Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (2 page)

At first, she had enjoyed exploring the older
editions. Fifty years ago, chunky blocks of type took up the front
page. Most articles came over the wire and staff-written pieces had
no bylines. Dex had explained how reporters worked for "the paper"
in those days, not for the recognition. But now if Kris spent too
much time on the machine, the scrolling of the film gave her motion
sickness. The focus lever didn't work right, so she'd press her
finger over the tape, holding it in place.

Frowning, Kris stared at the bold black
headline splashed above the subhead "
Body Found In Fremont State
Woods
." For the second time, she skimmed the article about
Diana Ferguson.

FREMONT - A 21-year-old cocktail waitress
reported missing was found bludgeoned to death Saturday night in
the woods behind the Fremont State College baseball field. Police
have identified the victim as Diana Marie Ferguson of 22 Hutchins
Circle.

Ferguson, daughter of Irene and the late
Joseph Ferguson, had been missing for two days. She waited tables
at Rossi's Bar, and apparently left work early Thursday night to
meet friends at Campus Pizzeria on Robinson Avenue, police
said.

She was last seen alive shortly after 9 p.m.,
when witnesses said she left the pizzeria with a former boyfriend,
Jared Peyton, a senior at Fremont State College.

A student discovered the body while walking
in the woods. Police responded to a call at 11:30 p.m. and removed
the body, which was wrapped in a garbage bag.

Ferguson's car, a 1975 Chevy, was found
behind the former Salvatore's Restaurant on Purchase Street. The
restaurant has been vacant for a year.

According to Detective Gerald Frank, Ferguson
had been hit in the head with a blunt object. Police believe she
was killed at another location. There were no traces of sexual
assault, police said.

"She wanted to be an artist," said her
sister, Cheryl Soares, a substitute teacher at Fremont High School.
"She had all these plans. Diana was such a good person. I can't
believe she's dead."

According to Soares, her sister had been due
back Thursday at midnight and never stayed out late without
calling. By 2 a.m., her mother grew worried, telephoning friends
and co-workers.

Ferguson is survived by her mother, sister,
several aunts, uncles and a nephew. Funeral arrangements are
incomplete and under the direction of the Bellwood Funeral Home.
Police are investigating the case. Frank says he does not recall
any other murders in the history of the town.

Dex cleared his throat from behind Kris.
"Sorry you dislike the pictures of that kid’s family, but most
readers want this. It sells papers."

Rubbing her blurry eyes, she turned to face
him. Another month of poring over old news stories and she’d need
reading glasses.

"I realize I'm in the minority," she said.
"Thanks for sticking up for me. I don't think Jacqueline is too
happy."

"Miss High and Mighty will get over it. Let
me know if she gives you a hard time." Leaning forward, Dex read
over her shoulder. He had pulled off his suit jacket and rolled up
his sleeves. "Is that the Ferguson case? How the hell did you dig
this up? Christ, has it been twenty-five years already?"

"You remember it?"

"Who do you think covered the story?"

Kris peered up into his grizzled face.
"You're kidding."

"Reporters swarmed the scene. The cops
brought us back to the police station and issued a statement. I was
ticked off because Saturday's paper had gone to press and we didn't
have a Sunday edition back then. We got scooped by the
Globe
, the
Herald
and the TV guys on our own
territory."

Dex touched the first line of the article,
his palm shadowing the light. Liver spots stamped his swollen
knuckles. "I'll never forget how the editor changed my lead,
calling her a twenty-one-year-old cocktail waitress. And then that
headline, 'Missing Barmaid Murdered.' It put a negative slant on
her. I made them take off my byline."

"Wasn't this a big story?"

"Yeah, but my daughter, Sadie, knew Diana in
elementary school. Diana used to bring her dad to father-daughter
banquets. She was shy, but she'd jabber when her dad was there.
Used to amaze Sadie."

Kris stared at Diana's photograph. "Did Diana
stay shy as she got older? As a teenager?"

"I don't know. Sadie went to Fremont Catholic
so the girls lost touch." Dex combed a finger through his mussed
white hair. "It was tough calling Diana's house after the murder.
Her mother was a wreck, couldn't get out a word without crying.
Diana's sister took the phone away and gave a comment. I told her
I'd known Diana as a little girl. The sister trusted me."

"Did the police solve the murder?"

"Nope. For a long time, the mother would run
an obit page ad on Diana's birthday. I can almost remember it word
for word. It said something about how life would never be the same
without her, but that Diana’s soul and spirit would live on. She
wrote that the family wouldn’t give up until justice prevailed. It
was the same boxed ad every year."

"It’s amazing the desperate measures that
will make you feel better," Kris murmured. "It’s like the friends
and relatives who leave wooden crosses and flowers at an accident
scene. You can’t demonstrate your love to the person directly, so
you find other ways."

Silence dropped over them, not awkward, but
Kris didn’t know how to fill it. Dex scrutinized her with the
intensity of a lifelong journalist. "How you doing, Kid? You like
this job? Even the nutty hours?"

Kris gave him a rueful grin. Something about
Dex made it easy for her to open up. "That's the best part. It’s so
quiet. Plus working late makes the night go faster. I'll go home,
read or do housework, then go to bed around 6 a.m. I have trouble
sleeping at night."

"Insomnia? That's too bad. Ever tried
medication?"

"Nothing helps."

"Don't let Jacqueline work you too hard. Make
sure you take a dinner break." Dex rustled his New England Patriots
jacket off a plastic hanger in the closet.

"Hey, Dex? Is it okay if I don’t put the
Ferguson case in my column? I know it ought to be included, but I’m
worried about Diana’s family seeing it. If the mother stopped
running those ads, maybe she’s finally come to terms with it."

He stuffed his arms into the coat and
shrugged. "Hell, I’m probably getting to be a softie in my old age,
but I don’t see the sense of dredging it up either. Not for a blurb
in the ‘25 Years Ago Today’ column."

"Thanks, Dex. Have a good weekend."

Kris reached over and straightened the pile
of obits and press releases on her desk, right beside the microfilm
machine. She’d better finish up with her historical anecdotes and
get back to the present. Ten obits had trickled in via e-mail. The
11 p.m. deadline would sneak up fast.

Dex hadn't exaggerated when he'd warned that
the staff would consider her the newsroom slave, asking her to
handle a five-page Department of Public Works announcement for the
next edition, or answer their telephones if they went to the
bathroom. She also hadn't expected such a demanding public. People
complained about front-page stories, police logs and crossword
puzzles that had wrong answers in the solution box.

Yet poor as the pay was, and despite her
lowly status, Kris loved her new job. Her old one, as
administrative assistant for a Manhattan investments firm, had
exhausted her. She'd never slept well, but over the past six months
it had gotten much worse. At night, Kris would bury her head in the
pillow, unable to drown out the cars, yells and sirens outside her
Morningside Heights apartment.

It was either be a zombie, or come home to
quiet Fremont, Massachusetts.

"That was quite a scene you made." Bruce, the
cop reporter, leaned against her desk and the obits slid to the
floor.

He enjoyed the women in the front office
raving about his "bedroom" eyes and russet gold hair, but Kris
couldn't stomach his annoying cockiness. Besides, she’d bet a
month’s salary that his vibrant blue eyes were courtesy of Bausch
& Lomb.

Bruce made no effort to collect the papers.
"I've never seen you talk to anyone like that." He winked. "In our
short acquaintance, anyway. We'll know each other better soon."

"I was just expressing my opinion." She bent
to gather the scattered sheets.

"You're a passionate gal."

Kris rose and blocked the microfilm reader
with her back. She didn’t want Bruce getting wind of Diana
Ferguson. He probably wouldn’t care anyway, but Kris felt
protective of Diana somehow. She adjusted the heap of paperwork on
her overburdened desk. "I hope this disagreement doesn't come back
to haunt me with Jacqueline."

"Don't worry. If she's pissed at anyone, it's
Dex. Is the old man driving you crazy yet?"

"I like him. He acts crusty, but if you look
past that, he's a sweetheart."

"Sweetheart? Dex?" Bruce chuckled. "You're
gonna find that dear old Dex is past his prime."

If Kris had to waste precious minutes talking
to Bruce, she may as well fish for information. "What's the deal
with Dex and Jacqueline? I don't get who's in charge. I thought he
oversaw the day shift and Jacqueline the night, but I heard she's
always here. Who has final control?"

"Jacqueline's top dog, although Dex tends to
forget it. She and I worked together at a weekly on the South
Shore. She came here six months ago and called me when a reporting
job opened."

"I didn't know you two had worked together,"
Kris said.

That explained why Bruce and Jacqueline
meshed. Other reporters griped about the managing editor. Tension
drained out of the newsroom on Tuesdays, Jacqueline's night
off.

"She was my editor," Bruce said. "Listen,
don't take Jacqueline personally. She'd sleep in the newsroom if
they let her, and expects everyone else to do the same. She was
married to her job more than her husband. Now they're getting
divorced."

"That's too bad. Do they have children?"

Bruce snorted. "Jacqueline? Never. She won't
admit it, but she's stressed out about this job, too. A daily was a
big step. Dex is another pain in her ass. Jacqueline has full
editorial control, but the company allowed Dex to keep his title.
Temporarily."

"What do you mean?"

"The publisher's pushing him to retire, and
Dex said he'd consider it within the year. But the year's over. If
the old man doesn't smarten up and leave on his own, they're gonna
force him out."

Kris gazed at Dex's desk with its dogeared
towers of
Fremont Daily News
issues. He'd told her that he
had started as a paper boy. He lived and breathed the news
business.

"That's awful," she said. "At least he has a
chance to keep his dignity. I hope Dex takes it."

"Don't give management any credit. They're
just bridging the transition. There's a bunch of senior citizens
who read the paper and don't want to see changes."

"Poor Dex."

"Poor us. We've got to listen to his
complaining. Want to blow this place and get something to eat? I
have time before my police rounds."

Bruce flirted with every woman at the paper.
No sense feeling flattered.

"I can't leave," Kris said. "Too many
obits."

"How about lunch Monday before work?"

She hesitated.

"Come on, it's not a date," Bruce said. "I'll
fill you in on everyone. I've got all kinds of gossip. What do you
say?"

Kris knew she could use an introduction to
the oddities of the staff. Already, he'd provided an eye-opener.
"Okay, sounds good."

He watched her with amusement. "You'll be
glad you said yes, darling."

Darling? Oh, please.

She waited till he left, then rewound the
microfilm to a date shortly after Diana Ferguson had disappeared.
The paper had run a description of Diana and a police telephone
number. Kris turned off the machine.

The yearbook picture remained imprinted in
her mind. She’d read many articles about murder victims over the
years, but Diana Ferguson’s story affected her more than usual. She
had a sense that Diana was misunderstood.

Kris knew that feeling well.

Chapter 2

25 Years Ago Today

Jennifer McGreggor wins the speech contest
sponsored by the Fremont Women of Today.

M
an, it was early.
Kris gulped orange juice at Lucy's Lunchbox Diner, hoping the sugar
would pep her up. Her older sister had talked her into meeting at
the ungodly hour of 8 o’clock. As usual, Holly was fashionably
late.

Heat whooshed from beneath the table, warming
Kris’s frosty toes. Maybe she should eat on the floor near the
vents. Holly did all the yakking, anyway. She probably wouldn’t
even notice. Kris leafed through the laminated menu and squinted
out the window. Hardly any traffic crawled down Main Street.
Everyone must be sleeping in on this glorious Saturday. Lucky
stiffs.

Her reverie ended when she spotted her sister
by the entrance. Holly stomped slush off her boots and removed the
wool hat that covered her shoulder-length honey blonde hair. Kris
had the same deep amber shade. She wondered why her sister’s hair
fell in perfect curls while her own mane would’ve made a decent
nest for a robin.

Holly pulled out a chair, her diamond ring
flashing under the fake Tiffany lamp suspended over the table. She
unbuttoned her three-quarter length Anne Klein wool coat and
slipped off her fleece gloves. "Hey, stranger."

"You look too damn good for 8 a.m.," Kris
said.

"For now. I've got another twelve-hour shift
in the ER, so I'll be dragging soon enough. How are you doing? Your
eyes are bloodshot. Have you been sleeping okay?"