Scoop (26 page)

“Plus, she’s hot.”

“But not in a ‘this room’s stuffy’ sort of way.”

Roarke laughed. “I wonder what got into Sam Friday night.”

Ray shook his head, clamping his mouth shut. Then Ray noticed Roarke reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out four envelopes. “Here,” he said, handing them to Ray.

“What are these?”

“I found them. I think they’re from Mr. Green.”

Ray looked at the unopened envelopes, then at Roarke. “Are these for real?”

“Look authentic to me. They’re postmarked a few weeks apart from each other, sent to the station. First one about three months ago. There’s no address, but in the corner it says ‘P.G.’”

“Where did you find these?”

Roarke suddenly developed an interest in the television—which was off.

“Roarke?”

“In her condo,” he mumbled. “This morning.”

“You went to her condo this morning?”

“I was looking for her, okay? I’m worried. I think something has happened to her.”

“You broke into her condo?”

“I didn’t go crashing through the glass, if that’s what you mean. I picked the lock on her deck door. Nearly killed myself trying to get over the wall there. But anyway, there’s no sign of her. Her place looked like nobody had been there in days.”

“Roarke, you can’t just go snooping around someone’s home!”

“I wasn’t snooping. I came across those letters when I looked in her desk drawer.”

“That’s snooping.”

“Snooping is when you’re looking for something of someone’s that you know they shouldn’t have. I was looking for any evidence that Gilda might be okay.”

Ray sighed and looked at the letters. “I don’t know if I should open these.”

“So you’d rather stick with interviewing yourself about how you got beaten up by this man?”

“I fell and hit my head.”

“Whatever you say. It’s your decision. Do whatever you want with them.” Roarke rose from the couch and walked to the door. “Glad your date went well, man.”

“Thanks.” Ray couldn’t tear his gaze from the envelopes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweeps week, here we come,” Roarke said. “I have a good feeling this time.”

Ray glanced at him. “You do?”

“Yeah. Something tells me we’re going to be the station to watch.”

Roarke left and Ray clutched the envelopes. Then he opened the first letter.

H
ugo came in early Monday to gear up for sweeps week without their top anchor. He listened to his voice mail, and one of the messages was from Julia Richter, who called to let Hugo know that she’d gotten her teeth replaced and should be ready to go tonight.

But the rest of the voice mail messages, from viewers and station personnel alike, were about how much they liked Hayden Hazard. His e-mail in-box was full of the same. So what was he to do? Use Hayden all week? Part of the week? Bet his entire career that she didn’t just get lucky Friday night?

His phone rang and he snatched it up to grab a break from the relentless thoughts that plowed through his mind. “Hello?”

“Hugo, what are you doing at work?” asked Jane.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t normally go in until noon or one.”

“It’s sweeps week, Jane. Everyone comes in early and works full days.”

He could hear the huffiness in her voice. “Well, you were supposed to do laundry this morning. I called to tell you not to wash that green blouse, that I need to take it to the dry cleaner.”

“I’ll do laundry later. You know how important sweeps week is.”

“I know.” But her voice sounded distant.

Hugo blew a huge sigh into the phone. He hoped it sounded like rushing wind in her ear.

He glanced out his glass wall to make sure nobody lingered outside. “Jane, I don’t think our little arrangement is working out all that well. Sure, there’s a parent home for Kaylin at every waking moment, but what about us? We never see each other except on the weekends, when we’re
exhausted. And you know what? I don’t like doing laundry. I
hate
doing laundry. When I have time off, you know what I want to do? Play golf! Or get a newspaper and read it on the couch. Not while I’m waiting for the dryer buzzer.”

She gasped. “Hugo, what has gotten into you?”

“I’m simply telling you that I’m forty-six years old and I want to feel like a man, like I have some control over my household and that I have a wife who understands why I need that.”

“Seriously, Hugo,” she said, her tone low, “are you on something? Are you doing drugs?”

“I’m not on drugs…” Hugo glanced at the pill bottle in his half-open desk drawer. “Listen to me, just for a minute. Really.”

“Fine,” she said tardy.

“What if you quit your job?”

“What?”

“Listen!” Hugo barked, then tried a calmer voice. “Just listen.”

“My husbands gone mad,” he heard her whisper away from the phone, then she returned. “Fine, I’m listening.”

“Jane, we’re running our household like a corporation. We clock in and out, and we’re so scheduled that we hardly resemble a family anymore. When was the last time we had a home-cooked meal?”

“Saturday morning.”

Hugo rolled his eyes. Why was he even trying to explain? He took a deep breath and tried again. “Jane, maybe we can trade in the Suburban for a car. There’s only three of us. We can make it on one income.”

“How do you figure that?” she snapped. “We can barely pay our bills as it is.”

“We just make cuts. We do without some things. We don’t have to go to Hawaii every year. Why not go to the Ozarks, or stay around the city and go to the movies? Get rid of the digital cable that we hardly ever watch. Share a cell—”

“Hugo,” she said, concern in her tone, “are you having a midlife crisis?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I’m not saying any of this is your fault.”

“This is not my fault!”

“That’s what I just said.”

“You just want me to quit my job and stay home and be your little housewife?”

“I’ll quit my job then.”

Hugo wasn’t even sure if he’d said that out loud, but judging by the deep breathing he heard on the other end of the phone, it must’ve made its way out of his mouth.

“You’ll quit your job? Is that what you said?”

Hugo wasn’t sure he meant that exactly. Maybe he knew he’d be fired, so he was just beating Chad to the punch. But then again, why not take a lesser job? Why not go back to being a regular old producer instead of the executive producer? All he did was worry, all of the time, about everything. Why not be a stay-at-home dad and cook breakfast every morning?

“Hello?” Jane’s voice crackled through the phone.

“I’m here.”

“Is that what you said?”

Hugo’s voice was soft. “Maybe we just need to rework some things, you know? Maybe I could take a less demanding job. Maybe you could work out of the house.”

There was total silence on the phone now, and Hugo couldn’t even hear Jane breathing or whispering to co-workers.

“Listen,” he finally said, “let’s just leave this up in the air right now. We can think about it, talk about it, maybe—”

Click.

Hugo held the receiver up against his ear, hoping she would come back, but the phone was still dead.

Then he heard another click, and his office door opened. It was Ray Duffey.

“I’ll get back to you,” Hugo said and hung up the phone. “Yes, Mr. Duffey?”

Ray closed the door and looked like something was bothering him. “Can we talk?”

Hugo gestured to the chair. “It’s sweeps week, so this had better be important.”

“It is, sir.”

“All right. What’s wrong?”

“It’s about the water treatment plant explosion.”

“What about it?”

“You’ve got Jill covering the story, sir, and I think that’s a mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think she’s really getting to the bottom of it.”

“She has two great eyewitness interviews. What’s not good about that?”

“She had two other eyewitnesses. We don’t need anymore eyewitnesses. We need the truth.”

Ray paused. “A source at the police department told me that Howard Crumm was suspected but never convicted of embezzlement.”

“Who is Howard Crumm?”

“The director of the sewage plant.”

“I’ve never heard of him. We didn’t get any interviews with him.”

“That’s because he had his deputy director answer all the media questions. Nobody thought much about it. Everyone was focused on casualties. But I think Crumm didn’t want his name out there.”

“When did you find this out?”

Ray hesitated, wanting to tell him that he’d tried to give Jill the info and she wouldn’t take it. “After Jill ran her story. But if you give me the assignment, I’ll run with it. I think there’s a lot more to this story than meets the eye.”

“So the director has a possible criminal history. What does that have
to do with the explosion?” Hugo turned toward his computer, pretending to scan an important e-mail, but he couldn’t get Jane off his mind. She had never—not once—hung up on him.

“Seemingly nothing, except…well, I’ve uncovered more evidence.”

Hugo’s phone rang again and he snatched it up, praying it was Jane.

“Hugo, it’s Captain Wynn.”

“Captain, what can I do for you?” Hugo asked. He couldn’t ever remember the captain calling him before. Usually he dealt with the reporters.

“It’s about Gilda Braun.”

“What about her?”

“She hasn’t turned up over the weekend, and I now believe there is foul play involved.”

“What?” Hugo looked at Ray, who curiously listened. “Why do you say that?”

“I sent some men over there this morning to see if she was home. Someone had picked the lock to her back door.”

“Someone went into her home this weekend?”

“It appears that way. The lock was intact Friday.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I think we need to open this up as a criminal investigation.”

“Okay…” Hugo’s mind spun.

“You should probably send a reporter out here.”

“Why?” Hugo asked.

“Don’t you want first chance at the story?”

“What story?”

“You’re the news guy. You don’t think a local news anchor gone missing is a story?”

“Wait…wait a minute,” Hugo said. “I don’t want this thing to make the news. Why can’t you do your investigation quietly and get back to me?”

“I can’t promise that another station won’t get wind of it.”

Hugo stared at his desk. How could this be happening?

“Besides, you owe me.”

“Excuse me?” Hugo asked.

“After how I was treated Friday, I think it’s a good move on your part to make sure you show me, and my department, in a good light.”

“What are you talking about? How were you treated?”

“Why don’t you ask Ray Duffey about that?”

Hugo looked up at Ray, who stared at the carpet. At the pause, Ray looked up.

“I’ll do that,” Hugo said.

“We’ll be designating the condo as a crime scene in about fifteen minutes.”

“All right.”

Hugo hung up the phone and looked at Ray. “What’s going on?”

“Sir?”

“Captain Wynn is ticked off and says he was treated poorly.”

A worried expression crossed Ray’s face. “I…I had to cancel an interview with him Friday.”

“Why?”

Ray fumbled his words. “Look, I decided there was more to the Green story than meets the eye. I was supposed to interview Captain Wynn about the investigation into Green’s assault, but something told me…well, I went to Green’s house.”

“I know. I told you not to. Mr. Arbus indicated that Mr. Green is threatening to sue us.”

“I know. And I’m sorry about that. But he said something very interesting.”

“What?”

“He told me I should ask Gilda Braun why he was so angry.”

“Gilda? What does she have to do with this?”

“That’s what I wanted to find out, sir.”

“Well, speaking of Gilda, that’s who Captain Wynn was calling about. Apparently someone broke into her condo this weekend.”

Ray’s eyes widened.

“They think there may be foul play involved.”

“Why?”

“Because someone broke into her condo.”

“Well that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It apparently means something to Captain Wynn. He wants us to cover the story.”

“He does?”

“He said we owe him. So get out there pronto.” Hugo paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “Do we even want this to be a story?”

“Well…I was ‘the story,’ and all that happened to me was I banged my head.”

“You got assaulted on live television. We didn’t have a choice about coverage. This is
Gilda
, though.” Hugo knew a certain level of fear permeated his tone.

“And with the captain calling already, it doesn’t look like we have a choice in this case either.”

Hugo stood and closed his eyes. Already, it was turning out to be another bad day.

“Where are you going?” Ray said.

“To talk to Mr. Arbus. Tell him what’s going on.”

“Oh.”

Hugo walked past Ray and was almost out the door, when he stopped. “You mentioned you had more evidence about the wastewater treatment plant?”

Ray shook his head. “No. I mean, it’s nothing important. It can wait.”

Hugo walked out, his ear trained for his office phone, hoping it would ring and hoping it would be Jane.