth—”

  “It was, but I wouldn’t reveal my sources. So even my friends badgered me. Called me a liar. A mudslinger. Worse.”

  The pain on his face caused sympathy to edge her heart. She nibbled on her toast. “And they threatened you?”

  He ran a hand over his face. “We never knew who threatened me. The police investigated, per se, but really didn’t follow up until after everyone implicated admitted what I’d written was true. Then they tried to work the case, but it was too late.”

  “What were the threats? Could they be related to what’s happening here?”

  “I really don’t think so, Gabby. The threats were calls and letters to me, telling me if I knew what was good for me, I’d leave town.” He took a quick sip of coffee. “They stopped after everyone resigned. And the threat from when my house was trashed…it just said that I had to leave or I wouldn’t be the only one to get hurt. I suspected that last part referred to you—and it looks like the sheriff agrees—but I didn’t want to worry you since I couldn’t be sure.”

  He looked so remorseful. Her heart really ached for him. “I understand. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. Seems I’m doing that a lot lately.”

  “No harm, no foul.” He lifted his coffee mug. “So, how was your shift?”

  She told him about the caller and McGruder’s lack of concern. Everything about his demeanor changed.

  “You should’ve called me.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing you could do. McGruder couldn’t do anything. But we’re missing something, Clark.”

  He frowned at the window. Gabby followed his stare into the parking lot.

  A staggering figure wove along the middle of Shannon Street. In the morning glare, drivers would be unable to see him.

  Gabby tossed a couple of bills on the table while Clark slid out of the booth. Together, they ran toward the swaying figure. “Sir, are you okay?” Gabby hollered, just as the wind kicked in her direction.

  The overpowering stench of liquor nearly made her gag, but she continued toward the inebriated man.

  Gabby leaned forward, peering into his face. “Sam? Sam Wood?”

  The man’s head jerked.

  “Oh, Mr. Sam. What have you done?” She crossed to the man’s other side. “It’s me, Gabby Rogillio.” Her arm wove around his waist, and she tucked his arm over her shoulder.

  Clark mimicked her movements until they led the drunken man toward her rental.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Gabby. I just had a few beers to ease my pain,” Sam mumbled, filling the air with his foul stench.

  “Whew, Mr. Sam, you smell like a brewery. Beer this early in the morning?”

  Clark shifted to take the older man’s weight while Gabby struggled to open the rental’s back door.

  Gabby helped secure Mr. Sam in the backseat before slipping behind the driver’s wheel. She whispered to Clark, “I’ve never seen Mr. Sam drink at all.”

  Clark shrugged. “I wonder what he’s doing in the middle of the road, three sheets to the wind, this early in the morning.”

  “Probably been out all night.” Gabby glanced into her rearview mirror. “Mr. Sam. Mr. Sam, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “So senseless. Broke my heart.” The man began to sob, his bald spot prominent in the reflection of the dashboard lights. “We were so in looovve.”

  Clark looked to Gabby. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Haven’t a clue.” She turned the rental into his driveway. “Here we are.”

  After the vehicle rolled to a stop, Gabby and Clark fought to get Sam from the backseat and up the stairs. His steps faltered several times.

  “Mr. Sam, where’s your house key?”

  “Not locked,” he muffled as he swayed.

  Gabby braced against the doorjamb for support and turned the knob. Sure enough, it opened. Yet another nice thing about living in a small town—most people didn’t feel the need to lock their doors, they trusted their neighbors. She helped Clark drag Mr. Sam into the house.

  “It’s sad. That good-for-nothing Robert Ellison. All his fault,” Sam said as they lowered him to the couch.

  Gabby’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s that about Robert Ellison?” Maybe she could finally get to the root of Sam’s grudge against Robert.

  Sam looked at her, his wrinkled face marred with sadness. The corners of his dark eyes drooped to meet the crow’s feet. “He stole Amber from me. And now he’s given her this latest misery. The dirty rat.”

  “What are you saying, Mr. Sam?” She lowered herself to the chair across from the couch. “You and
Amber were once an item?” She’d never heard of it.

  He nodded. “All through high school. She was my girl, Ms. Gabby. We was so in love.” Liquor had thickened his tongue.

  She laid a hand on his. “I didn’t know. What happened?”

  “We planned to get married soon as we graduated. We’d already been busy playing house, if you catch my drift.” Sam waggled his gray, bushy eyebrows. “But then, at the end of our senior year, right after graduation, Amber up and disappeared.” Fat tears fell from his eyes.

  Gabby cleared her throat. “Where’d she go?”

  Sam pawed at the tears on his cheeks. “To visit relatives over in Louisiana. Someplace down in Calcasieu Parish—Cajun country. She was gone a whole year.”

  “But she came back…” Gabby patted his hand.

  “When she did, she was married to that uppity Robert Ellison.”

  Clark squatted in front of Sam. “Did she give you any reason? Any kind of explanation?”

  Swaying, Sam leaned back against the couch. “Never said a single thing. Wouldn’t even talk to me.” His voice lowered, his words trailed off. “That…sorry son of a…”

  Sam didn’t finish his statement. Didn’t even move.

  “Mr. Sam?” Gabby shook the man’s hand.

  A loud snore erupted from Sam, followed by a snort.

  Clark stood. “He’s passed out. He won’t tell us anything else.”

  “I guess not.” She headed to the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Did you know? About him and Amber and Robert, I mean?” Clark paused by the front door.

  “I’ve lived in Mystique all my life and never heard that story.” Gabby shrugged as she crossed the front porch.

  She stared at the passed-out Sam Wood. Without meaning to, the man had just provided himself with a motive for setting up Robert. But did he have anything against Howard? She pulled the door closed and followed Clark down the stairs.

  Gabby drove Clark back to the diner. “I can’t process anything more until I get some sleep.”