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

by Deany Ray

  “I talk a lot about him because he’s a colleague, Kat. As you know, there’s been a lot to talk about when it comes to my job. Oh, and by the way, all that stuff about Pearlrover and the fraud—keep that to yourself until the story’s out. Highly confidential.”

  She made a motion as if to zip her lip. Then she looked at my new phone. “Awesome that you found your old brand. Stick with what you know, right?”

  That was the one thing I realized I hadn’t told her. “Well, actually . . . I got the phone from Mike.”

  Kat put down her latte. “What? What do you mean?”

  I told her about the surprise package, and I felt myself blushing. Crap. I needed to get over this.

  Kat wiggled her eyebrows again. “Is that so? From just-a-colleague Mike?”

  “He knows I need it for my job. I can get into the system from my phone when I’m away picking up dry cleaning or whatever.”

  “Uh huh, sure, whatever you say,” she said with a grin. She wasn’t buying it.

  A silence fell between us as we pondered that. “Subject change,” I said. “How are you and Intern Boy? I mean Pete.”

  “He’s so sweet. Tonight’s a movie date.” She blushed. “I get to pick the movie, since he said he doubts he can take his eyes off his date long enough to watch the show.”

  I laughed. “That is so wrong. But that boy has it bad.” I was almost envious of that intoxicating, makes-other-people-want-to-hurl, first stage of a new romance. That would come for me in time; I was optimistic. For now, I had to heal. I had been thinking of going out with Kat tonight, but it wouldn’t be a bad thing to just stay home and chill. After the week I’d had, a bit of quiet would actually be just perfect.

  I gathered the wrappers from my brunch and stuffed them into the bag. “Any progress on the roommate?”

  “Still more interviews, but no.”

  She hung out a little longer, and we got the giggles about nothing, which we always seemed to do. I was feeling good when I told her to have fun with Intern Boy and walked her to the door. She told me to be careful and I gave her a hug. As I shut the door behind her, I was eager for a little reading time, perhaps out on the balcony, or some nice relaxing tunes. The chilling out was officially underway.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Late that afternoon, the thought of calling Mike to thank him for the phone kept bugging me. Only I didn’t have his number. Now that I thought about it, it really was amazing for him to go and do that—and so quickly too. If he hadn’t speeded up the process, my mother and best friend would have been on a call with the police right about now.

  I stared at the phone, wondering how to find out Mike’s number. I couldn’t call Jerry to ask for it on a Saturday,—only if it involved business. But it didn’t and I couldn’t think of any other options. Just then, the phone buzzed. An unknown number popped up and I gulped. Then I decided I couldn’t live my life as a scaredy-cat, just because I had a morbid kind of week. So I answered.

  It was Mike.

  I smiled at the coincidence. Although he didn’t believe there was such a thing, the universe seemed to disagree.

  I answered teasingly. “Just got this phone today, and now strange men are calling, even though I never give my number to strange men.”

  He laughed. “I’m a reporter, I can find out your number either way.”

  “Uh huh. Just please don’t turn into a stalker.”

  “Don’t worry, I know where to draw the line,” he said. “Did you like your gift?”

  “Did I? What you did was amazing! Thank you. I really didn’t expect it.”

  “Glad to do it,” he said. “I thought you of all people could use a phone, you know, to call for help when trespassing on boats and tripping over bodies and falling into lakes.”

  “And shooting arrows into trucks,” I added.

  “Yeah, that too. I got a fresh mirror installed, so you can have your way with it.”

  I felt a blush creeping up my neck. “That sounds dirty.”

  I could hear Mike grinning. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me today. My plans are TV, eat, nap, repeat. No rescue will be needed today.”

  “Too bad,” he teased. “I’m good at that. Take it easy, Hailey.” With that, he hung up.

  I sat still for a moment, holding the sound of his voice in my mind. I was getting warm. Why was I warm all of a sudden? I should open a window. A day to myself had sounded really good, but I found myself missing Mike, for whatever stupid reason. He was just a guy from work, who I’d see soon enough on Monday.

  I ordered myself some Thai food, settled back against the cushions, and aimed the remote at the TV, skipping over anything with words like crime or thriller in the description of the program. I watched TV on and off throughout the rest of the day, reading a little too. In the middle of a late-night Julia Roberts marathon, I fell asleep. I woke up to the dawn seeping through the windows.

  As some TV weatherman blared on about no chance of rain, I sat up on the couch, which was still a couch and not a bed, much to the chagrin of my stiff back. Spicy Thai smells filled the air, not as appetizing as they were the night before. Rather sickening, really. I looked down to see a big stain on my shirt. Ugh. Happy Sunday, Hailey.

  I cleaned up, opened a window, and tried to ease my muscles with a long, hot shower. Then I made some coffee and settled on the balcony to sip myself awake. Perhaps this could be the day to work on my apartment, which could, in fact, be fun. I still needed a real bed for starters. Some extra shelving in the kitchen would be nice, and perhaps an armoire or a dresser so I could finally unpack the last of my clothes.

  After I ate some oatmeal, I started up my laptop. I looked for some deals on furniture, pinning some design ideas on my Pinterest board. It was nice to know if I found something that I loved, there would be no one to tell me the color was too bright, or the size was wrong. I wondered if I could still find that painting Connor hated, the one that showed a forest in the dying light of day. I still thought sometimes about that painting. A leafy pathway wound through a dark wood toward something I just knew would be magical and grand. Nothing “hideous” about it, I had maintained to Connor. What did Connor know about art, for heaven’s sake?

  The thought of him sent my thoughts racing to the things I’d vowed to forget. I shut down my laptop, thinking a trip for groceries would get my mind off work and whatever was going on with Connor and Pearlrover. I changed out of my pj’s into jeans, a soft t-shirt, and some sneakers, and then I was off. When words like tax evasion and cause of death popped into my mind, I forced myself to think of other words: couscous, cheese, apples, cereal, red wine.

  It was one of those drives when every light turned red just as I approached. Instinctively, I groaned, but then thought: what did I care? There was no hurry, and I loved it—that I didn’t have to care. I had all the time in the world.

  Nonetheless, sitting at the red lights gave me time to think, and so many questions popped into my brain. Why did Connor leave a field of work he loved, to do the things he’d done? What if Mike was wrong about the tax scheme? What if Connor hadn’t done it? It just was so bizarre.

  Part of me hoped so hard that Mike was wrong about this man whose dreams for the future had once been so tied to mine. Part of me thought of all the times I had wished I could punch Connor in the face. Life, it seemed, had stepped in to do the job for me. Anger warred with pity, and somewhat to my surprise, pity won out in the end.

  I groaned as I made up my mind. I had once loved a person who was still inside the loser Connor had become. I made an illegal U-turn at the next light and sped in the opposite direction of the grocery store. Somehow, I was certain Mike was right about the crimes Connor was involved in. With that in mind, I also felt there was one more thing I could do for Connor, the old Connor I had loved. I hoped in the future he could be that man again—or at least a somewhat broken semblance of him. His once-bright career
was shot. Prison time was not a great addition, after all, to a resume. But I knew I needed to do this. My internal compass led the way.

  As I picked up speed, I heard Mike’s voice in my head warning me away. Mike would be furious at me if I blew the story. The information he had given me was sensitive, highly confidential. It could even get me fired. Still, I felt in my heart that I had to do what I was about to do, and that would complete the Connor chapter of my life.

  The Chinese restaurant on the corner and the florist shop were familiar markers that I was getting closer to my old place, where Connor lived alone. My mind was blank as I followed the old route, almost in a trance.

  I parked at the curb when I pulled up to our place. His place, Connor’s place—old habits, they die hard. I made my way to the door like a woman on a mission. Memories came flooding back: walking down this sidewalk hand in hand with Connor, giddy with a slight buzz from a party; plucking a morning glory from the yard to stick in a vase on the kitchen windowsill. I registered the fact that the memories were just that: thoughts about a life that now was in my past. I had happily moved on.

  Still resolute in my task, I pressed the button on the intercom.

  “Who’s there?” He sounded half asleep, as if I had caught him in mid-nap.

  Surprisingly, my heart rate remained stable. “It’s me. I need to talk to you.”

  There was a pause before he answered. “Come on up.” I heard surprise and hopefulness in his voice. He’d be feeling something very different in about three minutes.

  I headed up the familiar staircase and found him waiting for me, the door already opened. I glanced into his eyes. The hope I sensed in his voice had now turned to sureness as he smiled at me. Here he was, thinking that I’d come running back. Think again, sweets.

  “Hailey, hey. Come in. Aren’t you a nice surprise?” He was turning on the charm, looking super cocky. Oh, that wouldn’t last for long.

  “I didn’t come to stay, just to relay some information.” I took a cleansing breath. “This is the last contact we’re going to have. The Gazette knows about the tax evasion at Pearlrover.”

  I watched his face turn white.

  “I am telling you this now so you can turn yourself in before tomorrow if you choose. Then maybe they’ll go easier on you. They’re publishing the story tomorrow morning and they’re going to raid Pearlrover.”

  Although his mouth was open wide, no sound came out of it.

  That’s when I walked away. I made my way back down the walkway, and I got into my Jeep. A feeling of deep calm rose up my chest as I very carefully pulled out of my spot and merged into the steady traffic. Right or wrong, I’d made a choice to help the guy I used to know, the one who’d stayed up late with me talking about our childhoods and our futures, the one who’d bought me Reese’s Pieces from the grocery store and sat through sappy movies, laughing at me when I cried. The traffic stalled as it always did, at the four-way stop down the street. Silently, I wished Connor well and hoped he could build a new life once the law was done with him.

  Now, about those groceries. I reached for my sunglasses against the sudden glare. I felt lighter now, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. As the traffic began to move again at a steady pace, my mind filled with scenes of me and Connor back at Griffingate. We were so sure back then our lives would turn out very differently than what lay in store for us. I always thought my work life would revolve around picking the perfect graphics to draw the eye to the page, arranging text so that the layout . . .

  And then it hit me. Or it was, in fact, the other way around: I almost was the one to slam into something, which was the car in front of me. With my sudden revelation, I hadn’t noticed the traffic had once more come to a stop. I stomped on my brakes, thankful not to add a crash to my list of recent horrors. With an apologetic smile, I waved to the other driver as she glared at me in her rearview mirror.

  As the traffic picked back up, my heart rate returned to normal and my mind went back to the murders. Layout. That was it. Now I understood why the desk on O’Connell’s boat had seemed to stick out in my mind as some kind of clue. I had to get back on the boat and check out my theory. Obviously, part of me understood that returning to that boat was absolutely bonkers. After all, there seemed to be something there the bad guy wanted. Would we meet again? I shivered at the thought. Oh, yes, I understood that I should stay away—but I had to know. It was an unanswered question that I couldn’t stand not knowing the answer to, like an itch I had to scratch. And hey, what were the chances that guy would step on that boat when I’m there, again? Pretty slim.

  Once again, I did an illegal U-turn, this time pointing my Jeep toward the marina. The thought of that boat, and that closet, made my chest ache with dread, but there was a thread of excitement that ran through the fear. I felt so close to the answer. If I was correct, there was something there to find. If I was wrong and I got caught, I could be humiliated, or arrested, or fired or dead. I thought about it. The curiosity won.

  I started to breathe harder. Maybe sweat a little. I really didn’t want to go onto that boat alone, but what could I do? I couldn’t call the cops without looking too weirdly involved in this investigation. They would figure out that I had trespassed earlier onto the murder scene, and this whole horrific nightmare could get even worse.

  Kat was my usual go-to for some off-the-wall adventure, but I knew she was probably busy now with her Intern Boy. That meant my only choice was Mike, and now I had his number programmed in my phone. Plus, it made sense to call him. Of all the people, he would really want to know this. Maybe he wouldn’t be happy, maybe he’d be miffed; but if my thinking was correct, I’d be handing him a scoop.

  When I stopped at the next light, I placed the call with trembling fingers and put it on speaker mode. The call went straight to voice mail, making my heart sink.

  “Hey, I’m heading to O’Connell’s boat,” I said when I heard the beep. In my mind, I could see him as he listened, his forehead scrunched up in concern. “I think I figured something out,” I said. “Please come. ASAP.”

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the marina, thankful that at least there was a lot of daylight left. Since it was a Sunday, the parking lot was full of both cars and groups of people mingling with their friends and lifting coolers from their cars. The brightly colored straps of bathing suits underneath t-shirts made me wish that I was there to throw on some suntan lotion and soak up some rays. Instead, I was on a mission fraught with danger, very much at odds with the bright sun and warm breeze and so many carefree people.

  Even so, the crowd made me feel a little safer; murders hardly ever happened in crowds of happy people, right? Then I thought about the crowd of happy people at the auction and what had happened in the men’s room while they had their fun. My heart pounded harder and echoed in my ears; I wasn’t safe at all.

  Very casually, I took note of my surroundings, looking for familiar faces. I tried to be careful not to draw attention to myself. I only took my keys and my phone with me. Some children raced around me as I made my way to O’Connell’s boat, and their parents called for them to slow down. “No running on the pier!” Many of the boats were already on the water or had people on them, calling to each other and making preparations for some time out on the lake.

  Reaching my destination, I listened carefully for any sound coming from O’Connell’s boat. Still trying to blend in, I pretended to check something on my phone as I listened and gathered up my courage. Then I surveyed the scene one final time. Now or never. I was going to do my thing as fast as I could and leave.

  With a knot in my stomach, I climbed aboard the boat. Still listening carefully, I heard no footsteps and no voices. Even so, I was half afraid that someone would be waiting as I very slowly opened the cabin door and slipped inside, making sure I didn’t trip over that stupid step.

  I moved straight to the desk and opened the bottom drawer, which was empty, as expected. I worked with it until I fou
nd a false bottom and the narrow compartment underneath. Score! I’d been exactly right. I’d been served very well by years of layout work and envisioning how spaces could be filled. Who would have imagined that experience in graphic design could be parlayed into a talent for investigating murders?

  I pulled out a stack of photos and bits of paper that O’Connell, for some reason, had wanted to keep safe. I rifled through them quickly, knowing any minute someone could come in. I found some old school records and a braided bracelet with beads that spelled out “Derek,” the kind of thing a child might make. The photos, black and white, showed a younger version of O’Connell with a woman: standing by a lake, posing somewhere in a mountain setting, leaning against a wall with drinks in their hands. In every shot, the woman smiled out broadly at the camera, but O’Connell was always turned toward her. By the look in his eyes, I could see he was in love. On the back of one of the pictures, he had scrawled “Me and Moira.”

  I was thankful that bucket hats and fringe bangs went out in the nineties, as I went through the piles. Nothing seemed to be relevant or spark a new direction. I was hoping thoughts of fashion could distract me, but every sound outside seemed to startle me. It was as if in my mind, every voice and every footstep meant that someone out there was heading to the boat.

  I checked the back of every picture and finally found some writing on another shot that showed Moira on a bike. “I’ll always love you, Moira.” Aww. Another word was smudged. Still feeling the urge to hurry, I took the photo to the window to get a better look. The blinds were still drawn, but a lot of sun came through the slats. The word started with “Ga.” I looked again and squinted. “Galligan.” I frowned. Where did I hear that before?