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

by Deany Ray

  I held out a hand, and his handshake was firm. “Hailey Webb, and this is Kat Rexwinkle. Beautiful offices,” I told him, “and what fascinating work this must be to immerse yourself in every day.”

  “Well, yes.” I could tell this man wasn’t pleased about our presence in his office, but he met my greeting with the forced enthusiasm of a professional. “We do work hard to take the ‘hidden’ out of hidden treasures. It’s amazing all the riches the sea has to bestow.” He gave us the kind of smile that meant he was in full-on PR mode.

  “Yes!” I smiled back at him sympathetically, hoping to establish a rapport. “It was just so unfortunate what occurred this week. I understand that Derek O’Connell’s finds were quite significant.”

  Manchester motioned for us to sit in the two plushy chairs that sat opposite his massive, high-backed leather monstrosity of an office chair. “Yes, quite a lot of jewelry, quite a lot of coins as well as other treasures, and then his luck, it would seem, ran out. We are, of course, cooperating with officials. Anything at all to help in the apprehension of the person who would do such a thing to a member of the Pearlrover family.” He settled his massive girth into his chair.

  “What can you tell me about Derek?” I did not pull out my notebook, sensing that would make this man less apt to be chatty.

  “I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell. Derek was a great employee, but the guy, to tell the truth, tended to be something of a loner, as many treasure hunters are.” He glanced at the expensive-looking desk clock in a way that seemed to signal that his time for us was brief.

  “Did he spend much time in the office, or was his work done mostly from his boat?” I asked, refusing to be rushed.

  “Well, he did come into the office some. He’d spent fifteen hours or so here every week handling paperwork and investor calls.” Manchester folded his hands in front of his face, peering over them at the two of us. “He was the quiet sort, didn’t have a lot to say. I never heard a lot about a family. He didn’t mention anything he liked to do outside of work. No family pictures on his desk. I think he spent most of his time on his boat, where he lived.”

  Kat leaned forward in her chair. “That must have been a grand life—hunting treasures, spending so much time on the sea, always the possibility of a big surprise.”

  I winced, thinking that our subject’s last surprise had been quite horrific, but Manchester only smiled in a superior kind of way. He seemed to be amused by Kat’s childlike excitement. Only I knew that was exactly Kat’s intent. People usually let their guard down when they think you’re not menacing.

  “Did Derek love his work?” Kat asked, hoping to draw Manchester into her enthusiasm.

  “Most of our employees are proud to be involved in the opportunities afforded by Pearlrover.”

  What a snoozer of a quote. We had to do much better.

  I was still on the case. “Derek’s final treasures seemed to have significance. Do you know their age?” I had read some information on that, but I was interested to see what additional details this man might reveal.

  “Our analysts believe the site contained the wreck of a Spanish galleon—from the seventeen hundreds, we believe.”

  “What happens to those kinds of things once a treasure hunter finds them?” I perched closer to the edge of my seat.

  “We take artifacts into our possession soon after they are found. The stuff will then get auctioned off. We at Pearlrover get a cut, as will the state of California, with a commission also going to the diver. In this case, to his estate.” Manchester put on an appropriate look of mournfulness when he got to that last part.

  “He must have been good at what he did,” I prompted, still hoping to learn more about the victim.

  “A big part of it was luck. Each worker has a section of the sea to which they are assigned, called quadrants, and Derek’s section without doubt was the place to be on the day of his big haul.” Manchester ran his hand through his thick hair again. “It had stormed the week before out in the ocean, which will often stir things up enough that treasures will emerge. The storm moved the seabed and Derek was out there on that day. This is often the way things are found at the bottom of the sea.” He leaned across his desk. “Derek’s boat is not one of the super-modern ones that we typically send out on the bigger explorations. Guys like him are not really in it for the money. What those guys are after is the thrill of the find. These are men who love life out on the open waters. Most of them are like Derek—no family, few ties to the land, adventure-loving types.”

  Kat still looked entranced by his reply from a few questions back. “A Spanish galleon,” she mused.

  Again, I saw a look of superiority flash across Manchester’s fleshy face. “You have to understand that most days around this place aren’t bursting with that kind of seat-of-your-pants excitement. Our company’s main work is in extracting minerals as opposed to three-hundred-year-old treasures.” The PR man in him reemerged. “I will admit, however, that we excel in the treasure-hunting business as well as in our other line of work. It is our motto here to do all things with excellence.”

  “It does sound that way,” I said. “I also would imagine that with a find like that, the commission for the diver must have been substantial.”

  “That depends, my dear, on your definition of substantial.”

  The man seemed to be adept at answering a question without . . . answering a question.

  “We had already paid to Derek a portion of what he was owed. We did that at the time he turned in the artifacts to us.”

  “I imagine that was enough to mean that Derek had a strong financial year.” I gave the man a friendly smile, still trying politely for an answer to my question.

  I was met with silence and a condescending smile.

  “Was that the normal method, to pay out the commission in installments?” I was determined to keep pushing. It was going to take more than this slightly sexist attitude to wear me down.

  “We do have policies and procedures that we follow.” Manchester was determined to spout out official-sounding words that did not reveal a thing.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Do divers like Derek work only on commission?” I asked.

  Manchester grinned. “It sounds more like you’re doing investigative work. These would be questions the police would ask.”

  I straightened my shoulders and smiled. “I’m sure they would. We’d also like to understand the big picture and the whole environment of our story subject, since that always helps us depict a more realistic view in our articles.”

  I could sense Kat glancing at me in a “are you for real?” manner.

  There was a beat of silence before Manchester spoke. “The divers are paid a monthly salary since it’s not an everyday occurrence that they find something valuable. When they do, they get their commission on top.”

  “I see,” I said and leaned forward. “So how—”

  The phone rang on Manchester’s desk and he lifted a finger at us while he answered.

  “Yes. Sure. Of course. I won’t need long.” Then he hung up.

  Getting just a bit impatient, I decided to change gears. Before he threw us out, I needed to see if I could figure out what my snake of an ex-fiancé had to do with all of this. “Another thing I’m interested in. What is the role of the investors?” I asked.

  This prompted Manchester to shift his massive girth, breathing heavily, as I looked him in the eye. “Well, they, of course, invest,” he said. “We give them good results, and they wisely feel that they would benefit from partnering with us.”

  Still, something didn’t fit. Connor never cared about undersea explorations or about anything at all, in fact, that didn’t have to do with stroking his hefty ego. It’s amazing what some time away from a person can do to one’s perspective. So why did Connor get involved?

  Sighing, I sat back in my chair. By the way Manchester’s eyes shifted once more to the desk clock, I knew our time was nearly up. We had hardly learned a t
hing.

  Sure enough, he rose from his seat. “Well, I’m afraid I have a meeting to get to, but I thank you ladies for your visit.”

  Kat stood when I gave her the signal, and she held out her hand. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  Discouraged, I stood up as well and reached for the door—but the handle, to my surprise, turned all on its own.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Manny,” a familiar voice said from the other side as the door inched opened. “But I really need to—”

  Then, as the door swung fully open, my eyes locked onto the face of the figure in the hall, and both of us froze in place. My heart trembled as I looked into the round, gray depths of a pair of eyes I’d once loved then grown to hate.

  They bore the same startled look as they had during our last encounter, but this time he was fully dressed, and his arms were not wrapped around a waitress.

  My ex-fiancé.

  As Kat had told me very recently on Derek O’Connell’s boat, this day had just taken a sharp turn.

  Chapter Eight

  For the first time in months, I was face-to-face with my ex. My eyes ran up and down those familiar features. His deep brown eyes were wide with shock, and his thin lips were parted slightly as he stared back at me. Connor had more of a tan than I’d ever seen him have before, and he was unshaven, his stubble hanging like a shadow over his square jaw. He looked thinner, and his black hair was just a little longer than I remembered. But I would know that face no matter how much he might have changed. It would be burned into my mind for the rest of my life.

  As we continued to stare at one another, the nightmarish restaurant scene played out in my head. Every horrific detail came rushing back at me, starting with the babbling of my half-dressed fiancé. I remembered the shock that had swept through my entire being on that fateful night.

  “Hailey, please,” he’d pleaded, holding out his hand. His tie was wrapped untidily around his neck like a snake. His eyes had been wide with horror as he stared into my face.

  I had looked around the checkroom, my face slack with shock. Dresses, suits, and coats waited for their owners to claim them at the end of the night. On a narrow counter, two glasses of white wine, half full, dripped condensation down their long stems. The clock above the doorway clicked the time, each tick slower than the last.

  My hand stayed clutched around the handle of the door, its cold seeping into my fingers as I stared, unable to process the scene playing out before my eyes.

  I recognized the waitress who’d poured champagne for me earlier that night. She was supposed to be serving dinner to my family and friends, who were still in the next room eating. I could hear their laughter filter through the walls. For the moment, they’d remain oblivious to the fact that my heart was being shattered like a piece of glass hurled onto the floor.

  The girl he was with was naked. Her unbuttoned shirt was wrapped around her elbows, exposing every inch of her. My fiancé, the man who had proposed to me, the man I thought loved me with all his heart, was . . .

  I couldn’t think about what Connor was doing to her. I closed my eyes, unable to keep looking, bile rising in my throat.

  “Crap,” Kat whispered, her voice dragging me out of my return trip to hell. I hated that I could still remember every detail. I wished I could erase the pain that lashed through me every time I remembered walking into that room.

  I swallowed, my mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton balls.

  I wanted to hit him, to scream, to cry. But instead, I stood frozen, staring into the eyes of the man who could have been my husband. If he had not turned out to be a cheating, no-good brute.

  I guess I had my answer now; Connor, as opposed to someone with the same name, was most certainly one of the investors.

  “Hailey,” Connor whispered. The sound of his voice brought back all sorts of memories that I longed to squelch. They bubbled in my gut like indigestion, and I wanted to just leave, thinking maybe it was not such a good idea to go looking for Connor at Pearlrover. The only trouble was, I couldn’t seem to get my feet to move.

  “Hailey,” he said again, a little louder this time. “What are you doing here?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I sputtered instead, like a fish out of water and slowly drowning in the air.

  “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I’m just glad you’re here; I’ve been dying to talk to you.” His voice was still deep and rich like the perfect cup of coffee. Responding to some deeply ingrained reflex, something in me melted when I heard that voice, a voice I’d heard speak my name with such love in the past.

  But that was a different time.

  I shook my head, taking a step forward. That meant Connor had to choose between barricading me into Manchester’s office or letting me push past him. He chose the second option, and I kept walking. Nope, I didn’t want to speak to him. I didn’t think I could take it.

  “Hailey, please, I just want to talk,” Connor begged, his whining grating on my every nerve. He tried to grab onto my wrist, but Kat stepped up to block him.

  “Hey, Bub, hands off the merchandise. You don’t get to tell her what to do.” Kat pushed her shoulders back, standing up at her full height. In her heels, she was as tall as Connor if not taller. Connor took an involuntary step back, his eyes a little wider than they had been before.

  It hit me then that if I walked away, I would always wonder what the weasel would have had to say. As much as it filled me with disgust just to stand close to him again, I needed closure on this chapter of my life. I knew the time had come to look him in the eye and mark this thing as done. After the incident, I’d blocked Connor’s calls and grabbed my things from our apartment when I knew he wasn’t there. Then I’d been watched over protectively by Kat, who wouldn’t let him near.

  Plus, I really wanted to know what his connection was to Derek O’Connell. The worst part of my past could just be the key to sweeping triumphantly into my future at the Gazette. I just wished the source was not a creepazoid.

  I sighed. “It’s okay, Kat. I—I guess we can talk for just a minute.” I glanced down at my sneakers while Kat looked at me askance.

  Connor led me to an empty conference room, and we went in while Kat waited by the door. With a flick of a switch, the lights came up, flickering and clicking as the halogen bulbs came to life. I looked around, studying the ugly, gray wallpaper and the giant white projector screen. My eyes swirled around the windowless space, trying to find something interesting to look at. Anything but Connor.

  “I am so sorry, Hailey,” he began, sounding like he’d pulled his speech from some cheesy rom-com. “I screwed up so badly, but I love you. I will always love you, Hailey. You know that. I haven’t thought about anything but you ever since it happened.”

  I took a deep breath but didn’t say anything. I studied my sneakers some more, leaning back on the conference table.

  “It didn’t mean a thing. I swear! I was just nervous, Hailey. It only happened once, and I would never, ever do a thing like that again.”

  I held up a hand, and the flow of crap from Connor’s mouth stopped immediately. I wasn’t here for this nonsense; he sounded about as sincere as a con artist trying to reel in another sucker. My trust was gone, and there wasn’t anything in the world he could ever do to bring it back.

  I highly doubted that the waitress had been Connor’s first—just the first one that I’d caught him with. In our two and a half years together, who knew how many there had been? At least I’d found out when I did and wasn’t married to the creep. I deserved so much more than a life with a man like that.

  “Tell me why you’re here,” I said flatly, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Connor hesitated. A look of confusion crossed his eyes. “I . . . what do you mean?”

  “Here. At Pearlrover. What are you doing here?”

  With a sheepish look, he ran a hand through his hair, not looking at me as he said, “I’m just an investor, Hailey. Like with the oth
er business deals I’ve done since I left Griffingate.”

  “What? You’re not at Griffingate anymore?” That was the explanation for him walking around here on a workday.

  “Nah. I’m in investments full time now, and I came here for a meeting.” Now he was rubbing the back of his neck. Was he nervous—or was he lying about the reason he was here?

  I crossed my right ankle over my left, shifting my weight. “Tell me about Derek O’Connell.”

  He knit his brows together, looking genuinely surprised. He was not expecting this line of questioning. “Oh, O’Connell, yeah. You mean the guy who died.” Connor spoke slowly, like he was treading uncomfortable waters.

  I nodded.

  “Why do you want to know?” He looked confused.

  “Just answer the question, Connor.”

  His voice rose in volume. “I don’t want to talk about some damned treasure hunter, Hailey. We should be talking about us.”

  “Us?” I could feel the anger building up inside me. “There is no us! You broke us!”

  Connor sighed. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “Tell me about Derek O’Connell,” I demanded again, keeping my voice calm.

  Connor threw his hands up in the air. “I never met the guy, and why do you even care?” I gave him the eye, and he sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Okay, fine. From what I heard, he was a loner, did his job by himself, which is a bit different in this business. Most of these treasure-hunting guys go out as a team. This O’Connell, he was one of the more successful divers at finding the good stuff. They’re going to miss him here when it comes to the bottom line, for sure. But no one really knew him—personally, that is—as far as I could tell.”