Hot Off the Press (A Hailey Webb Mystery, Volume 1)

by Deany Ray

  My brewer was one of those low-tech, pour-over things, but it was one of the few items that I absolutely couldn’t live without—whether Connor and I had picked it out together or not.

  The sun was just peeking over the trees as I settled down on the balcony with a big helping of whipped cream on top of my coffee. I stared into the peaches-and-cream sky as the deep purples and blues faded slowly into warmer colors. Details slowly began to be revealed on the silhouettes outside, turning black blobs back into beautiful trees and plants. Birds chirped, greeting the sun with their tuneless little songs.

  What a week it had been. What a month. What a year. I hadn’t yet recovered. Gone were the stresses of planning a wedding, the busyness of putting together a future with the man I loved. These had been replaced by heartbreak and uncertainty. Then there was the added turmoil of quitting my job, leaving my old place, and having to find new . . . well, new everything.

  I was haunted still by the memory from our rehearsal dinner: opening the door to the checkroom in search of Connor and finding him nearly naked on top of that woman.

  I sipped my coffee, grimacing at the ugly picture still stuck in mind. It was something I would do almost anything to forget. I hadn’t seen Connor since then and hadn’t wanted to. But even as the pain of losing my job and my house faded as I found my footing again, the pain of his betrayal was still as fresh as it had been that first night.

  I’d slept over at Kat’s place for a while after that, refusing all contact with anyone but her. Without Kat, I’m not sure I would have made it through that first week.

  I finished my coffee and made myself another, pulling a sleeve of whole-wheat crackers out of the back of the pantry to nibble on. They were dry and tasteless, but they were really all I had left in the house that were at all breakfast-like. I definitely needed to do some grocery shopping.

  Next item on my morning list: reading Mike’s story. I headed in and grabbed my laptop. I pulled up the site of the Gazette and there it was—front and center. “Man Found Stabbed to Death After Massive Treasure Haul.” I eagerly read the few statements from the police along with details from an unnamed “source who was on the scene.” I liked the way the words flowed; Mike was good at what he did.

  Since I still had two hours before I had to be at work, I had time to put together one of my new Ikea shelves in my very empty bedroom. I drank another cup of coffee as I worked. Then I emptied two boxes of the books and knickknacks from my old place and arranged them carefully on the shelves. I stood back to admire my work. I was bound and determined to make this place feel like home.

  Even after all of that, it still was early to leave for the office, but it would be a busy news day; no one was ever reprimanded, I supposed, for getting to work before the appointed 9 a.m. I headed to my closet, determined to be casual and comfortable to meet whatever mayhem day two might have in store. I hoped for a calmer workday than my first day on the job. Still, whatever disasters might befall me, I’d tackle them in electric-pink sneakers, skinny jeans, and a soft blue sweater.

  I locked the door behind me and headed for the Jeep in the drizzly chill. I was more than ready for this little cool spell to dry up and blow away. We practically lived in the desert here; why on earth was it still raining? I thought about leaving a note on the car that was still stubbornly parked in my designated place, but the rain would likely blur any message I wrote.

  My Jeep still smelled like wet dog as I got in, turned on the heat, and headed into town. Thankfully, I beat Sandra to the office, and I happily sailed past her empty desk to look for Jerry. I found him in his office looking worn, as if he’d never left.

  “Good morning,” I told him, stepping in. Feeling that I still had time to make a decent “first impression,” I tried for a cheerful tone. “I hope you got my report?”

  “Over here, Jacobs! I need that paper now!” Jerry called, his attention elsewhere. “Yes, I got it, Webb. We’ll use the information for the in-depth piece we’ll be running in three days.” He turned toward the door and raised his voice. “Jacobs, you get lost out there?”

  “Okay, well . . . thank you, Jerry.” I began backing out. “I’ll leave you to your—” But he had already picked up the phone and was barking orders at someone else.

  I headed to my desk and found that some tasks were already waiting for me: setting up the conference room for a meeting and making some arrangements for someone on the entertainment desk to travel at the end of the week. There was a note from Jerry. “See if you can find some coffee beans that don’t suck. Leave them in the break room.” I had to laugh at that one. With the hours they seemed to keep around this place, coffee was important.

  As I set out reports and water bottles around the long table in the conference room, my mind kept going back to the bloody scene from the day before. I could not forget the awful whiteness of the victim’s face. In my mind, I could still see Connor’s name on that list of investors. I had so many questions about what had happened on that boat that my mind was spinning.

  I rapped on Jerry’s door.

  He looked up, his face a mix of annoyance and surprise.

  “I’ve set up the conference room and am checking into flights. But I was wondering if it’s okay if I asked around a bit about that company, Pearlrover.” I paused for a moment. “I might have a source.”

  He smiled. “The one O’Connell worked at? Hell, yeah. Go for it. You’re full of surprises, Webb. You did well last night with that information. I noticed you were up late and not wasting any time in getting the job done.”

  “Thanks, boss,” I said and smiled, feeling just a little bit proud of myself.

  “Who’s your source?” Jerry asked.

  Uh-oh.

  “Um . . . I’d like to keep it confidential,” I said.

  Jerry shrugged. “Your call. Just be sure the facts are accurate.”

  “Will do.”

  I hurried to book one of the flights that were up on my screen so I could get on with the work that was tugging at me. But first I made another phone call. “Hey, Kat, you up?”

  Her answer was a groan.

  “Come on; wake up, Kat. This is important.”

  “So is getting a full eight hours, Hailey.” Her voice was muffled—I imagined by her pillow. “And I have an appointment with The Good Doctor when I wake up. I’m behind by two episodes. What is this about?”

  “The dead treasure hunter.”

  Suddenly, Kat sounded more alive. “What about him? Did they find out something?”

  I grinned. “Not much, but I’m going to Pearlrover West, the company who employed him; are you in?”

  “Oh my God, of course I am. Can you pick me up?”

  Looking at my screen, I saw that some new tasks had come in, which I should take care of first. “Quick lunch before we go?” I asked. “Pick you up at noon?”

  “You got it. This is so exciting.” The phone clicked in my ear and I grinned; Kat was always up for any adventure.

  I finalized the travel arrangements, did a quick research project, and Googled prices on coffee beans at some nearby shops. Then I collected everything I would need for my endeavor: a notebook, some pens, and an umbrella. Thankfully, I’d grabbed a purse big enough to hold it all. A little before noon, I picked up Kat and headed to one of our favorite places. Thanks a Brunch was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall run by a loud and friendly crew, all of them immigrants from Greece. They greeted us with shouts as we walked in the door.

  “Welcome back, koukla!” one of the older women shouted from the back, throwing her hands up in the air. “It’s been too long!”

  I waved at them, grinning as the hostess sat us down at the booth closest to the window; it was my favorite seat. Oh, how I had missed this. Going out to eat with Kat had often been the highlight of my week before I lost my job.

  Ten minutes later, I was dipping my spoon into my lentil soup with an appreciative vigor.

  “So,” Kat said around a mouthful of potatoes. “Wha
t’s the plan?”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re not going to believe this.” I leaned in a little closer. “I was doing some online research on the treasure hunter for my boss when I found something interesting. Apparently, Connor—or someone with Connor’s name—is one of the investors of this Pearlrover West company that the victim was working for.”

  Kat blinked at me, her cheeks bulging with food as if she were a squirrel. She swallowed and stared at me hard. “Connor? As in your ex, Connor?”

  I nodded.

  Kat whistled. “This is news.”

  “I knew you’d like it,” I said.

  “But wait. Are you telling me that you’re now chasing that excuse for a human being after you’ve spent the last months trying to avoid his sorry ass?”

  It was my turn to stare. “Kat, I think you know he’s the last man in the world I’d want anything to do with. But you have to admit it’s too weird him being involved with that company. If that’s the same Connor, that is.”

  Kat frowned. “Yeah, okay, I get what you’re saying. The coincidence is too big to ignore.”

  “Exactly. I can’t explain it, but I have a feeling there’s something there. The investors they list on their website seem to be people from all over. I spent some time last night looking into them, and they don’t have much in common, or not that I could see.” I took a sip of coffee, relishing the rich and nutty flavor. Thanks a Brunch took almost as much care as I did brewing their fine joe. “Connor always told me about all of his investments, so why didn’t he tell me about this one? He must have left it out for a reason.”

  Kat chewed her food and looked thoughtful. “Maybe he took them up after your break-up.”

  “Could be,” I said. “But even so, I start a new job, and on my first day I find out my ex-fiancé is somehow involved. With a company a dead person worked at. A person I found dead. It’s just too—”

  “Weird.” Kat finished my sentence.

  I nodded and for the next few minutes we digested this new turn of events.

  Kat’s eyes narrowed, and she set her fork back down with exaggerated care. She opened her mouth several times before deciding how to start. “Hailey, look. I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but this is a little nuts. Let’s go to a bar or something when you get off work tonight. Hey, I wouldn’t mind checking out a few hot guys myself. Let’s get you back into the game but with someone who is not the lowlife of all lowlifes.”

  I rolled my eyes, holding the ceramic mug between my hands to allow the warmth to chase away the rainy chill. “I can’t believe you’d think that I’d go after Connor.” I paused. “I know you only want to protect me, and I love you for that, but it’s just . . . something feels off, Kat. And my gut tells me I need to know why Connor is involved in this.”

  Kat studied me. “Are you looking for closure?”

  I looked from my mug to Kat and back to my mug, but I couldn’t say anything.

  Kat watched me with narrowed eyes before giving up and diving back into her lunch. “Tell me what happened yesterday after I left,” she said, cutting into her omelet.

  I told her about driving to the office late at night and tearing up my shoes. I told her about my mother and her lips and her hysterics. I told her about the research I did on Pearlrover and O’Connell. I described the way I had gotten soaked in the hard rain. I talked until my food was cold and her plate was wiped nearly clean.

  Kat looked out the window, deep in thought. “So, you think going to this outfit that O’Connell worked for could somehow give you a clue?”

  I nodded, sipping at my coffee, which, sadly, was now cold.

  “All right then,” Kat said. “Then we’re back to my question. What’s the plan?”

  I smiled. “I’m hoping we can talk to someone at Pearlrover and ask them some questions about Derek and find out if Connor the investor is really my Connor.”

  Kat raised an eyebrow. “Your Connor?”

  “You know what I mean.” I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t read anything into it.”

  Kat put up her hands in a defense move. “Who, me?” Then she grinned. “So what did our treasure hunter find?” She emphasized the word “our.”

  “Oh right,” I said as I sipped some more coffee. “Apparently it was a significant haul. From what I’ve read, there were five pistols, real ornate ones too. Jewelry, a gold cross, and some coins. I read the descriptions too. Lots of gold and silver on those things.”

  “Fancy,” Kat said.

  “Yeah, too bad Derek won’t enjoy his triumph.” I took the last few bites of my food. “Man, this was good.”

  “Tell me about it. I missed coming here. You ready?”

  “Ready as can be,” I said.

  “Then let’s do it!” Kat threw two twenties onto the table and stood up. “Where is this Pearlrover place anyway?”

  I grinned, pushing back my chair, and waved at the waitress.

  She waved back, a big smile on her face. “How was your meal? You need another biscuit to go, koukla?”

  “No, thank you! Be back soon!”

  Chapter Seven

  As we headed north on the highway, Kat chatted amiably about her sister, who was pregnant again; she and her husband seemed to be trying to have enough kids to ensure they would never again all fit into a vehicle together.

  We pulled up to a building that housed the SoCal Pearlrover West Marine Division. It wasn’t a surprise that they had a base of operations in Palm Shores; we’d been home to many shipwrecks and had generous access to a long stretch of coastline. I bet they pulled up all sorts of things full of tales of long ago. Judging by the building, these items also must be full of opportunities to make a hefty profit.

  The building was a huge structure of glass and steel that reflected the gray clouds like a massive mirror. Several stories high, it towered over us, its shadow falling over my Jeep as I pulled into the guest parking lot. If this building was meant to intimidate us, it was doing a great job.

  I took a deep breath and got out of the Jeep. Kat followed, pulling out her umbrella as I did the same. Neither of us spoke the entire trek across the parking lot.

  The reception area of Pearlrover West was even bigger and more intimidating than the outside had led me to believe. Giant blue walls stretched up into the upper reaches of the building. The space was carpeted with red, high-traffic carpeting, its short, stubby pile seemingly designed to take the impact of hundreds of footsteps every day. People flowed in and out, everyone dressed in expensive business casual.

  Even the receptionist was wearing what looked like a high-end designer, and I could feel drool pooling in my mouth at her cashmere suit, tailored to hug all of the right places. I would have killed for an outfit like that.

  She looked to be about twenty-five—pretty, blonde, and blue-eyed. Checking us out through thin, navy-blue designer frames, she smiled as we approached. “Good day, ladies; how may I help you?”

  “Good afternoon, my name is Hailey Webb, and this is Kat Rexwinkle. We’re here from the Gazette to ask a few questions about a former employee for a story.” I showed her my ID badge from the Gazette.

  The woman’s smile dipped a little around the edges, but she remained polite. “Of course. I will check on that and possibly get one of the staff to walk you up. Do you mind waiting for a moment?” She gestured elegantly to one of the waiting couches.

  “Thank you,” I told her quietly as we moved to the couches. I closed my eyes and tried not to sigh out loud as the layers of cushiony, expensive fabric cradled my aching muscles.

  After we had waited for what felt like an eternity, a young, well-dressed kid approached. He looked like an intern with his brand-new suit and puppy-dog enthusiasm. “Welcome to Pearlrover!” he said with a big grin. Thin and gangly, he looked like he might have still been in high school. He had a soft baby face, black curly hair, and teeth so white they seemed to glow.

  It took everything I had not to laugh out loud. “Thank
you, sir. Are you here to take us for our interview?”

  “Yes, I would love to! Please follow me!” He spoke every sentence like it ended with an exclamation mark—or three. He swiped a card to get us further into the building, and we followed him to one of the massive silver elevator doors. As he turned to press the button for our floor, Kat turned to me, a look of incredulity on her face.

  I had to cover my laugh with a cough.

  After a brief ride during which Intern Boy enthusiastically covered the usual subjects for chitchat, we emerged into a predictably upscale space. The walls were painted in soothing blues and ocean greens and dotted with seascapes and giant photographs of underwater scenes. Seashells on the side tables completed the room’s look.

  As we passed the photos, I was struck by the mysterious—and rather spooky—outlines of vessels under the sea. There were masts and railings, all covered in crust from being underwater for so long. Fish and debris floated by as scuba divers swam around the ruined ships.

  “Here we are!” our guide chirped as we reached a heavy wooden door. His smile and enthusiasm hadn’t waned.

  I stared at the office door for a moment, reading the name on the plaque: Willard Manchester. Intern Boy knocked, paused for a moment, then opened the door for us to enter.

  The office was huge and airy and would have been full of sunlight on an ordinary day. I glanced around, my eyes running over the giant, built-in bookcase that took up the whole back wall. It was filled with books, awards, framed pictures, and other small but important-looking things. The massive desk that stood in front of it was made of solid wood. It looked like it cost more than a year of rent for my apartment.

  The middle-aged man behind the desk looked up and smiled as we entered, running his hand through his graying hair. Willard Manchester was massively overweight and dressed better than anyone I’d ever seen. He smiled at us, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I thought it would take a little longer for the press to descend on us,” he said, “but I will do my best to answer any questions you might have. I did see the article this morning. It doesn’t take long for the Gazette to get information up. I also understand Derek O’Connell had spoken to your paper before his . . . unfortunate demise.”