Nothing But the Truth

by Kara Lennox

  Griffin wouldn’t know beluga caviar from peanut butter. But Stratton came from a well-to-do Houston family and had been raised in the country-club set. Griffin wondered if Paul’s family connections would tip the balance his way with CNI.

  “So,” Paul said, lowering his voice. “I heard you’re a candidate for the open slot at Currents.”

  “Likewise,” Griffin said cautiously.

  “Do you know if they’re considering anyone else?”

  “They’re keeping their cards pretty close to the vest.” Griffin was wary of repeating anything he’d heard from the news network.

  “If they hire you, you’d be the youngest Currents anchor in history.”

  “Really?” Pierce hadn’t mentioned it, so Griffin hadn’t considered his age a pro or a con.

  “I’d think with the aging baby boomers, they’d want to skew their star reporters a little older. I’m sure high-school girls would tune in by the droves to see you, but little girls don’t have the buying power the advertisers want.”

  “Maybe I should put some fake gray in my hair,” Griffin said with a laugh, staring pointedly at Paul’s thick, silvery cap of hair, sprayed into place no doubt. “You know, to appeal more to the Geritol set.”

  Paul scowled, but then quickly schooled his features. “Don’t feel bad if they pass you over. In a few years, when you’ve had a bit more seasoning, maybe they’ll consider you again. And, hey, I could put in a good word for you at Channel 6. They’ll have a vacancy.”

  “You’re all heart, man.”

  The governor made his announcement in his typical boring fashion. When his handler opened the floor for questions, no one seemed to have any. Not one to ignore an opportunity, Griffin spoke up.

  “Governor Redmond, what do you think about the current bid to exonerate Anthony Simonetti?”

  “I think it’s ridiculous,” the governor said quickly. “Project Justice is wasting its time.”

  “No chance you would stay his execution?”

  “I would have to see some pretty startling evidence to put that man on the street,” Redmond said.

  “Thank you.” That would make for a nice sound bite if Raleigh succeeded in her quest.

  Paul Stratton buttonholed Griffin as he was heading out the door. “Is that the story you’re working on?” He sounded dubious.

  Griffin wasn’t about to share anything concerning Project Justice with the opportunistic reporter. “I saw a press release on it this morning. Just curious.”

  “Trust me, that story’s a real nonstarter. I covered the Michelle Brewster murder. In fact, I broke the story. My reporting helped solve that case. Simonetti is guilty as hell.”

  “I figure he’s good for it,” Griffin agreed quickly. “I was just tossing Redmond a bone, giving him a chance to pontificate about his tough-on-crime platform.”

  Griffin felt good about Paul’s attitude. If he wasn’t interested, chances were no other reporters were pouncing on it, either.

  GRIFFIN SHOWED UP bright and early Monday morning with a new method of torturing Raleigh—a camera.

  He snapped shots of her at odd moments, always when she wasn’t expecting it.

  But he wasn’t completely annoying. Over the weekend, he had read up on the Anthony Simonetti trial and had offered some surprisingly astute insights. He’d caught one witness in a lie, which no one else had picked up on. With Griffin’s help, she had a new lead to follow.

  “I thought you were going to be a fly on the wall,” she said as she began packing up her briefcase. She had a deposition scheduled for later that morning.

  “I thought maybe if I made myself useful, you’d want me around more. It hurts my feelings that you’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “I’m not…” She stopped before completing the lie. Yeah, she’d been trying to get rid of him—more because he rattled her than because she was worried about the story he would write.

  “You won’t let me come with you for the deposition.”

  “Privacy issues,” she reminded him.

  He raised his camera and snapped three shots of her in rapid succession. “Griffin, don’t.”

  “Why not? You’re pretty. Look.” He swiveled the camera around and let her look at the screen. What she saw was a woman with glasses too big for her face and a hairstyle so severe it might have been painted on.

  But he’d caught her during a moment of vulnerability. She looked…troubled. “You should erase that one.”

  “I like it. I’m keeping it.”

  The warmth in his voice sent pleasurable shivers up her spine. She purposely looked over at the picture of Jason she kept on her desk, stared at it for many seconds, until her pulse returned to normal.

  It was too early to leave for her deposition, but she started gathering her things anyway. “Joe Kinkaid will talk to you this morning while I’m gone, if you like.”

  “Sure I can’t go with you?”

  “Positive.”

  To his credit, Griffin didn’t push. “I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

  Raleigh tried to dismiss him from her mind as she focused on the task at hand: taking the deposition of a traumatized child. It was exhausting work, teasing an incredibly painful tale from a twelve-year-old girl, a story that would exonerate her uncle, currently sitting in prison convicted of raping his niece and leaving her for dead.

  By the time Raleigh returned to the office at around one o’clock, she was wrung out, physically and emotionally, and she just wanted to climb in bed and sleep for a week.

  But no, she had to deal with Griffin, a man whose very presence challenged her entire being. At least she could count on some verbal sparring with him, which would distract her from the child’s disturbing testimony.

  “Is Griffin around?” she asked Celeste, praying he’d gotten bored with Project Justice and gone home for the day.

  Celeste consulted her sign-in sheet. “Left for lunch a while ago.”

  She wondered who he’d gone with, and felt left out. She should have stopped for lunch herself. Maybe there was something good in the break room.

  She made a side trip to her office first to dump off her briefcase and check for messages. Still returning phone calls at 1:20 p.m., Raleigh’s stomach rumbled, and she became aware of a delectable scent wafting into her office. Garlic, oregano, tomato sauce…pizza?

  Someone tapped on her office door, open a crack not because she relished interruptions but to help with ventilation. “I come bearing gifts,” a deep male voice informed her.

  Griffin. And pizza. Was she ready for her two biggest temptations in the same room? “Come in, Griffin.”

  The door opened and Celeste barged in with Griffin in tow. “This handsome young man claims he has to deliver your pizza personally. Thought I better check out his story.” Her eyes sparkled with humor.

  Handsome young man? Had Celeste fallen off the deep end?

  Maybe she was simply angling for a slice of pizza. Though she was thin and wiry as a bull rider, she ate like a sailor on shore leave.

  “Shall I throw him out on his ear?” Celeste grabbed that ear as she said it.

  “Hey, you kick me out, the pizza comes with me,” Griffin protested good-naturedly.

  “Better let him stay, then,” Raleigh said. “Celeste, you want a slice?”

  “Maybe a small one. I have to watch my girlish figure.” Celeste waggled her bony hips and tossed her curly gray hair over her shoulder. Today she wore skintight black pants, a billowy shirt that looked like an old chenille bedspread, and huge dangly earrings in the shape of pink flamingos.

  Raleigh cleared a spot on the coffee table in the seating area of her office, and Griffin set the box down. The pepperoni pizza was huge, plenty to share. He removed a large slice, put it on a napkin and handed it to Celeste.

  “Come back for more if you want.”

  “I might come back, but only to flirt with you, stud-muffin.”

  Griffin winked at her. “Think I’m eno
ugh man for you?”

  “No, but you might come close.” Celeste scurried out the door, cackling with pizza in hand, leaving Raleigh to stare after her with her mouth hanging open.

  “Who was that woman?” she asked. “Certainly not the Celeste I know and fear.”

  “She’s wonderful. I must have gotten a bad first impression.”

  Raleigh shook her finger at him. “Everyone gets a bad first impression. Griffin, you aren’t really going to write about Celeste, are you? I was kidding you when I suggested it.” God knew what the general public would make of her.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Raleigh selected her own small slice of pizza. She didn’t normally indulge in anything cheesy and greasy, but it did smell good. “Clearly you’ve found some way to get on her good side. Frankly, I didn’t know she had a good side.”

  “We talk about Soldier of Fortune. The woman’s got an incredible memory. She actually recalls some of the stories I wrote almost word for word. I had no idea I had a fan out there from the old days.”

  Raleigh frowned as she picked off the pepperoni, one of the unhealthiest foods on earth. “That’s odd. She’s not crazy about men in general. She makes an exception for the guys who work here, but usually that means she gives them a grudging respect and not much more. She was flirting with you.”

  “I just have that effect on women.” Griffin shrugged and grabbed some pizza, settling onto her small sofa to devour it, propping those scuffed ostrich-skin boots on her coffee table.

  He certainly had a strange effect on her, but she didn’t feel like agreeing with him. “Thanks for the pizza.”

  “How was the deposition?”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  “And no more creepy calls from anonymous weirdos?”

  “No. Randall made sure no one followed us, too. I wish we had some way to draw Mr. Creepy Caller out. I’d like to get this business concluded.”

  The phone on Raleigh’s desk buzzed and she got up to answer it. Someone had called her direct line—they hadn’t gone through Celeste.

  Since they’d just been talking about creepy phone calls, she grabbed her pen and notepad, then answered with some trepidation. “Raleigh Shinn.”

  “Raleigh, it’s Julia.”

  Stunned, Raleigh said nothing for a few breathless moments.

  “Raleigh?”

  “Yes, Julia. Sorry.” Raleigh motioned urgently for Griffin to come closer. She scribbled on her pad so he could read: Jason’s mother. “It’s been such a long time, I was just surprised.”

  “I know, dear, we haven’t kept in touch as well as we should.”

  Griffin leaned in closer so he could hear Julia’s side of the conversation. Raleigh tilted the phone receiver out so he could hear better and tried not to think about how close he was, how she could feel his body’s warmth radiating straight into her, to her core.

  Raleigh considered and rejected a number of retorts. Why would she want to keep in touch with a woman who had openly accused her of killing her son? Of being a gold digger? Who brazenly defied her son’s wishes so that his widow would have to struggle?

  But if the elder Shinns had anything to do with the threats, she needed to find out, and that meant keeping the lines of communication open. What a coincidence that Julia would contact her now, of all times.

  “I wanted to let you know that John is in the hospital,” Julia said. “He’s had a heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Raleigh’s voice warmed slightly. Whatever awful things the woman had done, if her husband’s life was in danger, she was probably scared and hurting. Hard to picture, though. Raleigh had seldom seen any emotions from Julia other than anger when she didn’t get her way, and smugness when she did. “Is it bad?”

  “Bad enough. He’ll have coronary bypass surgery tomorrow. But for now, they say he’s out of immediate danger.”

  “That sounds promising. Hopefully they’ve caught it in time.”

  “I dearly hope so. I’m calling you because…well, because John has asked to see you.”

  Raleigh couldn’t have been more surprised if Julia had announced they’d put her in their wills. She didn’t really want to see her father-in-law. Face-to-face, it was hard for her to be civil, though maybe she could hold her tongue in a hospital setting.

  “He’s at Johnson-Perrone,” Julia said.

  Griffin turned to face her head-on, nodding vigorously. Say yes, he mouthed.

  “I can come this evening.” It was all Raleigh could do to drag the words out.

  “That would be fine.”

  “Do you know why he wants to see me?” she asked.

  Julia hesitated. “I’m not really sure. Well, you must be busy. We’ll see you tonight.”

  Raleigh blew out a breath and put down the receiver.

  “Interesting,” Griffin commented, putting a safe distance between them, thank God.

  “No kidding.” Raleigh made a quick notation of the call, date, time and what was discussed. “I haven’t heard a peep out of them in all these years, and suddenly they turn up like a bad penny—just when I suspect they might be involved.”

  “It’s that insurance policy,” Griffin said. “You watch. They’ll bring it up within five minutes of your arrival.”

  “I take it you don’t think people can change?”

  “People can change,” Griffin said. “But it’s not the first explanation I look for when someone acts weird.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A KNOT OF DREAD formed in Raleigh’s stomach as the Bentley moved closer to Johnson-Perrone Medical Center, on South Main Street near the Loop. Randall was at the wheel—did the man ever get time off?—and Griffin sat beside her, but she still felt very alone.

  Was she about to face someone who despised her so much that he would try to ruin her completely? If the Shinns still held her responsible for Jason’s death—and how could they not?—she supposed their hate could run deep.

  Griffin kept shooting concerned looks at her. He hadn’t asked permission to come with her. He’d simply followed her to the garage, where Randall had parked the Bentley to wait for her. In truth, she wanted someone with her as a witness. Jason had never spotted his parents’ venom, but surely an impartial journalist would see it.

  “How long did you say it’s been since you’ve seen your in-laws?” he asked when the silence between them had dragged on a long time.

  “I checked my calendar this afternoon. It’s been almost five years. It was at a lawyer’s office, signing away every penny of Jason’s estate.”

  “How could they do that?”

  “I told you, they couldn’t stand me. Julia called me an emotional cripple.”

  “Why, in God’s name?”

  “Because…I have severe night blindness. She was sure I made it up because I wanted Jason at my beck and call, driving me here and there in the evenings.”

  “Did he allow his parents to abuse you?”

  “Jason didn’t know the extent of it. They kept things light in front of him.”

  “Why do they hate you so much?” Griffin sounded bewildered. “I understand they thought you shouldn’t inherit from his estate. That’s not an uncommon attitude with wealthy families. They like to keep the money in the hands of blood relatives. But you didn’t fight them for the money, right?”

  “No. I didn’t fight for anything, though I probably should have. I wasn’t capable at that time. I’ve never asked for money. There was more involved.”

  “What, exactly?”

  Raleigh took a deep breath. “Off-the-record, okay?”

  “Can’t do it, Raleigh.”

  “But you won’t print this unless the Shinns turn out to be the bad guys, right?”

  He nodded his agreement. “That’s a fair compromise.”

  Griffin waited, and Raleigh made the decision to tell him the whole truth. Maybe he would have some insight she lacked. “They blame me for Jason’s death.”

  “
What? He died in a car accident, right?”

  “Yes. But I was driving. At night. I should never have gotten behind the wheel after dark.”

  “Why didn’t Jason drive?”

  “He did drive, on the way to the event. We were attending a charity art auction that benefited a crime victim’s fund, and it was important to me. He hated those black-tie events and would never have gone, except that I couldn’t drive myself. He spent the whole evening at the bar.”

  “He drank too much?”

  “Yes. I mean, he wasn’t falling down drunk, but he’d had a few. I figured between the two of us, I was less impaired. Stupid, stupid. Should have just called a cab, but he didn’t want me to. I knew the way, I thought I could handle it. But I must have taken a wrong turn. That road where we wrecked—it wasn’t on the route.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything beyond getting into the car. The next thing I recall, I’m in a police car.” Unfortunately, that scene she remembered with crystal clarity—sitting in the back of a squad car with a blanket draped over her shoulders. She’d been wet, shivering, barefoot, her stockings torn, Jason’s blood all over her dress.

  “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

  “John and Julia blamed me from the beginning, of course. How could they not? It was a bad judgment call on my part,” she said in a small voice.

  “Maybe. But that’s no excuse to treat you like dirt,” Griffin said fiercely. “It was an accident.”

  “We wouldn’t have been on the road at all if I hadn’t wanted to go to the stupid auction,” she said wearily. “It was cold and wet, and we should have anticipated the roads might be bad. I should have stopped Jason from drinking—we should have gotten on the road sooner. According to them, my sins were many.”

  “Good God, you aren’t buying into that crap, are you? Your husband is the one who chose to get drunk when he knew he was supposed to drive you home.”

  “Of course I don’t buy into it,” she said hotly. “I’m just explaining how my in-laws think of it. After Jason’s death I became ‘that woman,’ and they couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. They shut me out from all sorts of decisions, including the details of his funeral, and I was so shell-shocked I just went along with whatever they said. Then they gave me thirty days to vacate the apartment we’d lived in—the lease was in the name of Jason’s trust. So I packed my things and moved out.”