Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (17 page)

"The last editorial assistant could handle
it." Bruce smiled, making him even more handsome.

"The last editorial assistant quit."

Dex joined them and thrust his arms across
his crinkled suit jacket. He'd hung around the newsroom for an
extra hour, irritating Jacqueline. "What's going on?"

"Please tell Bruce that I don't have to take
his orders," Kris said. "I have a pile of obits, and he expects me
to type something that isn't even legible."

Dex scanned the press release. "She doesn't
have time for this tonight. A charity wrestling match for the
Police Association? It's not till next Wednesday, anyway."

"I told my contact I could get it in," Bruce
muttered.

"Tell your 'contact' the pages were locked
up. What did they write this with, their feet? Next time, tell them
to find a computer."

Bruce grabbed the press release and stalked
out of the room.

"What the hell was that about?" Dex glared
after him.

"He rubbed me the wrong way, I guess," Kris
said.

"You don't seem yourself. Your insomnia been
acting up?"

"Yeah, but I'll be fine."

"You've got to take it easy. You're in here
night and day, like some kind of robotic Lois Lane."

Kris gestured toward her piles. "I've got
lots of work to do. There's engagements and press releases and the
microfilm-"

"You still have a chance," Dex cut in.

"For what?"

"To make a splash with the Ferguson case. If
you give Jacqueline an exclusive on a silver platter, she'll print
it."

"You don't think I'm nuts?"

He shrugged. "If there's a chance it'll get
me an exclusive, I don't care if you're nuttier than a
chipmunk."

Chipmunk. Maybe that was a sign.

She grinned. "Thanks, Dex. You're the
best."

Cheryl called after Kris's dinner break,
concerned about the upcoming article. "Mom's nervous about a new
reporter. She's reluctant to talk with anyone except you."

"I'll see if I can take her quotes and pass
them on," Kris said. "My editor did tell me that I could
contribute."

Sort of.

"Eric says Lieutenant Frank didn't speak
highly of the other reporter," Cheryl said. "I hate to ask, but
could I see the final copy before it goes to print?"

"I'm afraid that's a no-no in the news
business," Kris said. "I’ve heard my editor, Jacqueline, telling
people it violates newspaper policy. If you're worried, you could
talk to her."

"Thanks, Kris. Michael and I will think about
it. We know you'll do everything you can."

Kris hung up and tunneled her hands through
her curls. If the Soares had any chance at a fair story, she'd have
to make amends with Bruce. She found him playing computer Solitaire
at his desk. He turned in one or two stories a day, and then goofed
off.

"Look, sorry if I was touchy before," she
began. "I'm not feeling that well. About the Ferguson case -- I
wasn't trying to horn in on your territory."

He didn't look at her, his attention on the
screen. "I have the police beat. You don't. Seems like you were
horning in to me."

"It was part of my microfilm research, so I
didn't see it that way. In fact, I feel badly that you got stuck
with the article. Let me help you out. I'll type up my background
information. You could interview the police, and I'll talk to
Diana's mother. I've spoken to her already, so it'll be a matter of
tightening up her quotes."

"Whatever. Maybe I'll use it, maybe I won't.
Now if you don't mind, I'm a full-time reporter, unlike some
people. I have stories to chase." Glowering, he picked up the
phone.

Kris downed two more aspirin and called
Raquel between obits. The phone line crackled, as if Raquel were
walking around with a cordless. In the background, a cabinet door
thudded once or twice. Kris pictured her searching the house for a
bag of potato chips.

"I told you everything I know," Raquel
said.

"I wanted your opinion. I heard a rumor about
Diana." Kris stopped, uncertain how to phrase it. "That she may
have slept around."

"Diana! That's insane."

"It's not true?"

"Of course not!"

"I also heard that Diana had an affair with
Alex Thaddeus in high school."

Silence.

"Raquel?"

"I ... I heard you."

"And?" Kris heard a sharp intake of breath.
She'd been right. Raquel didn't like talking about Alex. "Please,
if you know something, you have to tell me. It could be
important."

"This is crazy."

"Please, Raquel."

"You can't tell Mrs. Ferguson," Raquel said,
her words rushing out. "Diana's reputation is already in the
gutter. That's why I kept it to myself. It happened so long ago, if
it was even true."

"I won't."

"About a month before she was killed, Diana
told me something strange, that she made mistakes when it came to
men. I asked what she meant, and Di asked if I could keep a secret.
She told me this crazy story, about how senior year, she and Mr.
Thaddeus had an affair. She said it should've made her smarten up,
but it didn't."

"Did you believe her?"

"Not at first. Sure they flirted, but an
affair? I thought she was trying to impress me. Later, I remembered
Di had made us quit the History Club a couple months before
graduation." Raquel hesitated. "Maybe she was telling the truth. It
just seemed farfetched."

"Could the affair have started up again?
Did-"

"She clammed up." Raquel sounded upset. "You
don't think Mr. Thaddeus killed Diana. Do you?"

"Everyone's a suspect," Kris said. "Even Mr.
T."

Chapter 15

25 Years Ago Today

Joseph Sannicandro is elected chairman of the
Fremont Industrial Development Commission, replacing Gus Allen, who
resigned after many years of service.

K
ris moved down the
buffet line in Holly’s dining room, filling her plate with assorted
salads, chicken wings, lasagna, stuffed mushroom caps and cold
cuts. Gold-leafed platters covered a Victorian rose damask
tablecloth and white pillar candles flickered in brass wall
sconces. Kris had to admit, her sister knew how to entertain.
Unfortunately, Kris had nothing in common with this crowd.

Holly and R.J. had invited a dozen friends,
mostly doctors. They'd assigned Dennis, a tall dark-haired
emergency room physician, as Kris's date. Her brother-in-law had
jump-started the conversation, then excused himself. She glimpsed
R.J. in the kitchen, a head shorter than everyone else, baseball
cap tucked around his ears.

Dennis plucked a Chinese chicken wing out of
a serving bowl with a pair of crystal tongs. "Your mother's
brilliant. I did a rotation with her, and she taught me a lot.
She's tough, but fair."

"Fair?" Kris asked. "You're sure it was my
mother?"

He blinked.

"I'm kidding," she said.

"Oh." Dennis laughed uncertainly.

He was nice, but not her type. He wasn't Eric
Soares.

Kris followed Dennis toward the plush white
sofa. Eric would be on stage tonight. She'd bet he looked sexy up
there. She could have been his date, seen a different side of him.
They would've talked after the show, maybe gone somewhere private
and shared another kiss. Warmth cascaded through her body.

The hell with it. She'd been stupid to turn
down his invitation. It wasn't too late to make an appearance.
Besides, Eric was an important source on Diana. She couldn't
alienate the guy.

Yeah, that's the reason, Kris told herself
wryly.

Itching to escape, Kris met Dennis’ coworkers
and tuned out a slew of ER horror stories. Holly, elegant in a
strapless black cocktail dress, cocked a thumbs-up from the
kitchen. After dessert, two couples left to relieve their
babysitters. Glory Hallelujah. Now Kris could break away, too. Snow
swirled outside the window, lashing through the trees. She said
goodbye to Dennis and then cornered her sister near the
pastries.

"Don't go yet, I've hardly seen you."
Yawning, Holly covered her mouth.

Kris patted her sister's hand. "You did
great, Hol. Everything was delicious, but I do need to go. You'd
better hope everyone else leaves, too, so you can get to bed."

"How do you like Dennis?"

"He's nice, but I'm interested in someone
else."

Holly peered into the dining room, suddenly
wide awake. "Who?"

"Not here. I met him through the paper. His
band's performing tonight at a club, and I want to hear him." Kris
didn't mention that he was Diana Ferguson's nephew.

"Band? Like a rock group? Isn't that a little
juvenile?" Her sister wrinkled her nose.

"It's a hobby. He's a high school music
teacher."

"Seriously?"

Her irritation mounting, Kris folded a scarf
around her neck. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Holly said quickly. "It's just ...
well, Dennis is so successful. Mom would say that you haven’t even
given him a chance."

"I don’t care what Mom would say. Eric’s
students are lucky to have him sharing his passion for music. You
wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Holly? Choosing a
career that's right for
you
? Making your own decisions and
standing up for yourself? Maybe you ought to judge yourself for
once." Kris strode to the door, leaving her sister staring
open-mouthed.

***

Forty minutes later, Kris stepped into
Xaviers. Snow had blurred her windshield and slicked the roads,
doubling her drive. For once, she had traveled well below the speed
limit.

People packed the dance floor, swaying under
a silver spinning disco ball with rainbow colors shooting out in
electric patterns. Recorded music throbbed from speakers. Wisps of
cigarette smoke clouded the air, stinging her eyes. Kris didn't see
the band, but wires and microphones crisscrossed the vacant stage.
She stood on her tiptoes, hunting for Eric or an empty table. She
jostled up front and squeezed against the wall.

Kris ordered a beer from a redheaded waitress
in a short skirt. She opened her purse.

"It's been taken care of," the waitress
said.

She followed the woman's pointing finger.
Eric elbowed through the crowd in a dark tee-shirt and jeans. His
gaze centered on the lacy black sweater that skimmed just below her
belly button. Beneath it, a sleeveless ebony silk top showed
through the stitching. Kris hoped the dim light hid her burning
cheeks. It was one of her sexiest blouses. She’d been underdressed
at Holly’s house, but fit in perfectly here. Deep down, she must've
known she would visit Eric.

"Hey, great to see you," Eric said. "Is the
party over?"

"Everyone went home because of the snow," she
said.

"Did it ever cross your mind that you should
do the same? It's supposed to get icy."

"It wasn't that bad out. I'm a big girl."

"Come on, we're about to start the last set,
but you can sit over here." Eric steered her toward the opposite
side of the room. His group had pushed together two tables, strewn
with empty soda glasses and beer bottles. His friends headed toward
the stage, except for a big beefy guy with a dangling lightning
bolt earring.

Eric clapped him on the back. "This is Paul.
His wife, Laura, is in the band. Don't talk her ear off,
Paulie."

Paul winked. "Who, me?"

"Watch out for him, Kris. I'll talk to you
after."

The five-member band opened with a hard rock
song, catchy enough for the radio. Kris found herself tapping her
foot under the table. Paul checked her out from head to toe. She
couldn't read his expression behind his coke bottle glasses and
scraggly black beard.

"What?" she asked.

"So you're the famous Kris. I've heard a lot
about you."

"Famous? What have you heard?"

"Let's just say you made Eric's night by
coming here," Paul said with a grin.

"Oh, yeah?" Covering her pleasure, Kris
groped for a witty response without luck.

"Okay, I'll quit embarrassing you. Eric tells
me you're investigating his aunt's murder."

She nodded, surprised. "That’s right."

"Eric and I grew up together. We're pretty
close."

"Have you always known about Diana?"

"Not till I was around twelve. Eric's mom
never talked about her, so he didn't either. It explained a lot,
though."

"Like what?"

"Like why his grandmother was so protective,"
Paul said. "She panicked if we even walked to school alone."

"How did you hear about Diana?" Kris
asked.

He reached into his pocket for a lighter and
struck a cigarette. "Eric and I went through a detective phase when
we were kids. He wanted to solve the case, but his mom got upset
that he was treating it like a game. She heard us talking and tore
into him. I got out of there fast, man. She's a great lady, but
Eric inherited his temper from her."

Why hadn't Eric mentioned his interest in
Diana? He leaned over the keyboard, his long fingers scrambling
down the ivories. His playing reverberated with confidence and
skill. Paul's wife, an attractive blonde in a leather jacket and
skintight jeans, performed lead vocals in a strong sultry
voice.

"For some reason, I assumed Eric would be the
lead singer," Kris said.

Paul chuckled. "Eric? Forget it. Take away
the keyboard and he freezes."

"He has stage fright? You're kidding."

"Don't tell him I told you. He wrote their
original songs, though, including this one. He's got real
talent."

"I can tell." She chugged a long swallow of
Heineken, relaxing for the first time all night.

Eric cracked a grin in her direction, making
him look like a college kid. After the band finished the last set
to enthusiastic applause and whistles, he rejoined her at the
table. Paul tried cajoling him into another beer, but Eric shook
his head. "I've got to get Kris home. The storm's probably picked
up."