Deadly Readings

by Laura Bradford

  Elise watched as Sam turned the calculator off and stretched his arms above his head. Mid-yawn, he finally noticed her.

  “Oh, hey . . . sorry. I didn’t see you standing there.” He gestured toward the open chair on the opposite side of his desk. “What can I do for you?”

  She remained standing. “I was just looking through last summer’s papers in the morgue.”

  “Find something interesting?”

  “I was wondering if anyone had ever considered the fire at Madame Mariah’s last year to be suspicious.”

  “It went through my mind at the time, but the fire department was certain a cigarette was to blame.”

  “I spoke with the fortune-teller last night and she’s convinced no one was smoking in her place that day. In fact, her exact quote was, ‘evil and greedy forces are trying to get rid of me.’”

  “In this town, that woman is considered to be a very highly paid entertainer and nothing more,” Sam said. “The police chief, in particular, is one who just won’t give much credence to her ramblings.”

  “I noticed that talk of the condo complex seemed to die out by summer’s end last year, yet it’s back again this summer. What do you think that’s about?” she asked him.

  “I think Daniel Johnson is hoping that a new mayor may help his endeavor.”

  “What kind of guy is this Daniel Johnson?” Elise questioned. She noticed Sam’s mouth tighten, his eyes narrow.

  “I don’t like him. Never have. Call it a vibe, call it a gut instinct, call it whatever you want, but there’s something about that guy that just doesn’t sit right with me. Wish I could put my finger on what it is about him that bothers me so much, but I can’t. Nothing concrete, anyway.”

  “Try,” she prodded.

  “Well, first of all he’s from New York. And when you’re from Jersey that’s reason enough.”

  She laughed. She was beginning to realize that the whole New York–New Jersey thing was a lot like Missouri and Illinois. In reality there was no difference between people in either location, but to hear the residents of each state talk it was two totally different cultures and each one thought theirs was superior.

  “Secondly, he has questionable business tactics in my opinion.”

  “For instance . . .”

  “One of the council members was dead set against the idea of another condo complex in town because he felt we had as many tourists as we could handle. So, Johnson did a little research and discovered this same council member wasn’t too crazy about the kind of clientele the first pier can attract sometimes.”

  “And he played it, right?”

  “You got it. He played it hard. And, sure enough, he managed to sway the guy’s vote.”

  Elise nodded as she considered her boss’s words.

  “Do you think it’s possible he could have had something to do with that fire last year, maybe hoping to get rid of the first pier in a more expedient manner?” she asked.

  “Entirely possible, but it would be virtually impossible to prove at this point.”

  She weighed his words in her mind as she leaned against the door frame of his office. If a fire wasn’t enough to get the fortune-tellers off the pier, what about a murder or two?

  “Do you think he could have a hand in these murders, as another way to get rid of the fortune-tellers?” Elise watched Sam’s face as he considered her question, saw his fingers tighten into a fist on his desk.

  “I certainly hope not,” he said quietly.

  “I was thinking that maybe I could schedule an interview with Daniel Johnson to discuss his proposal and do an updated version of last year’s story,” Elise said. She had always prided herself on her ability to pick up a person’s true essence. Maybe it would come in handy with the developer.

  “Sounds good, but why don’t you meet him over lunch? That way there’s other people around,” Sam suggested.

  “He makes you that nervous?”

  “It’s probably ludicrous, but after thirty years in this business you develop a kind of sixth sense about people. And mine is in full-blown radar mode where that creep is concerned.”

  “Okay, boss. I’ll arrange a lunch meeting for next week.” She playfully saluted him in an effort to relieve the tension that hung in the air, then watched in amusement as he raised his right hand to his forehead in response.

  Chapter Twelve

  Friday, June 18

  11:00 a.m.

  She stopped counting when she reached one hundred, each car following slowly behind the one in front with headlights that were hard to see in the brilliant sunshine of the summer day. The sadness that hung over the town was suffocating.

  Elise forced herself to move away from the window. The funeral was over and another family was shattered. She had a ton of work to do and looking out the window was not going to get it done any faster.

  It was deadline day and she had finally finished the feature story she’d been working on for most of the week. Wanting to see how it looked in the actual paper, she headed back to the small composing room located in the back of the building.

  The draft tables were strewn with pages and pages of what would eventually be Sunday’s edition of the Ocean Point Weekly. The advertisements had already been pasted onto the pages. The large blank spaces were a less than subtle reminder of all the work the rest of them had to do before five p.m.

  Dean’s weekly photo page was already laid out. Her coworker was definitely blessed with a talent for capturing memorable images.

  She smiled at the look of uncertainty on the toddler’s face as he navigated the difficult task of walking on sand for the very first time. The picture of the teenagers playing touch football on the beach was a great shot, and the large photograph of a little girl licking an ice cream cone on the boardwalk was simply precious.

  She scanned several more pictures before settling on a small shot of the new mayor leaving church last Sunday. His warm smile and wave to the crowd was exactly what you would expect from a politician. But his wave needed work. With his thumb and pinky tucked downward, he looked like a Boy Scout preparing to recite his sacred oath.

  Shaking her head, she willed herself to move on. She was wasting time looking at pictures she’d see in Sunday’s paper. The blank spots throughout the mock-up were indication enough of the work editorial still had to do before the end of the day. Just one peek at her story and she’d get back to business . . .

  The front page of the lifestyle section brought an end to her search. The fortune-teller story looked great. And she was very pleased to see that Dean had managed to catch the mystical aura that was as much a part of Madame Mariah as her dark hair and penetrating eyes. Even the side story on the various techniques used by the psychics held its own.

  All she needed now was a teaser on the front page of the paper inviting readers to turn to the lifestyle section. Maybe a quote from the new mayor regarding the undeniable popularity of the fortune-tellers during the summer months would fit the bill. It was worth a shot. And besides, she needed to call him about another story anyway.

  Elise glanced at her watch. The mayor should be back in his office by now even if he had attended Cindy’s funeral. She peeked out the window once more. The funeral procession was long gone, and from what she could see, things were getting back to normal on the streets of Ocean Point. As normal as it could with a murderer on the loose.

  But it felt wrong. Wrong to be sitting on a beach or shopping in a store or eating an ice cream cone when two families were facing life without their daughters. Elise looked down at the pale yellow sundress she wore. The tiny sprig of flowers that dotted the bodice section had caught her eye in a small dress shop on Ocean Boulevard just after she moved to town. She had felt so pretty and upbeat when she finally put it on that morning, but now it felt wrong too. Disrespectful somehow.

  Elise sighed and turned away from the window. She couldn’t do anything to change what had happened. But maybe her work could keep it from happening agai
n. She walked over to her phone and placed a call to the town hall. After identifying herself and requesting a few minutes of the mayor’s time, she was quickly put through to his line.

  “Good morning, Elise. I imagine you’re looking forward to the festival at St. Theresa’s tomorrow like everyone else in town?”

  The festival. She’d almost forgotten. “I-I guess I am, yes. I could use a little break from work.”

  “So, what can I do for you today?” His voice was strong and self-assured.

  “I have a few things actually, but I’ll try to make it as quick as possible. I was hoping to do a story on your first month in office. How it has compared to what you envisioned, the direction you would like to see Ocean Point move in, that kind of thing.”

  “Sounds great. Fire away.”

  She flipped her notepad to a clean sheet of paper and prepared to write his answers to her questions. “First up, can you tell me what some of your immediate goals are for the remainder of the summer tourism season?”

  “I want to make sure the wholesomeness of our town is portrayed clearly to the people who choose to vacation here each year,” he said. “I want our rental property owners to make a concerted effort to rent their cottages and condos to families only. By doing this, we can better avoid many of the problems other beach towns have faced when they have allowed overzealous college kids to vacation there without proper supervision.”

  She stopped writing for a moment as she pondered what the mayor said.

  “Wouldn’t those property owners have to be careful about discrimination if they put a policy like that into place?” she questioned.

  “Certainly. But if our town as a whole caters to the family crowd in everything we do and offer, we won’t be attractive to the wrong sorts of people.”

  “What do you see as ways for the town to cater to the family?”

  “We need to really push the miniature golf establishments, the family-style restaurants and the innocent fun of the amusement pier.”

  She decided to take advantage of the subject to get his opinion on the fortune-tellers. A quote from him would be perfect for her teaser on the front page.

  “What about the boardwalk fortune-tellers? Do you think they attract the wrong sort of people?”

  “Fortune-tellers are imposters, plain and simple. They are exactly the kind of people who attract everything we don’t want in our town.”

  His strong words surprised her, but not as much as the passion with which they were said. There was no doubt about it, Mayor Brown had no use for fortune-tellers or anyone else who threatened the vision he had for Ocean Point. Maybe a teaser from him wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  “I’m preparing to move my ailing parents into my home in Ocean Point, and I want them to know they are in a town of high morals and values,” he continued.

  She stopped writing for a moment and fiddled with her pen. It was hard to know just how to take the mayor. One minute he seemed rather narrow-minded, the next he seemed to be a man with a really big heart. How could she really fault him for wanting Ocean Point to be a safe place to live?

  “That’s quite an undertaking. You’re a newly appointed mayor in a town that has been plagued by two violent crimes, you’re an involved father with two teenage sons, you’re heavily involved in various organizations affiliated with St. Theresa’s, and now you’re taking on the role of caretaker for two elderly parents. That’s a lot on one person’s plate.”

  “Well, Elise, it’s like the Bible says: ‘Honor thy father and mother.’ It’s my duty.”

  She jotted down his last remark and stopped. The mayor would make a perfect subject for a shadowing story.

  “Would it be possible for me to come and spend a few hours shadowing you one day next week?” She looked at her calendar as she waited for his reply.

  “Absolutely. Is Tuesday good for you?”

  “I have a lunch appointment with Daniel Johnson that day so I’m afraid our time together would be too limited. Would Wednesday or Thursday be a possibility?”

  “Thursday at nine would be fine.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you so much for your time this afternoon, Mayor Brown.”

  “You’re welcome, Elise. I’ll be seeing you at St. Theresa’s tomorrow for the festival and again at Mass on Sunday, right?”

  Just what she needed. Another parent checking up on her . . .

  Chapter Thirteen

  Saturday, June 19

  6:00 p.m.

  If the lasagna tasted as good as it smelled Elise would be in good shape. She hadn’t been eating well lately and she knew it. Peanut butter sandwiches and leftover pasta salad were getting a little old. And her computer made a rotten dinner companion.

  But tonight she was going to enjoy every bite of her dinner. And although she didn’t know more than a handful of people, it was quite obvious that St. Theresa’s Twentieth Annual Family Fun Fest was the place to be that night.

  There was enough food on the buffet tables to feed an army and she was eager to sample as many of the delicious-looking items as possible. The enormous basket of rolls in front of her looked heavenly, and without thinking she found herself reaching for two.

  “Are you sure you can fit two rolls into that little body?”

  She could feel her face begin to redden. Not wanting to be impolite, Elise simply smiled at the elderly man next to her in the dinner line. It was just the kind of comment her grandfather would have made, a good laugh for him but mortifying for everyone around him. She skipped the next few items on the table in an effort to put as much distance between herself and the eyes of the self-appointed food patrol behind her.

  But unfortunately, as Elise neared the end of the table, she came face-to-face with the biggest threat to her willpower. Dessert. Like the mother ship calling her home, she slyly reached for a frosted brownie that was just too enticing to ignore.

  Finally, armed with a plastic fork and knife, she set off in the direction of the eating area located in the large yellow party tent just a few hundred yards away. Numerous tables filled the temporary dining room, virtually all of them playing host to animated discussions between people who obviously knew each other well.

  Elise deliberately chose a small table near the back of the tent so as not to draw too much attention to the fact that she was alone. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness as her mind traveled back to those lonely pre-Celia lunches in the high school cafeteria. If only she had “come in to her own” a few years earlier, she may have actually enjoyed her teenage years.

  “Hey, ’Lise, want some company?”

  She was thrilled to see Dean standing beside her table. He set his heaping plate down next to hers without waiting for a reply.

  “Looks like some good grub, doesn’t it,” he continued as he shoved a roll into his mouth.

  She wondered what the townspeople thought of the photographer. He just didn’t match the image of the small religious community. The long blonde hair was disheveled on a good day, and his sense of humor was biting at times.

  “Have you gotten any good pictures yet?”

  “Yeah, I just got a great shot of Father Leahy in the dunking booth.”

  The sound of her own laughter was just the medicine she needed to chase away the doldrums that had threatened to ruin the beautiful evening just a few moments earlier. She reached for the brownie. “I noticed the volleyball game is going to start in about fifteen minutes. Are you playing?”

  “No way, too much testosterone in one place for me, thank you very much. But Sam is playing and that should make for some comical shots all on its own.” Dean shoved a large cookie into his mouth.

  “Who else is playing?”

  “I think they’re playing four-man teams. Sam’s team has him, the fire chief, the bakery owner, and some other dude I don’t know too well,” Dean answered between swallows. “The other team has Mayor Brown, Chief Maynard, Mitch Burns, and a very wet Father Leahy.”

  “Wan
t to make a wager?” she asked playfully.

  “I take Sam’s team. What’s at stake?”

  “Loser sits in the dunking booth, winner gets three shots.”

  “You’re on.”

  They gathered the garbage from their table and tossed it in the trash can. Since Dean seemed to have the lay of the land, she let him lead the way. When they reached the volleyball court he put on his professional demeanor and began taking shots of the players as they prepared for battle. Elise found a spot on the sidelines.

  As her team took their positions, she stood up and cheered. The curious look from Detective Burns made her tone it down a bit. She still wasn’t sure how to read the detective, but she wasn’t going to give him any false ideas about the motivation behind her cheering. Finger-crossing would have to work this time.

  Three sets later she was painfully aware of the fact that she should have stuck with the cheering. The finger-crossing hadn’t been terribly successful.

  “Ready to get wet?”

  Dean’s smug smile was a lesson she would not soon forget. Betting was bad. Very, very bad.

  “Something came up and I gotta—”

  Dean grabbed her arm and propelled her to the now vacant dunking booth.

  Like townsfolk at a stoning, people seemed to appear out of nowhere as she scooted onto the wooden plank across the top of the tank. She silently berated herself for thinking a wager like this would be fun.

  Fortunately for Elise, it didn’t take long to realize why Dean had pursued photography rather than athletics. Two balls down and she was bone dry.

  “Come on, Dean. Can’t hit the target?” She smiled wickedly at the photographer and stuck out her tongue. It was kind of fun sitting in the booth. It was a great place to sit and watch people.

  Suddenly, Mitch Burns stepped out of the crowd surrounding the booth and whispered something in Dean’s ear. She was horrified to see the long-haired rat hand over the final ball to the well-built detective.