Randall #01 - The Best Revenge (16 page)

After all, she had a job now. At least for a month.

Chapter 16—The Doctor is In

Camilla sat at her desk reading today’s
Sentinel
. There, next to the article by C. S. Randall titled “Penguins Encounter Immigration Troubles at Sea World,” was an article by Bob Ishido about the coroner’s report on Jon-Don Parker. Bob’s article confirmed everything Jimmy had said last night: Jon-Don’s body had been injected with a combination of cocaine and heroin, both of a purity rarely found on the street, and although they had not ruled out the possibility of suicide, the police suspected foul play.

Camilla shuddered.

“Don’t do that to yourself, Randy,” Bob said. “I never read my own stuff once it’s in print. I always see the things I could have done better. But that’s a good piece. Don’t worry. Kahn wouldn’t have made it a lead story it if it weren’t.” He paused to give her a grin as he rummaged through the chaotic drawers of his desk. Bob was a lot younger than she’d first thought, maybe only in his twenties. She liked him, in spite of his all-business attitude.

“I love Fred and Ginger!” Julie said as she passed Camilla’s desk. “This paper needs more reporters with a sense of humor.”

Today Julie wore a T-shirt with a row of teddy bears printed across the front. Each bear held a small machine gun. Underneath was printed the message “I support the right to arm bears.”

Julie dropped an envelope on Camilla’s desk.

“What’s this?” she said.

“Payday.” Julie handed another envelope to Bob. “We don’t actually expect you to do this for nothing.”

“Not absolutely nothing,” Bob said, opening his envelope. “But close to it.” He stuffed the check, along with several notebooks and a quantity of Bic pens, into the pocket of his shiny polyester jacket. “Goodbye all. See you in a couple of days. Keep up the good work, Randy.”

Bob dashed out of the newsroom, nearly colliding with Stuart on his way out.

Julie giggled. “Bob gets so excited when he’s on a new story,” she said. “He always thinks he’s onto the next Watergate.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t look now, Randy, but I think you’re about to have a close encounter with Mr. Preppie. Excuse me if I don’t hang around. I’m allergic to trust funds.”

A Styrofoam cup of milky brown liquid appeared on Camilla’s desk.

“I hope you take cream and sugar,” Stuart said, “It’s the only way I can drink this swill.”

Camilla took a sip and tried to smile.

“Bob can be rude, but he’s a solid investigative reporter. He has a fascinating theory about the Parker case.”

“You mean about who murdered him?” She tried to sound nonchalant.

“There you go, throwing around the word ‘murder’ like all those TV guys. If you’d read Bob’s story, you’d have noticed that the police haven’t ruled out the possibility of suicide.”

“But Jon-Don wasn’t depressed…” She stopped herself.  “That is—from what I’ve heard about him.”

Stuart sat on the corner of her desk. “Of course—from what you’ve heard about him. But how do we know we’ve been given the facts?” He lowered his voice and leaned close to her ear. “Bob’s theory is that Mr. TV star killed himself because he was about to be popped by the FBI.”

“The FBI?” She was not sure she wanted to hear this.

“Right. They love to make examples of celebrities. And Bob has a source who said that one of the people really close to Parker was an undercover FBI man. So if anybody could be accused of ‘murdering’ the poor bastard, it’s our friends from the federal government.”

“Sounds like Bob has some fascinating ideas, but I’d better get back to work.” Camilla’s mind raced back to the night of the ill-fated party, wondering if this undercover FBI person could possibly have been at her house that night.

She was happy to be rescued by Julie.

“Have you finished that story on the contaminated raw milk?” Julie said, rushing by Camilla’s desk.

“Not quite.”

“You may have to work it into the ‘Living Well’ column. We’ve lost Dr. Lavinia.”

“Don’t tell me Sunshine is having a bad karma day again?” said Stuart.

“Yes, but this time the boss isn’t buying it. She’s being replaced.” Julie gave Camilla’s shoulder a pat.

“He could have run this by me,” said Stuart. “I don’t like losing you in the news department, Randy.” He patted Camilla’s other shoulder.

“You mean—I’m going to write the health food column?” Camilla said. “But I don’t know anything about…”

“Tell it to the boss.” Julie was already on her way down the aisle. “He wants to see you right away.”

“I’m free for dinner tonight, Randy,” Stuart said.

Camilla waited while Mr. Kahn finished his telephone call. She wished she had taken the time to retouch her makeup. She would be more comfortable dealing with him if she knew she looked all right. She smoothed the skirt of her pink linen suit.

Mr. Kahn turned to her and hung up the phone. He had a small blue ink stain on his shirt. For some reason it made her feel better.

“Has Julie explained that you are to be our new Dr. Lavinia?”

“Sort of,” Camilla said slowly. “But I’m not sure I’m really qualified for—”

“You’re not really qualified for much, Ms. Randall,” he said. “But you learn fast. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it. At least you can read and write, which is more than Sunshine could do. And if you can’t handle it, I’ll have a good excuse to drop the column, which I’ve wanted to do from the beginning. When Angela bought the
Sentinel
, it was pretty much just an advertising circular, but it had its core of loyal readers, so we kept a few of the original columns. Sunshine had been writing the “Living Well” column for years, so we tried to keep her on. It wasn’t easy.”

Camilla looked out of the office as Sunshine stomped toward the stairs, scarves flying, clutching a half-dead philodendron to her ample bosom.

A gray-haired woman peeked in the door. “Everything’s calmed down now, Mr. Kahn,” she said. “But I’m afraid the typewriter will have to be repaired. She dropped a plant on it when she was packing up, and mud seems to have got in the works.”

“Meet our new Dr. Lavinia,” Mr. Kahn said. “I hope she won’t be throwing potted plants at the office machinery.”

His phone rang and he waved them out of the office.

“You don’t have to look as if you’d been banished to Siberia, dear,” the woman said when they were out of the office. “Features isn’t a bad place for a young reporter to get some experience.” She led Camilla to a cubicle containing a large desk covered with stacks of books on diet and health. A faded black and white photo of a severe-faced woman with an old-fashioned hairstyle sat in a frame on the desk.

“Oh, I love doing lifestyle stories,” Camilla said. “But I don’t know the first thing about health food, and posing as a doctor...”

The woman laughed and picked up the photo. “I doubt that the original Lavinia was a doctor, either, and I’m sure you’ll do better than poor Sunshine.”

“There was a real Dr. Lavinia?” Camilla looked at the picture. The woman looked a little like Miss Gulch from
the Wizard of Oz
.

“Yes, back in the ’50’s, when the
Sentinel
began. When Lavinia of a heart attack at the age of fifty-three, they kept the name and got somebody else to write the column, since she’d been preaching how eating health food would make you live to be a hundred. You’re probably Dr. Lavinia number eight or nine.”

Camilla stared at the stacks of books. She felt like the princess in the fairy tale who had to spin a room full of straw into gold.

“I’m afraid I don’t know where to start.”

“I’d start by opening the mail. It’s a question and answer column, so you pick out the questions you want to use. Then look up the answers in those books. I’ll get you some of Sunshine’s old columns so you can copy the format. But do us a favor and don’t copy the grammar, OK? And I’m sorry about the portable typewriter. IBM will be here tomorrow to clean the mud out of the Selectric. Poor Sunshine had temper issues. Drug flashbacks, probably. We’ll be so glad to have somebody like you in the department.”

“Like me?”

“Mr. Kahn said you’re classy but tough as nails.”

“‘Classy and tough?’ Mr. Kahn said that about me?” Camilla contemplated this as the woman went back to her own cubicle.

She flipped through the stack of letters on the desk. Her desk. Mr. Kahn must really have liked the penguin story. He had given her a column. Her own column. She felt a rush of excitement as she attacked the stack of mail.

~

At break time, Stuart appeared in the doorway.

“Dr. Lavinia, I presume?” he said. “I got you more coffee.” He handed her the cup. “So you’ve incurred the wrath of Kahn? So, what terrible offense did you commit? Must have been a biggie. Health food! Give me a break.” He picked up a stack of mail and began to leaf through it.

She fought the urge to say something rude.

“So what did you do, huh?” Stuart said, dropping the letters as if they smelled bad. “Did he put the moves on you and you turned him down? If he did, don’t tell Julie. She’s been trying to get into his shorts for months.”

“Thanks for the coffee, but I have work to do, Stuart,” Camilla said.

“Right,” he said, with heavy sarcasm. “You’ve got an important column to write. You can tell me about it at dinner. Maybe some tofu pizza, now you’re a health-food guru? They do make it here, if you can believe…”

She clutched the sides of the old Smith-Corona and imagined smashing the machine over Stuart’s head.  But she didn’t suppose that was a thing that a Dr. Lavinia would do.

She had to become Dr. Lavinia. Classy but tough as nails.

“I’m afraid dinner isn’t possible.” She turned her attention to the doctor’s mail

“Hey, that was a joke—about the tofu pizza…”

“Perhaps some other time,” said Dr. Lavinia.

Chapter 17—A Birthday Party