BURN IN BELL

by Jeremy Waldron

  I moved to my dresser and stood in front of the mirror, carefully choosing what earrings to wear. It was a slim collection, but the jewelry I did own, I cherished.

  Erin was more confident than I was when it came to the business side of things. She always had been. We began our journey on a whim nearly a year ago, and Erin had been working tirelessly marketing our talents bringing in whatever ad dollars we could generate. It wasn’t much, but the numbers were steadily growing in an upward trajectory that kept me hopeful about possibly having a bright future for ourselves.

  With one earring on, I turned my head for the other. Taking a step back, I stared at my reflection, marveling at the woman I had become.

  “You deserve this,” I said in a low volume. “And so does Mason.”

  I really believed this might be the lucky break we’d been waiting for.

  I found Erin in the living room with her legs draped over the arm of my sofa chair, playing on her phone. My yellow lab, Cooper, was curled up on his bed at her swinging feet. I asked them both, “How do I look?”

  Erin turned her head just as the front door opened behind me. Cooper jumped up and ran to the door with his tail wagging. He greeted my sister, Heather, and when she saw what I was wearing, her mouth opened and suddenly everyone was giving me the same look.

  “What?” I asked, wondering if I’d sprouted wings.

  “Nothing.” Heather shook her head and continued to gape. “You look stunning.”

  I bit my cheek and made a face.

  “Really.” She closed the door and stepped inside. “I don’t recognize you.”

  Laughing, I twirled and relished in the rare feeling of having soft silk fabric swish around my calves before finishing with a curtsey. I wished King could have seen this.

  I asked, “It’s not too much, is it?”

  Erin was now on her feet. “You look like a star.”

  I raked her over and told her she looked gorgeous too in her equally long jet-black dress.

  She leaned in to give me a hug and spoke softly into my ear, “We’re going to kill it tonight.”

  My eyebrows pulled together. Erin pulled back and gave me a questioning glance. I asked, “Why now? Why does it feel so out of the blue?”

  Erin lifted one side of her face and said, “I may have pitched him an offer and asked if he would like to meet with us.”

  “You did?”

  “I think it’s time. Don’t you?”

  Smiling, I said, “I do. Now, let’s see what the Million Dollar Man wants to do with two crime junkies.”

  “What are you two talking about?” my sister asked. “And where are you going?”

  Erin looped her arm through the crook of mine and we laughed our way out the door, saying, “Don’t worry. We won’t be out late.”

  Chapter Nine

  As soon as we arrived to the restaurant, Erin reached over and grabbed my hand. “Remember. It’s just a meeting. Nothing different than what we do every day.”

  I was still staring at the entrance to the restaurant when I turned to Erin and gave her a small, reassuring smile. I knew she could see my lack of confidence in my eyes, but I couldn’t keep my nerves from getting the best of me every time I thought about how much this meeting could change my life.

  “I’m fine.” I turned my head and flashed Erin a stern look of false confidence. “Really.”

  “Just be yourself.”

  As soon as we were inside, the hostess greeted us and immediately invited us to follow her to a private room in the back where Walter Walker was waiting. I worried how long he’d been waiting.

  Walker stood as soon as he saw us coming. Dressed in a three-piece suit worth more than my car, I felt my steps shorten the moment we locked eyes. His dark eyes pierced me with a glimmering gaze that had me feeling like he hadn’t noticed Erin at all.

  “The courageous Samantha Bell,” he said, rounding the table with extended arms.

  “And my cohost,” I rolled my wrist and introduced my friend and business partner, “the audacious Erin Tate.”

  Walter Walker clasped his hands together and bowed before leaning in to gently kiss my cheek. His scent—a musky spice—was the same as King’s and instantly made me feel at home. He did the same for Erin but seemed to have his sights set on me.

  “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”

  “You’re lucky we didn’t have anything better going on tonight,” I said with a completely straight face.

  Walker’s eyes locked on mine and I wasn’t sure if that pissed him off or not. Didn’t really care. But I needed him to know who he wanted to work with and, like Erin said, I was just being myself.

  Walker angled his head toward the woman standing behind him. “Meet my lovely assistant, Gemma Love.”

  With a smile stretched to my ears, I extended my hand to Ms. Love. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Gemma locked eyes as if assessing my worth and, though it was an awkward introduction, I kept my hand available. The room spun and I could feel Erin and Walker giving each other a look. Finally, Gemma stepped forward and took my hand inside her own. Everyone smiled.

  Gemma had a firm grasp, surprisingly strong for someone an inch shorter than myself, and she was absolutely beautiful. It spoke volumes for who Walter Walker was and the type of people he hired.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” she said.

  “Please sit.” Walker turned to the table and directed traffic. “Let us drink wine and get to know each other.”

  “Sounds fabulous,” Erin said, taking a seat next to Gemma.

  I fell into the seat next to Walker, feeling like he’d planned it that way. We shared a smile before the wine was poured. I kept getting little scents of King and couldn’t help but notice how small I felt when sitting next to him.

  There were already several appetizers on the table—shrimp and oysters on ice, ahi sushi rolls and edamame. Naturally, I was impressed. Walker rolled out the red carpet for us and was treating us like we were the celebrities instead of him. I just hoped he wouldn’t stick us with the bill by the time this was all over.

  “Samantha, tell me,” Gemma said from across the table, “why are you still working for a failing paper when there is so much money to be made in entertainment?”

  Erin raised her eyebrows and hid her smirk inside her wine glass. It was clear she appreciated Gemma’s approach of skipping small talk in favor of diving headfirst into why we were here in the first place.

  “Well,” I rolled my shoulders back, not wanting to pretend to be something I wasn’t, “investigative journalism is about uncovering the truth. I’m not interested in chasing ratings and, quite frankly,” I rolled my gaze to Walker, “I’m scared to know what a world without local reporting will look like.”

  Walker nodded and smiled as he raised his glass. Then Gemma surprised me with, “So when you say truth, you mean like what happened to Governor Philip Price when he got caught up in your story?”

  It was a sucker punch to the gut, knocking the air out of me. How did she know about my personal failure—something as intimidate as that mistake? Did Governor Price tell her? Walker certainly had access to someone like Price. Walker had done his homework. What else did he know? And, more importantly, what else should I be prepared to defend?

  I flicked my gaze to Erin, thinking about the bumpy ride I experienced when working The Lady Killer story. It just so happened to be the same story I had first met Erin on and what began our journey working together. Was that what this was about? To prove that they already knew our story?

  “Sometimes we get it wrong,” I swept my gaze back to Gemma, “and when we do, we publicly correct our errors and admit our mistakes.”

  Gemma pursed her lips and I watched her reptilian eyes focus in on me again. It was clear she didn’t like me from the moment she laid eyes on me, but I didn’t appreciate her sour looks either. I could brush it off, assuming it was all by design so Walker could gauge how well I worked under such s
crutiny.

  Walker sipped his wine, enjoying the show before commenting on how great the food was. Then he turned to me and said, “Is it possible, Samantha, that the Times may be holding you back?”

  “How so?”

  “What I mean by that is, perhaps you’re only meeting your true potential when telling your stories through the website and podcast you and Erin created.”

  Erin brought her elbows to the table. “The paper gives us clout. Including access to people and places we wouldn’t otherwise receive if only referencing our website.”

  “And that is what I’m hoping to change.” Walker winked and it suddenly became clear how manipulative this man could be.

  I was curious to how he planned on making our small platform carry the same weight as the Colorado Times, so I asked. Over the next half hour, Walker laid out his plan for Real Crime News, our brand, and how after he was finished building off of the foundation we created, we’d be able meet with anyone we wanted.

  “Sounds convincing.” Erin nodded her head.

  “Because it will work,” Walker said.

  I asked, “But why do you care? There are dozens of other people doing exactly what we’re doing. What makes us special?”

  Walker pulled his hand away from his wine glass and scooted closer to me. I felt my heartrate tick up a notch at the thought that he might be brazen enough to reach under the table and touch my thigh.

  “Simple, Samantha. I’m a fan of true crime and I don’t think Real Crime News has received the recognition it deserves.”

  “Amen to that.” Erin raised her glass. Gemma followed, and I wanted to, but Walker was still holding his eyes on mine, keeping my hand from making its move toward my glass.

  “Samantha,” Walker smiled, “you don’t know it yet, but you two are rock stars.”

  “We’re barely known outside of Colorado,” I countered.

  Walker laughed and finally retreated back into his own air space. “Famous people have the quality that made them famous long before anyone knew who they were.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be famous,” I said, much to Erin’s disapproval.

  “Don’t worry,” Walker lifted his glass into the air, “you’ll do that yourself whether or not you ask for it.”

  “Then remind me why it is we’re here again?”

  Walker tilted his head and winked. “To make sure the truth gets told.”

  Chapter Ten

  “This has his name written all over it.” King exited the bedroom and followed his partner to the kitchen with forensics snapping photos behind him. “You know which case I’m referring to, don’t you?”

  Alvarez was marching down the hallway when he looked over his shoulder and said, “Just take a look at something else; then tell me if you still think it’s him.”

  King barely glanced at the framed photographs—some of which he was in—hanging on the wall as he passed beneath them. His vision blurred from the similarities between Peggy Hill’s alleged murder and that of a case six years ago that he couldn’t solve. But why here? Was it a coincidence or was there a reason Peggy had been chosen?

  Their heavy footsteps shook the floorboards, reverberating deep into King’s bones. He masked his confusion with anger and reminded himself to not rule out the possibility of a copycat killer, either. At this point, anything was possible.

  Alvarez snapped on his latex gloves and King followed suit.

  “There.” Alvarez pointed to the center of the dining room table. “Recognize that?”

  King stood, towering over the wooden table, staring at a very familiar white card with fancy lettering inscribed on the front. Suddenly, he was swept up in the past. Bright flashes lit up the backs of his eyes. “You found it just like that?”

  It was the engagement announcement to King’s wedding that never got sent out. It was opened and perched perfectly for all to see. Did the killer want King to find it? It certainly seemed so.

  Alvarez stepped forward and plucked it off the wooden table, handing it to King. “Something tells me Peggy wasn’t the one who put this out.”

  King pinched the card between his fingertips and felt a stone form in his throat. He thought about the night he asked Peggy’s daughter Angelina to marry him. He could still hear her squeal the word yes. Before that day, he’d never been happier.

  “Though I’ve never been invited to a wedding where the couple paid for guests to come.” Alvarez was referring to the twenty-dollar bill attached to the inside.

  King looked at the date of when the twenty-dollar bill was printed. 2014. “This is new.”

  When King pointed to the print date, Alvarez asked, “Then did you plan to have Desmund Tutu officiate your wedding? Because I’m not making sense of any of this.”

  King stared at the words scribbled across Andrew Jackson’s white cheeks. He shook his head and said, “It was my father’s favorite quote.”

  Alvarez wrinkled his brow and looked at King like he was crazy. “Your father?”

  King swept his gaze up and stared. “Marshall King.”

  “I know who your father was, but what’s he got to do with any of this?”

  King scrambled to make sense of it himself. He glanced over his shoulder, thinking about how and why Peggy might have been murdered. He tried to piece it all together but nothing was making sense. Was he too close to the victim to see the clues? He had his doubts, but what message was this person trying to send him? He didn’t know, but there was something else on King’s mind. Now he wondered if that was also connected to the crime committed here tonight.

  “I don’t know,” he said, setting the card back on the table.

  Heading for the exit, Alvarez called after him. “Where are you going?”

  What King needed was to breathe fresh air and clear his head. But first he needed to let Angelina know her mother had been murdered.

  Chapter Eleven

  King hated the silence. He wished he could see her face as he broke the news—hold her in his arms just to let her know that she wasn’t alone. They were grieving together. Then Angelina’s tiny voice cut through the line. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  King picked his head up. “I’ll stay here until you arrive.”

  Ending his call, he thought about the woman who’d come so close to being his wife. Her heart was broken. He could hear it in her voice and he hoped he masked his own pain in order to be the rock he knew Angelina needed. An unexpected death was one thing, but to know your mother had been murdered was unthinkable.

  With watering eyes, King curled his fingers into his palm and made a fist. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for Peggy’s untimely death. Someone had chosen this house, and Peggy, for a reason. King knew that reason was himself. What had he done to make someone want to kill Peggy? Who did he piss off? What were they trying to prove? Of course, he couldn’t tell Angelina any of this. Even if he could, he wasn’t sure he would want to.

  “Go get some coffee,” Alvarez suggested as he caught King rubbing his eyes.

  King lifted his head and swung his gaze to his partner. “Angelina is on her way now.”

  Alvarez nodded. “There is no sign of a break-in.”

  “What are you saying? Peggy knew the person who murdered her?”

  Alvarez let his eyes wander to the police line. He shrugged his shoulders. “At this point, anything is possible.” Sweeping is gaze back to King, he said, “You know you’ll have to ask her where she was tonight?”

  King nodded, already mulling over how he’d approach the delicate subject with Angelina. It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t have been the one to do it. He was still stuck on the cold case from six years ago, the one the press called The Pillow Strangler.

  Mrs. Hill lived a quiet life of community service, family, and church. A routine life whose pattern could be learned in as short as a week’s time. There were no secrets when it came to Peggy. She was the type of woman who wore her emotions on her sleeve. The more King consid
ered it, the more sense it made that the suspect he couldn’t catch six years ago would taunt him by killing the woman he thought was his mother-in-law by smothering her with a pillow.

  King turned and faced the house, trying to make sense of the message left for him.

  “Why does this feel personal?” Alvarez asked.

  King could still smell the many Wednesday night dinners he and Angelina had shared with Peggy when they were dating. It was here, at this house, he’d received the news he would make detective. He could feel his heart break again with the memory of Angelina walking away, unable to marry someone whose job was so dangerous, calling their relationship quits before vows were made.

  King said, “Because it is.”

  Alvarez tipped his head back and gave King a questioning look.

  King skirted around him and headed for the neighbor’s front door. “Has anyone asked the neighbors if they saw anything?”

  Alvarez followed, said he didn’t think anyone had. But once in sight of the front door, King hit the brakes and stared with a blank expression falling over his face. A flashback to the note tacked to Erin Tate’s door had him hearing Sam read what it said.

  “You haven’t forgotten about me, have you? Of course you have. Burn in hell, pig.”

  “Jesus, what is it now?” Alvarez asked.

  King blinked. “I was followed earlier.”

  “Followed?”

  King told him what happened.

  “Probably some punk kids,” Alvarez said.

  King didn’t think so.

  “Wait, you still think it could be him?”

  “Why not?” King met Alvarez’s gaze. “It’s got to be that bastard, Orville Boyd,” King said.