Dying to Get Published (10 page)

"So what do you think?" Leigh Ann asked.

"I think I've got myself a seduction plan," Jennifer said, furiously making notes.

Chapter 16

Jennifer turned her head, and the kiss Sam aimed at her lips fell flat against her cheek. "Not in front of the whole building, sweetheart," she said coyly, nodding her chin toward the Channel 14 receptionist who rolled her eyes skyward.

Jennifer wanted to knee him where it hurt. She wouldn't have Sam playing with her affections—not in public
and
not in private—at least not until she had a mickey to slip him. She didn't need him charging up her hormones. She had Moore to contend with
, and she had to stay focused.

"I'll pick you up for lunch at twelve," Sam assured her.

As she turned to head toward the elevator, she felt an unexpected pat on her derriere. She stopped short. She didn't dare turn around. Too many witnesses. Assuming she didn't stab him to death with her fork, lunch would be interesting.

Channel 14's elevator was as ordinary as its lobby, and so were the people in it. So much for the glamour of the biz. She barely recognized Tamara Goodwin, an exotic looking African-American woman who co-anchored The Twelve O'clock News with Steve Moore. She wore no makeup, and without it her almond eyes lost that Egyptian look that mad
e her so striking on the tube.
She was dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans. She was both shorter and thinner than Jennifer had thought.

She would have to get used to the idea that Channel 14's beautiful people were not so beautiful at nine o'clock in the morning.

Down the hall, she passed the weather guy and the sports reporter, both of whose names she'd forgotten, as she made her way to Moore's office, Room 406. The roof, scene of Kyle Browning's suicide/murder, was only a staircase away.

Inside Room 406 a pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and large glasses on a chain stopped her with a "May I help you?"

Oh, no. This had to be Edith, the Edith she had threatened over the phone. And she was guarding the way to the two offices in the suite. If God didn't get her for that phone conversation, Edith surely would.

"I'm here to see Mr. Moore," Jennifer said contritely.

"Are you Miss Marsh?" Steely eyes skewered Jennifer.

"Probably, that is, yes."

"Have a seat over there while I tell him you're here."

Jennifer sat down in the rigid molded chair Edith pointed at. Other people got away with being rude and nasty. It wasn't fair.

Jennifer watched as the woman pressed a button on an intercom and announced Jennifer's arrival. In less than a minute, Moore was leading her by the hand into his office. Mentally, she listed the options for disinfecting human flesh. Iodine would leave a stain, but a good swabbing with alcohol might do it.

"I have a feeling this is going to work out well for all of us," Moore insisted, shutting the door behind them.

Jennifer backed up and opened the door a crack. "Sorry. I'm claustrophobic," she explained. "I can't stand being in closed-in places."
With sex-crazed maniacs like you
.

"Whatever makes you comfortable," he said, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe, lingering a few seconds here and there. Jennifer fought back an
un
comfortable surge of adrenaline.

"I won't be able to come in tom
orrow.
I…
I have an appointment I can't break," Jennifer blurted out. After all, this business of planning a murder, however fake, was demanding, and she had a security system at an apartment building she had to examine.

Moore paused and then smiled. "That's quite all right. I'm sure you're worth waiting for."

Was there nothing she could say to the man withou
t—

"You'll be helping me and John with public relations," Moore went on. "Answering letters, fan mail. Securing plane tickets, hotel reservations."

"John?" she asked in a voice a few notes higher than she would have liked.

"John Allen. He's in the adjoining office. He replaced Kyle Browning."

At least the scenery would be pleasant—and she'd have access to Browning's office, not that it was likely to be of much help. All of his belongings would be long gone by now.

"John doesn't come in until eleven most days, since he doesn't go on air until six," Moore explained. "You'll be working in the outer office with Edith. She can show you most of what you need to know. And, of course, I'll have a few special assignments for you."

Mace.
Mace would be good. She'd have to remember
to pick some up this evening.

"I went down to Personnel and got the forms for you." He handed her a stack of papers half an inch thick. "These are only a formality. You do have a college degree?"

Jennifer nodded, but she wondered why he asked. She had a feeling that the special assignments he had in mind didn't require a degree of any kind, except, perhaps, bad taste.

"Good. Why don't you go ahead and get started on those, so we can get you on the payroll." He ushered her back into the outer office, squeezed her shoulder, and pointed to a desk not five feet from Edith's. "That's your work station. Let me know if you need anything."

Moore threw her one last leer, returned to his office, and shut the door.

A stun gun. She could definitely use a stun gun.

Jennifer sighed and sat down at the desk. She also needed the answer to who killed Kyle Browning, and she'd like to get it before Moore got what he wanted. She began leafing through the stack of papers.

"When's the audit?" Edith asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Jennifer said innocently, hoping Edith had mistaken her for someone from accounting.

"The job audit."

Couldn't the woman cut her some slack? "Sorry about that. But I need this job, and I—"

Edith chuckled. "Think so, huh? We'll see how bad you need it. Moore runs through temps like soap stars run through tissues. If they stay a week, we think we're doing well. But if you want to work for Moore, that's your business."

"
You
work for him."

"I work for the station."

"And you worked for Kyle Browning?" Jennifer asked.

Edith eyed her suspiciously. "We've been told not to talk about the incident with Mr. Browning."

"I wasn't asking about the
incident
. I was asking about the man. He was my favorite Channel 14 news anchor," she said earnestly. "When I turn on the tube at six o'clock, I miss hearing him."

And in all truth, she did. Browning exuded a rare kind of Walter Cronkite sincerity and confidence. She didn't miss seeing him, however. She could watch John Allen give the news with her TV on mute. In fact, he was better on mute.

Edith sighed, and her veneer of distrust seemed to weaken. "Yes, I worked for him. We started out together."

"In New York?"

"Yes."

"How'd he wind up in Macon?"

Edith's face softened. "Kyle was originally from Macon. He and Steve had been friends for many years, but I bet you didn't know that."

She didn't know that. She didn't even know Browning was from Georgia. If he'd ever shared any of the local accent, he lost it well before he was broadcasting in New York.

"But why'd he come back?"

"He never told me."

"But you came with him. You must have some idea."

Darn! She'd gone one step too far, too soon. She could see the openness in Edith's eyes cloud again with wariness. This would never have happened to Maxie Malone. If she could only page up in her Word document and rewrite this scene, maybe she could get it right.

"You'd better get those forms filled out and down to Human Resources this morning."

Jennifer sighed. She'd not be getting much more out of Edith. At least, not for a while.

She shuffled through the papers. IRS withholding, one exemption. Too bad she couldn't count Muffy. She ate like an exemption. Social security number, address, phone.

"'Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in,'" Edith stated.

"I beg your pardon," Jennifer said.

"It's a quote from Robert Frost's 'The Death of the Hired Man.' You asked why Kyle Browning came back to Macon."

Chapter 17

Some lunch! Sam owed her more than a salad from Kroger's even if he
had
carefully selected each item, made sure he included spinach (to which he had an admitted personal aversion), topped it with shredded cheese and croutons, and smothered it in her favorite blue cheese dressing.

Jennifer stuffed another spoonful into her mouth and crunched into bean sprouts. Yum. And just because it was delicious—her tongue found a black olive to join the party of flavors—was no reason for Sam to think she actually liked eating outside in a park on a gorgeous spring day. She'd had something in mind like a thirty dollar entrée at one of Macon's exclusive restaurants. He owed her big-time for putting up with Moore, and she intended to see him pay.

Sam bit off a third of his hamburger, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and took a big slurp of the supersize cola that sat perched on the wooden park bench. "What's it like on the battlefront?"

Jennifer swallowed and took a drink of the flavored water Sam had brought her. Blackberry—the best. "I don't know how much I can find out. Moore seems to have only one thing on his mind when I'm in the room."

"I can understand that." Sam gave her an approving scan. "But then that means he's not suspicious of you. After all, he came to you, not you to him."

And you to me, she thought.

Jennifer made the mistake of looking him straight in those gorgeous eyes of his. She was angry with him,
but she couldn't remember why.

"I want you to see if you can gain access to the files."

"I've got access. As a matter of fact, filing is one of the menial jobs they threw my way. They didn't even ask me if I knew the alphabet."

"Good. Go through them as carefully as you can."

"And find what? What am I looking for?" Jennifer asked petulantly. "And Edith seems cemented in her chair."

"She has to go to the bathroom sometime. Do it then. Look for notes on an investigative report that was never aired, one that happened during the time that Browning was at the station."

"I haven't exactly memorized Channel 14's news broadcasts, you know. But if you think we're looking for something to do with a news report, I think you're wrong. Moore's a reader, not a reporter. He messed arou
nd all morning and then at eleven-thirty
, a young Jimmy Olson type came into the office carrying a script. Moore took it into the office. I could hear him reading through it."

"So you think Browning was a reader, too?"

Jennifer shrugged. "Who knows? But they replaced him with John Allen—that should be a big hint."

"Well, check the files anyway. You never know. Browning started out as a field reporter, but that was more than a few years ago. Also keep an ear out for who Browning socialized with."

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to start a conversation about a dead man's social life?"

"You've only been there a few hours. I have complete confidence in you."

"Do you, now?"

"Yeah, I do."

She shook her head. She didn't like the way her mind wandered when she was around Sam. She kept getting distracted by minor things like his teeth. They had character. And his chin, while strong, had just a hint of vulnerability…

"…to get a look at that roof, if possible," Sam was saying.

Why did men insist on talking? Jennifer drew her mind back to Kyle Browning. The man was dead. He deserved at least a bit of her attention.

Her characters never had trouble keeping on track. Maxie Malone was sharp as a tack—always. And Jolene, well, when Jolene met some guy, she just got
it
over with and never let
it
interfere with an investigation.

She stuffed a cracker into her mouth and mumbled, "Should have saved the picnic for tomorrow." Eating usually brought her mind back to reality.

"Why?"

"We could eat on the roof. If anyone catches us, it'll look like a romantic tryst."

Sam gave her a sly smile and slurped cola through his straw. "Sounds good to me. I'll bring the food; you bring yourself."

She hated how he did that, how he left her without a comeback, how he made her so acutely aware of her femininity.

"I'd better get you back to work. Moore will wonder what's happened to you. I don't want him getting suspicious. We don't know what part Moore may have had in Browning's death."