Dead Air (8 page)

C
lark tucked himself into the sports car and headed home. It’d been a long day, starting with the meeting with Gabby and KLUV’s station manager, and ending with Gabby and her friends. Tomorrow would be another long day.

Spinning his car onto his street, Clark let out a tired sigh. The streetlights flickered as he crept along the residential area, the moon playing hide-and-seek behind the low-lying clouds. The sweet fragrance of magnolia blossoms and some other blooming flowers filled the air. On the radio, KLUV’s announcer had read the latest news.

As he turned the car into the driveway, a sultry voice spilled from the speakers. Clark turned up the volume.

“…so call me, Mystique, and give me the dedications of your heart. This is Gabby, and I’m waiting to hear from you.”

A soft love ballad came over the airwaves, jarring Clark from his trance. He coasted the car into his garage. It took all of five steps to enter into the kitchen. Forgoing the television, Clark lifted the remote for the stereo and clicked it on, seeking for KLUV’s frequency. The same song filled the living room.

He slumped onto his leather couch, welcoming the comfort. He didn’t bother to turn on a light. Closing his eyes, he waited until the last notes of the song faded out.

“I have a special dedication for Rich, going out tonight from Allison. She wants you to know that she loves you with all her heart. Love is in the air tonight, Mystique. This is for you, Rich and Allison. Love well.” Gabby’s throaty voice drifted to a whisper as the opening chords of “Reunited” played.

The vision of her face danced across his memory, tugging at his heart. What was the woman doing to him? Hadn’t he come to Mystique to hide, to regroup, to take control of his life again? And now some little Southern belle had his emotions wound up tighter than a spring, even more than the media killer he’d escaped.

He crossed the room to the kitchen, jerked open the refrigerator and pulled out a soft drink. The cold liquid quenched his thirst, but not his desire to see Gabby, talk to her, hear her voice all to himself. Clark set the bottle on the counter with a thump, then stomped back into the living room.

“…that’s right, call me. Tell me what’s in your heart tonight. I’m waiting to listen.”

Man, but the woman’s voice did strange things to him. Made his knees feel like Jell-O.

Father God, what’s happening to me?

When he opened his eyes, that’s when he noticed the broken patio door.

His heart jumped into his throat. He lifted his cell phone and dialed the sheriff’s number, walking through the house as he did. Finding nothing amiss on the bottom floor, he headed for the stairs.

The dispatcher answered the phone, then put him on hold for McGruder.

He opened the door to his bedroom and froze.

Someone had trashed his bedroom.

Less than thirty minutes later, Sheriff McGruder spoke to his deputies, then returned to the living room and faced Clark.
“They’re dusting for prints now. Did you notice if anything was missing?”

“In that mess? I couldn’t tell.” Why would someone break into his home and trash his bedroom, of all places? “My computer and stereo equipment are all downstairs and they weren’t taken.”

The sheriff harrumphed and wrote more in his notebook. “You know, Mr. McKay, I have to wonder.”

“What?”

“With your cut brake line and now this…well, I’m wondering if someone’s got something personal against you.”

You think?
Clark cleared his throat, determined not to let the lawman get a rise out of him. “I would assume so, Sheriff.”

“Seems strange that these things happened right after you bought KLUV.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Any ideas about the correlation?”

Clark couldn’t stop the retort burning his tongue. “If I had an idea about that, don’t you think I’d say something to you? I really don’t like my life being in danger, nor my house being trashed.”

“Mmm-hmm.” McGruder shut his notebook and shoved it into his pocket. “I’ll file my report. The guys should be finished here in a few minutes. If you notice anything missing when you start cleaning up, let me know and I’ll add it to my report.”

“That’s it?” Clark bolted to his feet.

“What else would you like me to do, Mr. McKay? We’re dusting for prints. We’ve inspected the crime scene, we’re making a report. What more can we do?”

How about find out who’s behind it? Clark gritted his teeth. “When can I pick up a copy of the report?”

“Tomorrow after ten.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see myself out.” The sheriff headed to the front door,
paused, then turned back to Clark. “You know, if I were you, I’d be very careful. Seems to me there’s at least one person who isn’t exactly thrilled with you being in Mystique.”

Before the sheriff could leave, he was approached by a deputy with a piece of paper in his hands. “Sir, we found this upstairs.”

McGruder donned gloves, unfolded the paper and stared at it for a long moment, long past the point where Clark started to get impatient.

“What is it?”

“See for yourself.” The sheriff held up the page for Clark to see.

In bold, black letters it read LEAVE NOW OR YOU WON’T BE THE ONLY ONE TO GET HURT.

Clark’s heart jumped into his throat. This was hardly the first threat he’d ever gotten, but this one scared him like none other had, because now he wasn’t the only one at risk.

Gabby.

The sun crested over Mystique, pushing through the front blinds at KLUV. Gabby nodded as David pointed toward the break room and answered the phone. “KLUV, this is Gabby.”

“Gabby, this is Clark.”

“Hi.” Her voice sounded funny. “What’s up?”

“My house was broken into tonight.”

“What? When? How?”

“As far as we can tell, nothing was taken. They broke into the patio door, but they didn’t bother anything downstairs. Just trashed my bedroom.”

“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” But now there had been two separate attacks on Mr. McKay. There had to be a connection between these events and the assault on Howard and Robert.

“I just wanted to let you know.” He paused, and she got the
feeling he was trying to decide how much to tell her. “Um, has there been anything unusual happening at the station?”

“No, it’s been quiet all night.” She stifled a yawn. “And David just made it in.”

“Well, okay then. Just…keep an eye out when you leave the building. Rest well and I’ll talk to you this afternoon.”

“You take care, Clark.” She hung up the phone as David entered the studio with a steaming cup of coffee.

She smiled, gathered her things and exited the station. Gabby shoved her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose. She made her way to her vehicle, glancing onto the street, and pressed the button on her remote. The doors unlocked with a click.

Gabby reached for the door handle and noticed a piece of paper lodged under the windshield wiper. She groaned as she opened the door and tossed her purse in the passenger’s seat. People knew better than to put sale ads or solicitations on vehicles. She stood on the running board and snatched the paper off. She’d call and complain to whomever the paper promoted. Her heart raced as she read.

BACK OFF.

Gabby swallowed hard. Back off of what? Was this some kind of joke? She eased to the pavement, gripping the paper tightly, shut the driver’s door and leaned against the Expedition. Was this meant for her personally? She took off her glasses and squinted in the harsh sunlight, looking around the parking lot. If it was a joke, someone would be around. Only David’s car sat in the lot, a row over.

What to make of it? Her sense of equilibrium wavered, and she leaned against the vehicle once again.

A car whipped into the back lot. Gabby spun around. Kevin parked and nodded at her. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.” He ambled toward her. “Man, what happened to your tires?”

She swallowed back the lashing she had at the ready for him and glanced at her front tire. Flat as a board. She looked at the back tire—flat, as well. On shaky legs, she circled the vehicle. Her mouth went slack. All four tires were flat.

Kevin kneeled by the driver’s tire. “Looks like someone slit them.” He stood and peered at her. “Who’d you tick off?”

Kevin might find amusement in this vandalism, but Gabby sure didn’t. She glared at the news reporter. “I need to call the sheriff.”

“Yeah.” He trailed her to the front door of the station. “Wonder who would’ve cut your tires.”

Gabby ignored him and reached for her cell in her purse. She dialed the sheriff’s number.

“McGruder.”

“Sheriff, it’s Gabby. My tires have been slashed.”

“Where?”

“At the station.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t touch anything.” The sheriff disconnected the call with an echoing click.

Gabby shut her cell. The man needed to seriously work on his manners. She stared at the paper still wadded in her hand.

Right on the heels of the attack on Clark’s house. What did it all mean?

The police scanner crackled to life.

Clark jumped—he must’ve dozed off until the scanner woke him. He’d almost forgotten it was on, it’d been so quiet. He stood and moved to the scanner.

Just as his hand hovered over the on/off button, the report came through. Vandalism on a car at KLUV. He waited for additional information, holding his breath. Finally, the dispatcher told him what he wanted to know—Gabby Rogillio had reported the incident.

Without further thought, Clark grabbed his keys and headed out the door. He drove to the station, his mind racing. He had to make sure Gabby was okay.

He turned into the parking lot, relieved to see the sheriff had already arrived. He parked and headed toward Gabby’s SUV. Didn’t have to wonder about the act of vandalism—her tires were slashed.

“What are you doing here?” Gabby’s eyes were tired.

“Heard you might need a ride home.” He deliberately put a teasing tone in his voice. Despite her false bravado, he could see how upset she was.

“How’d you hear about this?” the sheriff asked.

“Police scanner.”

“You listen to a police scanner?” Suspicion edged into her voice.

“Old habit.”

She turned back to the sheriff. “I think the note shows someone doesn’t want anyone looking into Howard’s murder. Or are you going to claim Robert did this, while unconscious and under guard?”

What note?

Sheriff McGruder shook his head. “Doesn’t mean anything, Gabby. I doubt it has anything to do with Howard’s murder.”

“But it clearly reads Back Off.” She stabbed a finger at the piece of paper in the sheriff’s hand. “What else could it mean?”

Someone sent her a letter telling her to back off?

“I don’t know what it means, but I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with Howard or Robert.” The sheriff shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Heard there’s talk of your show being syndicated. Maybe that’s what the letter means.”

Clark took a deep breath. He had yet to discuss the possible syndication with Gabby. Of course she was well aware that her show was under consideration, but Clark hadn’t had a chance to
speak with her over details. The interest of syndication had been one of Robert’s strong selling points.

Her face turned red. “I don’t think so. It has to do with me looking into Howard’s murder. Someone’s warning me to stop.”

The sheriff’s face twisted into a grimace. “I don’t believe that. Why don’t you just let us handle this, Ms. Rogillio? It’s safer all around if you don’t start sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Gabby went rigid. “I believe this threat on me has made it very much my business, Sheriff.”

The tension built. Clark moved beside Gabby. “But you’ll process the letter for any evidence, right, Sheriff?”

Gabby cut her eyes at him, relief glittering in the orbs.

The sheriff glared at him. “Of course, I’ll process the letter. I know how to do my job, Mr. McKay.” He jotted something on a small piece of notebook paper and passed it to Gabby. “You can pick up a copy of my report tomorrow after one. You’ll need it to file a claim with your insurance company.”

Right before Clark’s eyes, Gabby wilted. He stuck a hand under her elbow. “I’ll give you a ride home. I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon and take you to the sheriff’s office to get the report. You’ll need to go ahead and call your insurance company to file the claim.”

She blinked several times, and Clark wondered if maybe she didn’t hear him.

“Oh, and you can’t move your truck yet.” The sheriff cast a scathing glance at Clark, but spoke to Gabby. “We need to
process
it for evidence.”

That snagged her attention. “What am I supposed to do for transportation?”

“Guess you’ll have to rent a car.” McGruder shrugged and ambled toward his cruiser.

No empathy at all in the man. Clark didn’t understand
McGruder’s rudeness. “Your insurance might provide a rental for you.”

Gabby sighed. Her shoulders drooped as if she would swoon. But Gabby Rogillio wasn’t the swooning type of woman. She’d just been hit with a lot, all at once.

Clark eased his hand under her elbow. “Come on, I’ll take you home. You can call your insurance company.”

Without argument, Gabby let him lead her to his car. She slipped into the seat, her eyes wide and fixed. After he’d started the engine, he shifted to face her. “Um, where do you live?”

She rattled off the name of the apartments over on Sea Swept Lane. He put the car in gear, all the while kicking himself. With the murder and the tampering of his brakes, he should’ve upped security at the station. Now there was vandalism at his house and at the station. He made a mental note to call a security company today and procure some surveillance.

“I can’t believe McGruder doesn’t get the connection.” Her tone jerked Clark from his thoughts.

He cut his gaze over to her. “What connection?”

Coloring drifted back into her face. “That letter and Howard’s murder. Back Off is pretty clear to me that I’m on the right track in refusing to believe Robert murdered Howard.”