″There′s been a carjacking-the second one this week. This time it was on the good side of town, near the Hilton,″ Roe said in her usual rat-a-tat delivery style. ″The victim is still at the scene. Cops are already there; ambulance is on the way.″
″Where should I meet the crew?″ I asked her.
″You don′t have to; I′ve already sent another reporter to cover it. Here′s why I′m calling you…″ Roe downshifted long enough to take a breath. ″The victim just called here on the studio line. She was asking for you by name. It was a girl; she sounded really young. Her name′s Shaina Miller? She claims to know you but didn′t have your number.″
″Shaina Miller?″ For a moment, the name drew a blank in my sleep-fogged brain. Then it clicked. ″You mean Jana Miller′s daughter? I′ve never met Shaina, but I know who she is. Where′s her mother? Where′s Jana?″
″I didn′t hear anything about a Jana. This girl, Shaina, was hysterical, and then we got cut off. I think the cops took the phone,″ Roe said. ″This whole thing′s a little off script for me. Are you going down there?″
″On my way.″ With my free hand, I stripped off my sleep shirt, then glanced around the bedroom for something to throw on. My eyes fell on a pair of ancient navy sweats that were draped over my stationary bicycle as a kind of permanent exercise bunting. They were seriously shlum padinka, as Oprah would say, but I didn′t have time to worry about it.
″Who′s covering the carjacking story?″ I asked Roe.
″Your favorite show horse.″
″Oh, no. You mean Lainey?″
″Yeah, she′s on call. And here′s some more good news-it′s raining like hell outside.″
This time, I didn′t bother to stifle my groan.
Chapter 8
Deep-Penetrating-Light Skin Therapy-You be the Judge
One home-based skin-care machine on the market is a deep-penetrating-light machine. They′re made by various manufacturers and are based on LED (light-emitting diode) technology. There′s some science behind it, I gather, but I′m not sure it′s worth three hundred to four hundred dollars, which is what some machines cost. I′ve been using it, but so far, I ain′t groovin′ on it.
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
The predawn scene that morning looked like many I′d covered in the past: police units stopped at crazy angles at the four points of an intersection, strobe lights throbbing through the mizzle; a luxury sedan-a Mercedes SL-that had its nose wrapped around a light pole; and under a dripping rain hood, peering through the cracked-open window of my Z4, a traffic cop who looked like he′d rather be walking the day beat.
″Lady, why didn′t you pay attention to my signal?″ Spittle blended with the rain runoff from the patrolman′s hood. ″It meant ′turn this damned car around and head the other way!′″
Lowering the window some more, I said, ″I′m a friend of Shaina Miller. She asked for me. I′m Kate Gallagher, and I′m also a reporter for Channel Twelve. But I′m here as a personal friend for her, not professionally.″
The cop blinked. Then grunted. ″Stand by right here.″
As my message got passed up a daisy chain of uniforms, I looked around for Jana or any young girl who might be her daughter, Shaina. But other than the emergency workers, there was no one in sight.
The message finally reached a cluster of emergency workers who stood huddled at the far side of the intersection. They were standing in a semicircle around a blue tarp that three patrolmen had spread out and were holding aloft with their hands several feet above the pavement, as if trying to protect the ground from the rain. A man in a dark rain poncho was half kneeling and shining a torchlight down at something on the asphalt. I couldn′t see what he was looking at.
Another man in rain gear leaned away from the others and gave me a come on over wave. It was Detective Luke Petronella, a colleague of Jonathan′s.
In Homicide.
Ignoring the traffic cop, I abandoned the car. Below my reporter′s trench coat, my feet hit a puddle and instantly got drenched. The bottoms of my sweatpants sagged around my ankles as I jogged toward Luke.
The detective hurried forward to intercept me before I could reach the nucleus of the activity.
″Luke? Why are you here? What′s going on?″ I could feel the pressure of the next horrible question in my eyes.
That′s when I caught my first glimpse of a still white form on the pavement, underneath the tent of blue plastic that the patrol cops were holding up. It was a woman′s tiny form. I couldn′t see her head, which was covered in a sheet. Her arms and legs were crumpled and spread akimbo across the pavement, bent at weird angles like a doll that had been flung from a speeding car. A pair of tanned legs protruded from below the covering. She was wearing familiar-looking white slides-one of them hanging askew off a twisted ankle-and matching Bermuda shorts. They looked like my friend Jana′s shoes and shorts.
Confusion set in. I took a lurching step back. At the same time my mind scrambled for a way to reject what I was seeing.
″No, Luke.″ My hand flew up to cover my mouth. ″That can′t be Jana Miller. Please tell me that′s not my friend.″
Through the slit in his rain gear, Luke reached for my hand. ″I′m sorry, Kate,″ he said. ″A car jacker jumped her car when she was driving with her daughter. She managed to push her daughter out about a quarter mile from here, then apparently she fought with the guy until he plowed into that light pole over there. Then he must′ve gotten mad and pumped two bullets into the side of her head. She had no chance.″
It′s Jana. She′s dead. Jana. Is. Dead.
Each awful word drove a furrow from one side of my brain to the other, until it crashed against the confines of my skull. For a moment I couldn′t suck in any air-the pressure inside my chest cavity had escaped with a sudden release of breath. Bending over at the waist, I hung my head low and tried to recoup some precious oxygen. It felt as if a chunk of cement was blocking my throat, preventing airflow.
Luke placed his arm under my elbow. Like an iron T beam, for a moment his support was all that held me steady.
With my head still hanging near my knees, I craned my neck up to look at Jana again. The sight of her body lying on the pavement-soaked through despite the protective tarp that the patrolmen were holding above her-practically drove me into a frenzy.
″Why don′t they put her into an ambulance now, Luke?″ I pleaded with him, uncomfortably aware that my tone sounded nearly hysterical. ″She′s getting all soaked and cold down there on the ground. She shouldn′t be put through this.″
″Kate, there′s nothing we can do for her anymore, ″ Luke said. ″My job now is to find who did this and put him in jail. Please let me call in a grief counselor for you.″ His normally brash, sarcastic voice was unusually gentle. I knew I was seeing his homicide-cop bedside manner.
″I know, Luke.″
Hold on, Kate; the words flooded through my ear canal. It sounded like Jana′s voice, as if she′d just stood up and shouted at me. Hold on, dammit. My daughter needs you right now.
It took a huge effort to straighten up. ″Where′s Jana′s daughter, Shaina? My studio told me she called from here.″ My voice sounded strange and flat in my ears. But at least I′d stopped groping for air.
″She′s okay-she has some bumps and bruises from being pushed out of the car. The EMTs gave her something to get her calmed down, and now she′s on her way to Mercy.″
As I stood staring wordlessly at Jana′s body, Luke gave me an appraising look. ″Shaina was not in any shape to identify her mother′s body,″ he said. ″I know it′s a bad time, but I was wondering…″
″I can identify her,″ I said, again in that flat-line voice.
″It′s just a formality because we found her rental-car contract in the car. Are you sure you can you handle this, Kate?″
″I said I can do it, Luke.″
The detective led me over to the blue tarp, where Jana′s
body lay. A woman wearing plastic gloves and a blue CSI jumpsuit nodded to me. I vaguely recognized her from covering other crime scenes. She knelt down next to Jana′s body and pulled the sheet gently back from her head.
Jana′s face was resting on its right side, facing toward me. Her eyes were open and sightless, her coppery short hair matted with dark blood that looked as thick as kindergarten paste. I′d once heard from an investigator that head blood is thicker than regular blood.
″That′s her-that′s Jana,″ I said.
The CSI woman lowered the sheet over Jana′s face. ″Your friend must have been a brave lady,″ she said, leaning back on her heels. ″I heard she got her daughter out of the car before she got shot.″
″I heard that, too. Thanks.″
Go to Mercy now… you need to be with Shaina. Again, I had the eerie sensation of hearing Jana′s voice in my ear. I turned toward my car.
The area surrounding the blue tarp suddenly lit up with a spotlight. I turned and saw a Channel Twelve broadcast van pulling up next to my car. They′d turned on the side floodlights, preparing to shoot the scene.
Luke swore under his breath. ″Are you on the job right now, Kate? Because if you are-″
″No, I′m not,″ I replied. ″I′m heading over to Mercy right now to find Shaina. The studio assigned the story to someone else.″
″Who?″
As if in answer, the side door of the van slid back with a bang, and a videographer jumped out with his camera already rolling. Behind him, Lainey crouched in the van′s doorway surveying the crime scene. I saw her neck arch back in surprise as she recognized me.
I looked at Luke. ″You′ll have to deal with Lainey, I′m afraid.″
Luke shot a sour glance at Lainey. ″No, I won′t,″ he said. ″That reporter really burned one of our guys on a story she did the other day. I′m not going to give her anything.″
″Dandy by me, Luke. Handle her however you want.″
Keeping my head down, I headed toward my car, hoping against hope that I′d make it to the Z4 before Lainey caught up with me. I slid into the seat and started to slam the door.
″Kate!″ Lainey′s hand caught hold of the top of the door′s window. She held it in place with an iron grip while deftly inserting a hip between the door and me. ″What′s going on? That Mercedes over there was the car that was jacked, right? Why are you here?″
″I′m here on a personal matter, Lainey. The detective in charge is right over there. Luke Petronella. You can get all the details from him.″
″Give me a break, Kate. This is the second carjacking this week. The fourth this month. Who was killed? I know you know what′s going on. Help me out here with a little professional courtesy. Okay?″
″They′re not releasing the victim′s identity yet, Lainey. You′ll have to wait. You know the drill.″
″Forget the drill, Kate. This is a huge story, and you know it. So one person died? Was it someone you know, or are you working some angle of your own on this story?″
When I didn′t reply, her mouth twisted into a snarl. ″I know you′re all tight-ass with the cops because of your boyfriend,″ she said. ″But don′t think you can hog every one of their stories that comes down the pike.″
I wondered whether she′d chosen the verb ″hog″ on purpose. Probably.
″Jesus Christ. I′m not trying to steal your story, Lainey. I said I′m here because it′s personal,″ I snapped. ″You′ll have to talk to the cops yourself. In fact,″ I said, my words picking up volume and heat, ″why don′t you go wiggle your butt right over there to the homicide detective and bat your eyes at him? I′m sure you′ll get everything you want. Isn′t that how you score most of your stories?″
Lainey flinched back. Her eyes narrowed, and then she took a step back from the car.
I closed the door with as much force as I could manage, then threw the Z4 into reverse. The tires screeched on the wet asphalt as I backed away.
Craning my neck to look over my shoulder, I steered the car in a reverse three-point turn. As I headed down the street and away from the scene, through the rearview mirror I could see Lainey still standing in the road, staring after me.
So okay; the ass-wiggling thing was a cheap shot I′d thrown in at the end. It wasn′t even accurate, really. Lainey worked hard for her stories. But I still didn′t like her. So sue me.
I knew I′d just turned a competitor into an enemy. But at the moment I had much more important things on my mind.
Right now I had to get to Shaina, Jana′s daughter.
Chapter 9
Don′t Become a Needle Junkie
Botox injections and fillers such as collagen can work wonders on crow′s feet and marionette lines, but it′s possible to overdo it. Lots of people don′t know this, but having too many cosmetic injections can leave you with needle scars on your face, just like the tracks on a heroin addict′s arms.
If you can′t live without regular infusions of plump—
ers and fillers, consider getting fat injections by a
board-certified plastic surgeon. Here′s how it works:
The surgeon draws a bit of fat from your stomach,
then injects the fat into the crevices and wrinkles
around your mouth and lips. Unlike collagen, your
own fat acts as a long-lasting filler. And isn′t that what
we′re all looking for?
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
I rode the elevator to the fourth floor of Mercy Hospital, then threaded my way through a confusing labyrinth of corridors following the scribbled directions I′d gotten from an emergency room receptionist. It was just past six a.m.; the hallways were slowly beginning to come alive with movement as nurses and technicians pushing blood pressure carts began their morning rounds.
Rounding a final corner, I spotted room 4D. Next to the half-open door was a small whiteboard with a name handwritten on it: Shaina Miller.
Tentatively, I pushed the door open the rest of the way.
Shaina lay curled up in a fetal position in the middle of the hospital bed. Like her mother, Shaina was tiny, with close-cropped, platinum white hair that was combed away from her face. Her eyes above her high, wide-set cheekbones were closed. The left side of her face looked raw and hugely swollen.
I stood at the foot of her bed, trying to decide what to do next. Then I heard a movement behind me.
″Are you a member of Shaina Miller′s family? ″ A nurse asked, lightly tapping my arm. Her voice had a lilting Jamaican cadence to it. ″We′ve been trying to locate them.″
″I′m a friend of her mother′s,″ I replied in a whisper. ″My name′s Kate Gallagher.″
″You′re Kate?″ Shaina had bolted upright to a sitting position on the bed. Her eyes, wide-open now, were trained on my face. ″The cops told me Mom′s dead. She′s not dead, is she? She can′t be. I didn′t believe them.″
Behind me, the nurse murmured something about going to find a doctor. Then she left the room.
I sat on the bed next to Shaina and took her hand. It felt icy cold.
″Shaina, your mom…,″ I began haltingly, groping hard for the right words. In this case, though, there could only be wrong ones.
Shaina made a choking noise and fell back against the pillow. Turning her head toward the wall, she said in a dull, flat voice, ″For a second, I told myself this was all a bad dream. A nightmare. ″
″I′m so sorry,″ I said. ″The emergency responders couldn′t do anything for your mom, Shaina.″
Still staring at the wall, Shaina said, ″It happened so fast. Mom and I had stopped at a stop sign.″
″You don′t have to talk about it right now.″
She continued as if I hadn′t said anything. ″That′s when that guy-that fucker-broke in the window on Mom′s side of the car. She screamed at me to get out; then she pushed me out the door.″
Shaina looked at me, tears welling in her green eyes.
″My mom-she pushed me out the door. My mom saved me, Kate,″ she whispered.
″Your mother was very brave.″
″I fell on the side of the road. I think the hijacker got the wheel, and Mom wound up on the passenger side, where I′d been. That′s when I lost sight of them. A few seconds later I heard two shots. Then a car squealing, like it was driving away fast.″
Her entire body seemed to quake with a sob as she added, ″Why did it have to be my mother? She′s all I have in the world.″
A pain ricocheted off my ribs and hit something deep and soft inside my chest. ″Shaina, I know this is a horrible time for you,″ I said to her. ″I′m going to stay with you until your family gets here.″
″My family?″ Shaina made a bitter-sounding noise. ″There′s no one in my family except for Mom.″
″What about your uncle?″
″Uncle Belmont and my aunt?″ Shaina gave me a beseeching look. ″They′re not the same; you know what I mean? We′re not that close. Nothing like my mom.″
She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. ″Then of course there′s my stupid stepfather-Gavin the gigolo. Like he′s gonna care about me at all. Mom told me last night they were getting divorced. She was dumping him. It was about time.″
″Shaina, you can′t help feeling unbelievably sad right now,″ I said, trying to ignore what she was saying about her stepfather. ″It hurts so much. Believe me I know-I lost my mom, too, when I was young. To violence like your mom.″
″You did? But then, you′re still young, aren′t you?″ Shaina gave me a trembly attempt at a smile. ″I don′t think you′re all that much older than me. You just act kind of older.″
″I was thirteen.″
″Oh my God. That was young.″
″Any age is tough to lose your mother.″
I knew this wasn′t the right time to ask her questions, but an irresistible urge overcame me. ″Why were you and your mom out driving so early this morning?″
Makeovers Can Be Murder Page 4