Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (9 page)

He touched a round glass paperweight bursting
with rainbow streaks of color. "I hate to see talent wasted. It's
such a shame not to make the most of a God-given talent."

"I'm sure Diana appreciated your
encouragement."

Jared tented his slender fingers. "I think
she did. I hope so. What newspaper do you work for, Kris?"

"The
Fremont Daily News
."

"If you want to solve Diana's murder, let me
give you advice. Do what the police didn't. Find the person who
stalked Diana."

Chapter 8

25 Years Ago Today

Buyer resistance brings a 10 cent reduction
in five-pound bags of sugar in Fremont area stores.

D
ex assigned Kris a
profile on a local yo-yo expert. She eagerly accepted, but as she
Googled information on yo-yo tricks, her thoughts soon drifted to
her secret investigative story. Jared Peyton had seemed sincere.
Was he for real, or just a good actor?

Kris pondered the question while she ate
dinner alone in the lounge. Jacqueline strode in with a glass bowl
and slid it into the microwave. She lurked beside the counter,
dressed in a gray wool suit with square buttons. Silence
overpowered the dull hum of the microwave. Kris waited for a dig
about taking a break, and mentally prepared a retort. Maybe
something like "Who’s going to write my obituary, Jacqueline, if I
drop dead of starvation?"

"I started as an editorial assistant,"
Jacqueline said, her clear musical voice loud in the quiet. "Right
out of college."

Kris glanced around to make sure no one else
had entered the room. She balled up her napkin. Wow, small talk.
May as well go with it. "How long did you do that?"

"A couple months. Then I got a reporting
job."

"Where?"

The microwave dinged. Jacqueline stirred her
chicken and rice on the counter, a diet portion that wouldn’t have
satisfied Chipmunk even after a full can of Fancy Feast. She would
bring dinner to her desk, Kris knew. Jacqueline never sat in the
lounge with the underlings. "It was at a -"

"Jacqueline!" They both looked up as Walter
Barnes, the stout balding publisher, breezed into the room. Kris
had heard him arguing with Dex last week. She couldn't decide
whether it was the daily deadlines or the mix of creative
personalities, but she'd witnessed lots of flared tempers in the
news business.

"Walter," Jacqueline said in a high-pitch.
"Hello."

He clutched a rolled-up newspaper, the banner
brushing against his silk designer tie, and tapped the opposite end
against his wrist. "I just got back from a conference. This is the
first chance I've had to look at today's edition. Why did you run a
feature photo on page one and the bank shot on page seven? You know
the bank is among our biggest advertisers."

Jacqueline's face mottled deep crimson. Kris
slunk lower in her chair, wishing the publisher had chosen another
time for criticism. She and her editor had been on the verge of a
significant breakthrough rivaling the end of the Cold War.

"But you didn't tell me page one." Jacqueline
connected her hands. She tucked one leg behind the other, hiding
the run in her nylons.

"That was a huge donation to an important
civic group. I thought it was understood. I hired you to improve
communication with the newsroom, but it's no better than with Dex
in charge." Walter Barnes plunked the newspaper onto Kris's table.
She didn't flinch. He frowned as if trying to place her, then
shifted his gaze back to Jacqueline. "My office. Now. Obviously, we
need to review our policies."

"I'll be right there," she said to his
retreating back.

Kris slipped her fork into her insulated
lunch bag and fumbled for her salad dressing cap. Jacqueline lifted
the bowl, clasping it between her fingers. She thumped it down onto
the counter. The chicken slices hopped up, then fell into the bed
of rice.

"Shit," she muttered.

"He was out of line," Kris said. "He should
have specified where he wanted the picture."

"I can't believe he compared me to Dex. I
work sixty-to-seventy hours per week. I've expanded this paper,
introduced new sections. Circulation had its biggest jump in
months."

"It'll blow over. He'll forget about it next
time Dex pisses him off."

Jacqueline's forehead grooved and her eyes
flashed. "This is none of your business. If I get wind that you
shared this with anyone in the newsroom, your days here will be
numbered. You just keep your mouth shut."

Kris felt a tic contracting. She should have
suspected Jacqueline's civil facade wouldn't last. "Look, if you
wanted me to keep quiet, all you had to do was ask. Why would I
tell anyone, anyway?"

"I understand that a relative gave you a hard
time about an obit. Why didn't I hear this from you?"

"I didn't know it was important. I don’t see
what that has to do with-"

"I want to be appraised of problems. I am the
managing editor." Jacqueline stuck her bowl in the refrigerator and
walked out.

Kris hurled her trash in the wastebasket. The
woman was a shrew, and Bruce was a scheming jerk. He must have
opened his mouth about the Eric Soares confrontation. He was on
assignment, so she couldn't question him. Lucky for Bruce.

Kris spent the next couple of hours typing
obits and wedding announcements, the mindless tasks soothing her
bruised psyche. At least the obits were on people in their late
eighties and nineties. Anything younger than eighty depressed Kris.
It wasn't a waste, as with a child or young adult, but it was a
shame.

Fluorescent lights shone overhead, bouncing
off the dark windows. A middle-aged female reporter banged out a
last-minute story in the silence and a couple of composing room
staff members worked out back. After deadline, press room employees
would drift into the building to start the print run.

Irene Ferguson called around 8 p.m. While
Jacqueline complained about ad layout problems to the composing
supervisor, Kris clutched the receiver, glad she could speak freely
without PMS Barbie overhearing.

"I'm not sure what to think of Jared," she
said. "He was candid, but he claimed Diana lied about the phone
calls."

Irene snorted. "Is he still using that story?
Of course he made the calls."

"You've heard this?"

"About how he was the innocent victim? We'll
have to compare notes. Maybe the louse slipped up after twenty-five
years. I'm sorry, I just get upset. I'd like to invite you to
Cheryl's house for dinner Saturday night. My son-in-law, Michael,
wants to meet you. He was like Diana's big brother."

"I'd love to join you." Kris hesitated. She
wouldn't let Eric Soares stop her, but she wanted fair warning of
his presence. "Will your grandson be there? He paid me a visit and
didn't seem happy with the investigation."

"I had a hunch he'd come by. Eric's my
protector. He plays in a band, though, so he won't be around."

Thank God. She didn't feel like dealing with
his glares and comments. Funny, Eric Soares didn't strike her as a
musician. He seemed too narrow-minded to have a creative side.

"So we can expect you?" Irene asked.

"I'll look forward to it," Kris said.

***

Friday night after working the late shift,
Kris made brownies for Cheryl's dinner party. Chipmunk lapped water
from a heart-shaped bowl and rubbed his wet lips against her ankle.
Kris stirred the chocolate batter into creamy folds, jolting when
the phone rang. Her heart thundered, random thoughts darting
through her mind.

Had her father suffered a heart attack? Had
there been an accident?

She whipped the receiver from its cradle.
"Hello," she said sharply.

"I knew you'd be awake," her sister said in a
bright voice.

Kris's knees wobbled, her heart rhythm
falling back into place. She always panicked when the phone rang
after a certain hour. The police had located Nicole in the middle
of the night.

She turned down the portable radio on the
kitchen table and forced herself to sound normal. "It's 1 a.m. Why
are you so chipper?"

"R.J. and I just got back from a friend's
house," Holly said. "I figured if I called you in the morning,
you'd be sleeping. Anyway, we're set for tomorrow. Dennis will be
here at eight, so come over earlier."

Blinking, Kris scraped the sides of the bowl.
"What?"

"The blind date, remember?"

Oh, crap. She dropped the spoon on the floor
and stooped to retrieve it. "Holly, I'm sorry. I forgot. I have
plans."

"I asked you to keep that night free."

"I know, it just came up. I feel
terrible."

"What am I supposed to tell Dennis?"

Even over the phone, Kris sensed her sister's
frigidity. She tossed the chocolate-tipped spoon into the
overflowing pile of bowls in the sink. "Can't we make it another
time?"

"He's a doctor. He has a busy schedule."

"And I don't? Until now, this doubledate was
tentative. Anyway, my plans are work-related. I'm meeting with
Diana Ferguson's family. This is important."

"What's with you lately?" Holly demanded.
"You prefer the dead to the living. Mom says your job is making you
morbid. She didn't even think I should fix you up with Dennis. She
was afraid he'd tell everyone at the hospital that you were weird.
Maybe she was right."

"You're so self-absorbed, both you and Mom,"
Kris said around the swelling in her throat. "You're too shallow to
understand anyone but yourselves. I'm trying to establish a
career."

"Some career. Did you even get paid for that
bookstore article, or did they get it out of you for free?"

"Of course I got paid. At least I don't work
with Mom at the same hospital, following her around like a puppy in
a white lab coat. I can get hired on my own merit."

"Do you know how much schooling I've had? How
much-"

"Spare me the boring details." Kris hung
up.

Her sister was wrong.

It hurt, anyway. And damn it, Dex had better
come through with some dough for that bookstore piece.

***

Kris smoothed the plastic wrap around her
plate of brownies and rang the Soares' doorbell. Cheryl lived on
the cul-de-sac of Brandywine Estates. A white picket fence
separated the front yard from the back, its paint luminous in the
early evening moonlight.

Cheryl held open the door, lovely in her
apricot dress. "Kris, I'm glad you could come."

Kris handed her the brownies, grateful she
had taken special care with her appearance. She'd tried on three
outfits before choosing a teal sweater and suede skirt. "I hope you
don't mind your mother inviting me." She removed her coat and
Cheryl hung it in the closet.

"Don't be silly. Besides, she's cooking." In
a loud whisper, Cheryl added, "My husband and I prefer eating at
our house. Mom has a pet ferret. She soaks herself in perfume
because the smell drives me crazy."

As if on cue, Irene waved from the kitchen,
an apron tied around her narrow waist. "I heard that. My ferret's
not too happy with your scent either. I'll be out soon, I'm just
finishing up." She ducked back inside.

Irene seemed thrilled to entertain. She must
get lonely like Aunt Susan. Kris pledged to visit her aunt soon.
Maybe she could even introduce the two women. They had a lot in
common.

Cheryl gestured to a tray of cheese and
crackers on a glass coffee table with slender iron-welded legs.
"Help yourself. Michael!" she called.

Taking a deep breath, Kris slathered a
cracker with port wine cheese. She hoped Michael Soares was more
pleasant than his son. She wandered to the piano in the corner and
touched the shining maple surface.

A man in a V-neck cream pullover and khakis
trekked down the staircase. His athletic build and golden hair
combed straight back reminded her of a surfer. She found it hard to
believe that Michael Soares was her father's age. Those golden
streaks must come from a bottle, but still ...

After the introductions, Michael poured them
each a glass of white wine. He stretched his arms to either side
along the back of a couch adorned with loose pillows. His lean face
eased into a smile. "I noticed you admiring the piano. It belongs
to our son."

"It's impressive," Kris said.

"Eric gets his musical talent from me. I was
in a band before he was born. Too bad he couldn't take the piano,
but he lives on the fifth floor of his apartment building. Neither
of us is eager to move it."

Cheryl sighed. "I understand you met our son.
I'm sorry about the circumstances. Eric is impulsive. He's
concerned about his grandmother raising her hopes."

"You've accepted a challenging assignment,"
Michael said.

"I know," Kris said. "But I'm looking forward
to it."

"Make sure you remember that the police have
investigated this over and over again. Not that I'm trying to
discourage you. It's just that if you get excited, Irene will, too.
And that could make her life difficult."

Irene reappeared without her apron and
hunkered beside Kris on the loveseat. "Has Michael told you about
Diana? It was a blessing when he entered our lives. She was
devastated after her father died. My husband had colon cancer and
died seven months after he was diagnosed, the fall of Diana's
senior year. It was a terrible time."

"Daddy deteriorated to a skeleton," Cheryl
said. "He couldn't paint or sculpt. It was like his body died
before his mind did."

Kris's heart ached for Diana's sorrow. It
wasn't fair that some fathers saw their children become
grandparents while others died young. Diana must have questioned
why a thousand times.

"We all got a lift when Cheryl brought
Michael home the next spring," Irene said. "Diana was thrilled
after they got married and had Eric. She designated herself as his
babysitter. She was so happy those first few months with the
baby."