The Full Scoop

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The Full Scoop Page 10

by Jill Orr


  He smiled and looked down at his feet. “I’m actually passing through on my way to a meeting.”

  Jay worked as a special agent for the DEA. We met when he was undercover posing as a criminology professor at a nearby college in order to get close to a drug cartel’s operation in Tuttle County. We had started dating, but shortly after, he was promoted and moved to Washington, DC. We’d decided not to do the long-distance thing…a choice I’d questioned more than a few times in the months since he moved away.

  “And you just stopped by to say hello?”

  “You always did have a pretty good bullshit detector,” he said with a laugh. “No, I wanted to talk to you about Joe Tackett.”

  The second I heard Jay say the name, it was like all the pieces clicked into place: Jay was the arresting officer on the Tackett case. Jay must be the fed who Tackett tried to give his information to. Jay was the person standing in the way of me finding out who killed my grandfather. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. All of a sudden, I felt like I’d swallowed a pair of socks.

  He read my expression as clear as if it were a headline on the front page of the Times. “You already know.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice at that moment.

  “Listen, Riley,” he said. “You have to understand the position I’m in.”

  “I don’t,” I said, not even trying to conceal my anger, my disappointment.

  “Tackett has a lot of information that could be really helpful to us. He was sent to Greensville prison for a specific reason. We want him to be uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that he’ll consider giving us the names of some of his cartel connections.”

  “He’s never going to do that.”

  “If we can apply enough pressure, he might.”

  “He told me yesterday if he breathes one word about the cartel, he’s as good as dead.”

  “We could protect him, move him to another facility, change his name.” Then, as if he suddenly realized what I’d said, he crinkled his brow. “You spoke to Tackett?”

  “Yesterday. At Greensville.” I folded my arms across my chest, which would have looked more foreboding if it weren’t for the fluffy bathrobe. “You’re not the only one he’s been talking to,” I snapped.

  Jay let out a sigh, and I knew what he was going to say before he uttered a word. I’d heard that sigh before. “Riley, what are you doing going to visit Tackett? He tried to kill you, for God’s sake.”

  “Holman was with me.”

  “He tried to kill Holman too,” he said, his voice rising. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head before saying in a softer, calmer voice, “Tackett can identify some very dangerous people who are currently—”

  “He can also identify one very dangerous person who murdered my granddaddy and his best friend!”

  “Wait—what?” he said, clearly confused.

  “Flick.”

  “Flick is dead?” Jay was visibly shaken. He lowered his voice. “Oh my God…what happened?”

  I should have realized that Jay wouldn’t know. News of Flick’s death wouldn’t have traveled up to DC, and I hadn’t thought to tell him. A decision I suddenly felt badly about. “Flick had been looking into something Granddad was working on years ago. He was tracking down a lead in Brunswick County when he was run off the road, his car smashed into the side of a bluff. By the time the ambulance got to him—” I broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

  “Was this what you called Hank about? I had no idea it was Flick…”

  I nodded. “We buried him three weeks ago.”

  “Oh, Riley.” Jay stood up and before I could stop him, he had his arms around me. “I am so sorry.”

  That small gesture of kindness was all it took for me to crack like an egg. I melted into Jay’s arms and let him comfort me. Part of me wanted to push him away, to tell him he was now part of the problem, an obstacle standing in the way of the thing I’d wanted more than anything for the past seven years. But another part of me knew Jay was just doing his job, carrying out the mission of the DEA like the dedicated professional he was. Besides, it felt really good to have him hug me. We stood like that for a long time. When he finally released me, neither of us looked the other in the eye. I couldn’t have told you what Jay was thinking, but I was embarrassed at how much I’d needed that moment.

  I wiped away the moisture from my cheeks. “Holman and I believe whoever killed Flick is the same person who killed Granddad—and Tackett knows who that person is.”

  Jay took a step back and put both hands in his pockets. He looked lost in thought. I waited for him to say something, anything that would make this situation better. When the moment stretched on, I said, “We are so close to finding out, Jay.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I know this has to be killing you—that’s why I came here this morning—but it’s out of my hands. My direction is to keep the pressure on Tackett.”

  “Who’s directing you?”

  He didn’t say anything, his standard response when something was classified.

  “You’re not just passing through, are you?”

  Jay looked down. “I’m meeting with Lindsey Davis at eight.”

  I cinched my robe tighter and stood up as straight as I could. “You should know Holman and I are going to fight this. In the press if we have to.”

  “Riley, that’s not a good idea. The Romero cartel does not like loose ends. Press coverage about Tackett striking a deal with prosecutors—even if it doesn’t have to do with their operation—could make them act.”

  “Act?”

  Jay gave me a dark look. “These are very dangerous people, Riley.” His tone was almost pleading.

  I turned away and started wiping down the counter, so I didn’t have to look him in the eye. “Well, you’ve got your job to do, and I’ve got mine.”

  Jay brought his coffee cup to the sink and rinsed it, which sparked an irrational flare of anger at him for reminding me of what a good guy he was.

  “There’s more at stake here than you know,” he said.

  Jay’s words stoked the low-burning fear that had been with me ever since my first run-in with the cartel six months ago. They had tried to kill me. And Holman. And Ryan. They had a well-established habit of taking out whatever and whoever they saw as obstacles.

  I stuffed the fear down to the faraway place I needed to keep it in order to function. “Maybe so,” I said. “But I think you’re underestimating just how important this is to me. It may not be as lofty a goal as the war against drug traffickers or whatever, but the stakes—as you say—are every bit as high to me.”

  Jay hung his head and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to argue, but instead he said, “I’m really sorry to hear about Hal. I wish you would have let me know. I would’ve come to the funeral.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t think Chloe would appreciate me calling you.” The minute I said it, I felt like a fool. We were over and had been for months. I had no right to be mad that he had moved on.

  “Right. Chloe…”

  “Sorry,” I said, quickly. “That was unfair.”

  “Listen, I know this is ancient history, especially in light of everything that’s going on now, but I feel like I should explain about Chloe.”

  “No, you really don’t have to.” I ducked out of the kitchen, which was beginning to feel like one of those rooms in a haunted house where the walls close in on you. I walked toward the front door.

  “I wanted to call you after that night in DC, but things are just kind of complicated.”

  “Honestly, it’s fine,” I said, trying to remove any emotion from my voice. “We broke up, you moved on. You don’t owe me any explanations…or anything at all. It’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?” I couldn’t tell if I was imagining it, but there seemed to be something stacked behind his question. It could have been hope, or it could have been condescension.

  “Thanks for coming by.” I opened the front door, an unmistakabl
e signal that this visit was over.

  CHAPTER 19

  I spent much of the first hour at work preoccupied with the fact that Jay was talking to Lindsey Davis, trying to persuade her not to make a deal with Tackett. I’d wanted to tell Holman that Jay was here just in case he decided to go over to talk to Lindsey this morning. He was probably the number-one member of the Jaidev “Jay” Burman fan club, and I wanted him to know that in this instance, Jay was working in direct opposition to us, so he could turn down the whole hero-worship thing. I called and texted but so far hadn’t gotten a response. I was updating the “Inspecting the Eateries” page when I got an email from someone at the Virginia vital records department saying my request for the death certificates had been denied because I was not authorized to view those records. Damn. I’d expected as much, but I really needed those to find out who was listed as the Millers’ next of kin—that information would go a long way in figuring out if they were subjects in The Lonely Dead.

  I was just starting a search of how to get a copy of a death certificate of a nonfamily member when Ash texted.

  lunch today?

  sure

  Mysa or Landrys?

  mmmm meatballs.

  Mysa it is. what u doin?

  trying to get a death certificate of someone who died 60 years ago

  journalism is fun

  haha. not having any luck

  just call the funeral home. we keep records forever.

  OMG ASH UR A GENIUS!!!

  wow if id known u were so easily impressed i would have talked funeral home director to u sooner

  haha lol

  glad i could help. i like to see u happy

  c u at noon?

  I knew that the Millers hadn’t been buried or cremated in Hudson Falls, because if they’d been laid to rest in Texas, there would have been a file on record, and my old friend Elaine had already established that there wasn’t. I assumed that they were buried on Chincoteague, where they died. There were three funeral homes on Chincoteague Island, but only one that had been in business in 1959. I felt like an in-person visit would increase my odds of getting them to give me a copy of the death certificates, but Chincoteague was a four-hour drive and I didn’t own a car at the moment. Plus, I had missed enough work as it was and wasn’t sure I could take another whole day out of the office, even if it was for the sake of a big story.

  A spark of inspiration struck, and I texted Ash back and asked if I could stop by Campbell & Sons on the way to lunch. All of a sudden it seemed very advantageous to have a funeral home director interested in making me happy.

  “Tell me again what you want me to say?” Ash asked.

  “Just say someone has come in asking if you have the records for a family of five, the Miller family, who died in Virginia in 1959. Say something like there’s been some confusion as to where the family was buried and they thought maybe it was in Tuttle County but that you think it was in Accomack County, given that’s where their plane crashed…”

  He looked slightly uncomfortable, so I added, “You’re not lying—that’s all true. Mostly.”

  “And you think they’ll just give me that information? Without any paperwork or proof of anything?”

  “Would you?”

  “Probably,” he said. “But only because I’m still learning the rules. In fact, until you told me five minutes ago, I didn’t even know that death certificates could only be accessed by the family or legal guardian in the state of Virginia.”

  I sat on the edge of his desk. “I’m hoping there’s a professional courtesy between you guys, one funeral home director to another? If they don’t want to give you a copy of the certificate, that’s fine. Just try to find out who the next of kin is. That’s what I really need.”

  “Next of kin,” Ash repeated. “Okay…I’ll give it a try.”

  “Thank you!” I was nearly giddy with excitement.

  “What’ll you give me if I do this for you?” Ash said, a playful edge to his voice.

  “I’ll buy you lunch.”

  “You already owe me lunch.”

  “I’ll buy you a drink then.”

  “When?”

  “Whenever you want. Will you make the call already?”

  “How about tonight after work? We can talk about our costumes for Toad’s party over a bottle of wine?”

  Ash was standing close enough to me that I could smell his cologne. Funny, I never noticed that he wore cologne before. It was a nice, clean musky scent that was light enough to be noticed only by those in close orbit. Which I guess I was.

  “A bottle is more than one drink,” I said, looking down.

  “We have a lot to talk about.”

  “Just make the call.”

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes, fine. We have a deal.”

  “Seal it with a kiss?”

  I spit on my hand and stuck it out to him instead.

  Ash laughed again, then made the call.

  Just as he did, my phone rang. Holman. I needed to talk to him, so I stepped out into the hallway to answer. “Hey. Where have you been?”

  “You will never guess who I saw on the way into Lindsey’s office today.”

  “Jay.”

  “Oh.” Holman sounded disappointed. “I guess you did guess.”

  “What happened with Lindsey?” I didn’t have time to explain everything to him. I wanted to get back in the office to hear Ash’s conversation.

  “We didn’t have a chance to talk because she was meeting with Jay. Riley, I think Jay is the federal agent who’s trying to block her from making a deal with Tackett.”

  “He is.”

  “How do you know this already?”

  I cracked the door and could see that Ash was still on the phone and writing something down. I lowered my voice. “I’ll explain later, but he’s under orders to shut it down.”

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “Later.”

  “Fine. Lindsey wants to meet with both of us at one-thirty.”

  I could hear Ash laughing. It sounded like he was talking with an old friend. I hoped that was a good sign. “See you then.”

  “Technically, you will see me before then because we work in the same—”

  I clicked end and walked back into Ash’s office.

  “Yeah, okay, okay. Thanks, Gary.” He held up one finger at me. “Perfect. I’ll look forward to it. And thanks again.”

  If he was thanking Gary, surely that meant he got it! I waited for him to end his call, and after another chorus of “You too, man” and “It’s a deal,” Ash finally hung up.

  “So…did you get it?”

  “Pffff, did I get it?” He smirked. “Not only did I get it, but I have an invitation to play golf at the Chincoteague Country Club with Gary any time I want.”

  “Congratulations,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Where is it? Did he email you a copy or just give you the name?”

  He held up a piece of paper and I snatched it out of his hand like a greedy child. I scanned the page. “Oh my God.”

  “Does that name mean something to you?”

  “You could say that. I just met him yesterday.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Holman had been right. Charles Miller was not from the West Coast. According to the records from the funeral home on Chincoteague, Charles Miller was from Brunswick County, Virginia, and he was the only brother of Daniel Miller and listed as his next of kin. According to the paperwork, it took nearly three weeks for Charles to be notified about the plane crash. By that time, the bodies had already been cremated in accordance with Virginia State law, but Charles Miller did sign for the remains of his brother and his family on October 18, 1959. It had to be the same man Holman and I spoke to yesterday. Why had he lied? If he hadn’t been so adamant about his family being from the West Coast, I could have reasonably believed the lapse could have been the result of old age. Then again, if his memory was fading, he’d be more likely not to know where he was
from as opposed to straight up lying. My gut told me he had not wanted us to make the connection between him and his brother. The big question, of course, was why.

  The minute I got back to the newsroom, I called Silver Meadows and asked to speak with Charlie. Rhonda, whose voice I recognized, asked who was calling and when I said my name, her voice changed. “Charlie isn’t up to talking to anyone today.” I asked if he was all right and she said yes, but with a definite edge.

  “What if I came back to visit him this weekend?”

  “I’m sorry, honey, but that’s out of the question.”

  “How come?” I asked, surprised.

  “No visitors. Family’s orders.”

  So, the day after Holman and I talked to Charlie Miller about his brother, his family clamped down the security? That seemed super shady. What was his family hiding? Why didn’t they want to be connected to the Millers who died in that plane crash? If I couldn’t get access to Charlie, I’d just have to take my questions to someone else in the Miller family. I replayed my conversation with Charlie from my voice notes to listen for any clues as to how I might get in touch with his family. He mentioned a daughter who lives in North Carolina, a granddaughter who lived in Texas, and a grandson who was a practicing CPA. I had no more information to go on than that—not even their last names, unless his daughter used her maiden name.

  “Since he isn’t feeling up to another interview, I wondered if I could talk to his daughter?”

  My question was met with silence. No surprise there. I figured a couple of the reasons people pay the big bucks for a place like Silver Meadows is privacy and security. I followed up with, “I know you probably can’t give me her name or contact information, but could you get a message to her?”

  After a moment, Rhonda said, “Why not? She calls over here every morning to check on her dad. I can give her a message tomorrow morning.”

  “That’d be great,” I said. “Just tell her Riley Ellison from the Tuttle Times is doing a story on her cousin, Shannon Miller.”

  “Shannon Miller?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

 

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