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

by Deany Ray

  He smiled a wicked smile and I watched in horror as he pulled the screwdriver from his leg. I thought I was about to hurl. The whole thing looked so painful that my own leg began to ache. Even more horrific was the crazed look in his eye as he hobbled toward me with the bloody screwdriver raised up the air. The blood just kept on flooding out in rivers from his leg as I backed away, hitting the railing.

  I was reconsidering that dive into the water when the loss of blood seemed to do him in. He had that look about him like he was about to faint. Still, he kept moving forward, although more slowly now. The whole episode, in fact, seemed to be unfurling in slow motion.

  As he seemed to grow woozier, I made one final push and lunged at him, sending him crashing to the floor of the deck. With a strength I had no idea I possessed, I kicked him and threw him into the water through an opening in the railing. I thought I was safe for only one second, until I realized that Pete, as he tumbled toward the depths, had a firm grip on my foot. I was falling too.

  We landed with a splash. I came up for air, and I spotted him, flailing. I could tell this former strong guy was growing weaker by the minute. I had to think fast. The mad scramble to stay safe wasn’t over yet. Pete in his current state no longer frightened me, but being he was a nut and unpredictable, he could take me with him into the depths of the ocean.

  With determination, I swam toward the boat, thinking O’Connell would have some sort of communication system that every boat would have. Then I could call for help. Now that I felt more hopeful about my situation, I realized how exhausted I’d become. The boat was not that far, but it took everything I had to just keep swimming. It seemed to take forever for me to make it back and haul myself back onto the boat.

  Just then, I heard a loud honk and looked up to see a boat with “U. S. Coast Guard” written in big letters on the side. The rescuers all seemed to arrive at once. More sounds drew my eyes up, and I saw a helicopter. I was saved. Tears kept running from my eyes as I smiled. I let myself celebrate the fact that I, miraculously and improbably, was alive. I could decorate my new apartment. With soft throws, funky pottery, and art! I could show Jerry just how much I could rock on the job. I could fall in love.

  I glanced over at Pete who seemed to be taking his final breaths out there in the sea. It would have given me pleasure to toss his own hateful words back in his face: Sleep with the fishes. Nighty night. Still, it would be much sweeter to see him brought to justice and sweat it out in jail. I picked up a life preserver and threw it at him.

  Then I collapsed to the floor. The relief was almost physical as it surged through my chest. For the second time that day, I threw a life preserver at someone who screwed up his life in a monumental way.

  I thought about Pete and about how he filled in all the gaps by running his mouth about everything he’d done. Dead women don’t tell tales, but I had a lot to say.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Two days following my rescue, I walked into the Gazette and waved at Sandra. The usual routine brought me a kind of comfort after all the terror.

  But something was different today. Sandra looked up at me and . . . smiled. Stop the presses! This is huge news. It was the tiniest of smiles, but still. The lips of our receptionist could really do that thing: turn up slightly at the edges as if to wish a pleasant morning or offer some form of goodwill toward another human being in her sphere.

  In my case, I suspected it meant, “I really like the way you handle a screwdriver. That nut job had it coming.”

  So it took almost dying to win the respect of Sandra; Sandra was a tough one. I smiled back and winked.

  A quiet had descended in the space as I passed co-workers in the hall and at their desks. The rushing here and there came to a pause as everybody stared. I’d expected some attention and dressed carefully for the part. I’d thrown on my favorite maxi and some strappy sandals that showed off my new polish: silver with the subtlest of sparkle.

  I had not, however, anticipated this. Several rushed to take my hand. They all seemed to talk at once.

  “That was so brave, Hailey.”

  “Girl, you were amazing.”

  “I would have let him have it.”

  The movie critic poked her head out of her office and gave me a shy smile. “I feel safer now because of you,” she told me in an almost whisper. “It was so creepy to know there was a slasher on the loose.”

  I blushed and continued to my cubicle, walking somewhat slowly since every joint I had cried out with each step. I was glad to make it to my station, out of the spotlight’s glare, where I could just get back to normal: check for tasks, accept them, plan what kind of sandwich I would order for my lunch. Normal was what I craved.

  I’d taken the day before to stay at home—but not an entire week like Jerry had suggested.

  “Webb, listen up,” he’d said. “Take tomorrow off. Hell, take the whole week off, and that’s an order, Webb.”

  Followed by, “Stupendous! Our page views are gonna go right through the roof.”

  But in spite of being the “new one” at the Gazette, I missed my routine and the buzz about the place.

  “Now that is a deal,” Kat had said the day before as the two of us had gorged on takeout Chinese. “You are employed for a week, and then you get ordered by your boss to take the next week off.”

  “Well, in some ways it was a week that felt like a hundred years.”

  “The week from hell for sure, or a week that would make hell look like three weeks of vacation at a spa-resort.” She had pushed the carton of fried rice toward my side of the table. The carbs had been a nice balm to ease my still-frayed nerves and the sense of shock that hung over Kat.

  One day away from work, though, had turned out to be enough for me. The startling reminder of how fragile life could be still burned in my mind. Now it was urging me to get on with my life, prove who I could be in my new line of work.

  Everybody seemed to think I should be more wiped out by what had happened on the boat. The paramedics had wanted me to spend one night at the hospital, just for observation. I wasn’t having that. I wanted my own place and my own bed. As uncomfortable as that bed could sometimes be, I knew that I’d sleep well—and long—in my own home. It was true I ached all over, and I’d swallowed some water out in the sea, which was messing with my stomach (or perhaps that was the nerves). But the paramedics declared me “okay” and that was enough for me.

  They also had made sure that Pete didn’t bleed to death, and they looked intrigued when I told them the source of his injury: a screwdriver to the thigh. I caught a glint of admiration in the eyes of the taller one who checked all my vitals, but he didn’t ask me how or why that screwdriver ended up in the place it did. He was there to help me heal; the questions would be asked in due time by my now-close acquaintance from the Palm Shores Police. Yes, Officer Marcus was among the group milling on the scene that in no time was lit up with blue flashing lights.

  Also, there was Mike, who had been waiting on the dock and looking anxious when the Coast Guard brought me in. In his barrage of questions, I could sense the drive of a reporter on a story, but I could also feel his worry over what I’d just gone through.

  Hearing the message on his cell, he’d come straight to the marina to find O’Connell’s boat was gone. He put all the facts together and went into panic mode. He knew I’d come here intent on finding answers—and that it was not my habit to go looking for those answers in a sensible, safe way. On top of all of that, it was surely not the rightful owner who took that boat out, so something bad was up.

  At the same time, Mike said he understood the cops wouldn’t see the situation the same way he did. Mike knew things they didn’t, like about my almost run-in with Mr. Slasher Man on the boat two days earlier. With so many signs screaming danger at him, he did what he had to do: he told a little lie. He said I’d called him from the boat saying I was being held against my will.

  “Then I told them the call dropped, and I told them to
get there fast,” he explained on the dock. He looked down sheepishly at the still, blue water. “I knew it was the only way.”

  All I could do was thank him and take pleasure in the comfort of knowing he was there. Pete couldn’t hurt me now, but I felt an extra sense of safety in Mike’s familiar presence.

  Things happened quickly once I was brought back to the marina by my Coast Guard rescue team. The police were waiting for me, but first I ran to Mike. We had a private moment while I briefly summarized my time on the boat, and he shook his head and sighed.

  Then a young cop beckoned me. “Ma’am, you’re needed over here.” He led me to Officer Marcus, who once again looked almost amused to see me at the center of a crime scene. “Well, Ms. Webb,” he said, pulling out his notebook. “Should I really be surprised?” I could sense a weariness about him, as if he were ready for this curly-headed trouble magnet to stop bringing him “new business.”

  I attempted a weak joke. “If we keep meeting like this, Officer, you’re going to have to call me by my first name.”

  He gave me a tired smile.

  Using as much detail as I could, I described for him what had happened on the boat. I told him about the pictures, about Pete stabbing Derek O’Connell and Forrest Craven, about my mad dash into the bathroom, and about the screwdriver in Pete’s leg.

  Officer Marcus stared at me. “Do things always happen to you like they have this week? I’ll bet your mama stays on edge.”

  “Well, no, they don’t. And, yes, she does.”

  Mike talked to some other officers and took notes while I was being questioned. Then he talked me into leaving my Jeep overnight in the parking lot. That turned out to be smart, actually. As soon as I climbed into Mike’s truck, every bit of energy seemed to drain right out of me.

  We began the drive to my apartment. Too exhausted for more words, I gazed out the window, and my thoughts turned to O’Connell. They all thought he was a loner; I guessed you never really knew. We’d never know for sure about why O’Connell left and if he came to Palm Shores not knowing about the baby on the way. I suspect that if he had known, he would have never left. I wanted to believe that. Maybe Moira chose not to tell him, for whatever reason. Maybe she knew this was his dream, the life he ended up with out on the open seas.

  I thought about the pictures. His dream was Moira.

  I thought of Craven too. If he’d just gone to the cops with the things he knew, he’d still be alive today. Greed could land you in bad places. Just ask Connor.

  My musings were interrupted by Mike’s tired but cheery voice. “You’re home again.” I hadn’t even noticed he had pulled into my complex.

  I thanked him once again, and he walked me to the door. He looked at me with concern, a new tenderness in his eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “All I need is sleep, and you have to go. It’s a big news day in Palm Shores. I know Jerry is anxious to play around with that dream headline. Sheesh. It’s like he had a brand-new toy.”

  Mike reached out to touch my arm, a trace of worry still clouding his expression. “I’m glad you’re okay, Hailey.”

  I sighed. “That makes two of us.” Understatement of my life.

  I walked into my place and was nearly overwhelmed by how glad I was to see the simple things around me: the lamp, couch pillows, and bare walls I thought I’d never see again. Once again, I didn’t even bother to pull out the bed before I fell asleep.

  Kat spent the next day with me, bringing her old flip phone with her. I was again in touch with the real world. When she found out about Intern Boy, Kat swore off men, saying she was too traumatized now. “OMG, I can’t believe I dated a killer!”

  I reached out to touch her arm. “It’s fresh now, but it will get better. New beginnings and all,” I said gently. “It’s been a theme for me, and it can be for you.”

  “I’ll never trust anybody ever again. Like ever,” she wailed.

  “I hear you, and I get it. I thought I wouldn’t either.” I looked into her eyes. “Believe me, that will change.”

  “We can be old maids together. Being old maids can be fun, right?”

  “There was a time not long ago I swore I was finished with romance, but then a smart friend told me I shouldn’t let some creep take that away from me.”

  Kat smiled sheepishly. “I know who that smart friend was.”

  I had one more challenge to face. Calling my mother. However, I had survived Pete the Slasher, I could surely survive my mom. To be honest, I couldn’t wait to hear my mom’s voice.

  Even if that meant holding the phone out from my ear as she started screeching.

  “A heart attack! I thought my heart stopped when I heard about it. And my daughter doesn’t pick up her phone again—”

  “I love you, Mom,” I said.

  The screeching stopped.

  I was gratified to see a small smile from Kat.

  After I had soothed my mother into a somewhat calmer state, Kat and I did our nails. Then we settled on the couch and watched some movies, although it proved kind of tricky finding things to watch. Any scenes with romance made Kat burst into tears, and I jumped when I heard that dum dum dum that meant the person on the screen was about to get a bad surprise.

  Kat said she’s going to put the roommate search on hold, for the same reason she swore off men. Temporarily, I’m sure.

  “I don’t want to have some psycho killer sleeping in the other room,” she’d said.

  Sometime in the evening, Kat drove me back to the marina to get my Jeep. I looked out on the water and I felt a sense of relief and calm. I thought about Derek and I wished he could rest in peace.

  Now, I checked in with Jerry after I’d perused the list of tasks.

  I knocked on his open door. “Good morning, boss.”

  He looked up, surprised. “You’re not supposed to be here. I thought I told you to stay home.”

  “I did. I took a whole day off.”

  “One day is for a bad cold. Almost getting murdered buys you another four.”

  “It’s fine. I like to work.”

  “Do you know what I like, Webb? I like it when my staff keeps themselves alive.”

  “Well, when I woke up this morning, I was exactly that.”

  He smiled and leaned back in his chair. I noticed his pant legs were again two inches too short, and his socks had different colors again.

  Something popped up on his computer that caused him to scowl.

  I took that as my cue. “Well, just wanted to say hi.” I began to back away.

  “Hey, Webb?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Good job.”

  “Thanks, boss.” I smiled.

  He held up his mug. “And good job on the coffee too. Do you know how long it’s been since I had a decent cup of coffee in this newsroom? Never. Never before have I had a cup of coffee here that was worth a flip.” He took a sip and closed his eyes in pleasure.

  I headed to my cubicle, smiling back at all the people who seemed to be trying not to stare at me. I checked out the new tasks. Someone’s kid needed a gift for a teacher who loved the color pink. Okay, that sounded like fun.

  A familiar shadow loomed over my computer.

  I knew the drill by now. “Hello, Mike,” I said.

  “Your week off just seemed to fly. I could have sworn that it was just two days ago I saw you.”

  “I didn’t want to stay home. I wanted to be here.”

  “So, how are you, Hailey?”

  “Every muscle aches, but the paramedics promised me that will stop in time. What is new with you?”

  “Well, no new bodies on the crime beat, but I could use the rest.”

  “I’m sure somebody will turn up with a bullet in their chest if you just give it time.” Careful of my aching legs, I shifted in my seat. “I just hope I don’t find them.”

  “I hope so too,” Mike said. He cocked his head and studied me. “An interesting tidbit has come to my attention.”

/>   For the next few days at least, I was done with interesting. I wanted nice and normal, thank you very much.

  “What tidbit would that be?” I asked.

  “The night before the raid, one of the suspects from Pearlrover turned himself in to the police.”

  “The night before?” I asked. “Wow, just in time.”

  “Just in time indeed.” He looked me in the eye.

  “Coincidences happen, you know? They happen all the time.”

  “Connor Whitacre.”

  “Well, that’s a name I never want to hear again.”

  “He’s the one who walked into the station with his lawyer just in time.”

  I shrugged. “I used to think he had a conscience. Maybe I was right, and he pulled his sense of right and wrong out of a pile of dust.”

  Mike didn’t seem to be sure about my story. “Uh-huh” was all he said.

  “So, what happened at Pearlrover?”

  “They closed up shop after the big raid. The bigwigs, they’ll get lawyers—good ones, I suppose. But the smartest lawyers can only do so much when the evidence is there. Whitacre, of course, will get a lighter sentence. Saved by that coincidence of which you speak.”

  “So. He really had the guts to turn himself in. I didn’t know he had it in him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I knew he wasn’t buying it, but he couldn’t prove it. I changed the subject.

  “Whatever happened to that Manchester guy? I heard he left the auction early.”

  “Yeah, he did. His kid had appendicitis.”

  “Oh. Uh-huh.”

  Mike looked at me, unsure, then a smile tugged at his lips. “Stay out of trouble, for a change.”

  “Me? I’m just sitting at my desk pondering something pink.”

  He winked. “It’s good to have you back.”