Roots of Murder (5 page)

But she had to do something. They needed to know her plans for the paper—even if she wasn't quite sure yet. She needed to remember to hand out the compliments and praise when it was deserved. Thom would say, “Nell and I think that you wrote a great story” or “Nell and I really appreciate the extra time you put in” so she didn't have to.

Nell wasn't good at compliments; neither the words nor the thought came easily to her. When Nell had made valedictorian of her high school class, her mother had merely said, “It's not like there were that many smart kids there.” Her father, in a rare counter to her mother, had replied, “Still, she did a good job. Only valedictorian in this family.” He was the one who had filled out the paperwork for her to go to college. Her mother didn't think a girl needed college, but she'd just said that and let it go, as if she couldn't be bothered to make much of a fight over her last daughter.

Why would the staff stay on, to work for a morose, silent woman, Nell questioned. She needed to go talk to Jacko about his assignment. Carrie still wasn't here. Thom and Carrie had gotten along well, with just enough hints of flirtatiousness to not arouse the suspicions of the wife or of the rest of the staff.

Nell had commented on it once to Thom. He had laughed, wrapped his arms around her, cupped her breasts, and said, “Why go out for ground round when you've got filet mignon at home?”

Nell had to admit he had a knack for saying the right thing at the right time. After that comment, and the ardent things he'd said in the night, she was able to see that the flirting came mostly from Carrie and Thom skillfully handled her crush on him to get good work out of her, while promising nothing more than being an office mentor.

From the moment he was gone, Nell missed the daily touches, a shoulder rub, sitting next to each other on the couch, thighs resting against one another—those myriad of ways that two people who were as intimate as they were touched. Now she was starting to miss the passion they'd shared, starting to feel the ache in her body for their lovemaking.

This is not something to be thinking about in the office, Nell admonished herself.

A crash and a muttered “Damn it” from the outer office interrupted her.

“You can probably glue it together,” Dolan was saying to Jacko. “Wood glue's pretty powerful these days.”

Jacko had tried to open his top desk drawer and, as it was wont to do, it came apart, the front piece still in his hand, one side on the floor and the bottom teetering half in and half out. The desk was an old battered one, but it seemed to have come with the building.

“Why don't you get rid of that and take the one in my office?” Nell heard herself saying. “Take anything that's … useful and just put the rest in a box.”

“Nell, are you sure you want to do that?” Dolan asked. “Don't you think you might want to …”

“I can't,” she burst out. “I've tried and I can't. Take the desk; it's not doing any good sitting empty. Just put … Thom's stuff in a box. I'll sort it later.” She added softly, “It'll be easier for me; I can't do it right now.” That admission let the other words come out. “I'm not Thom. There were a lot of things he did very well, that I'm not going to be good at. I'm not great at … social stuff. You must be wondering what's going to happen to the Crier. I'm still … trying to sort things out … But I intend to keep the paper going, at least long enough to see if Josh or Lizzie wants to take it over.” Nell didn't know she intended to do that until she said the words, but it began to feel like a viable path. “This has been a … hard place to work in the last month. I can't promise there won't be some difficult times ahead. But I'm dedicated to keeping what Thom and his father and his father before him have built.” She looked at the expectant eyes focused on her—Jacko and Dolan, Pam at her reception desk, Ina Claire who had come out of her office. “I know in the past I would sit in that office and Thom would come out and tell you things. It may take me a while to adjust to that being my duty. Please feel you can come into my office. Please know you can ask me questions. Please … help me keep the Crier going.” Nell again surveyed the expectant faces.

Dolan broke the silence. “Nell, we don't expect you to be Thom. Just run the paper and we'll support you.”

“Hey, boss lady,” Jacko said. “I'm in it for the long run. I'm learning a lot more about reporting that I ever did at Baby Gator U.”

Unexpectedly, Ina Claire, who had been running the classifieds since they were written in stone, gave Nell a hug. “Don't you worry, dear, we all care about the paper too,” she said as she let go.

“Anything I can do, just let me know,” Pam added. “Even if I have to tell Tanya Jones to … ” She stopped, unsure if she should use the curse words.

“To go to hell,” Nell finished for her. “Speaking of, that rock I was holding was a present from one of J.J.'s brothers.
Allegedly
his brother,” she added, her newspaper training surfacing. “With a note attached, warning me away. I don't think they're up to more than just harassment and petty threats, but be on guard.” She turned to look directly at Dolan. “I'd appreciate it if you'd use whatever connections you have to help keep things calm.”

“That I'll do,” he said with a smile that recognized her statement for the apology it was.

“Okay, that's my Thom imitation, now I turn back into Nell and tell us to go back to work.”

Jacko gave her a mock salute, Dolan a nod with a smile still on his face. Ina Claire reached out and squeezed her hand, and Pam said, “Yes, ma'am, madam boss lady.”

“And as to work, I've got a project for you,” she said to Jacko. She told him about the bones in the woods. Dolan and Ina Claire remained in hearing range and Pam's desk was never out of hearing range, so they all listened in too.

Dolan was the first to comment. “Two missing people? I don't remember anything like that.”

“We don't know how long those bones have been there,” Nell said. “They might be older even than you are.”

“My dear young lady, nothing is older than I am.”

“Except for me,” Ina Claire chimed in, reminding Dolan that at
seventy-six
she was the most senior staff member. “This coast has enough crimes. The gambling in the forties, and now it's back; smuggling, drugs, alcohol. Back when this was a dry area there was a lot of rum running, the girls to service all the military boys that come through these parts.” Ina Claire was usually a quiet person, save for her incessant phone work for the classifieds. The most Nell heard out of her was, “Now, how do you spell that?” But every once in a while the most amazing things would come out of her mouth.

She had left out one. “What about racial trouble?” Nell asked.

“They can tell, can't they?” Jacko asked. “If the bodies were black or white?”

“I don't know. I can ask Kate.”

“The color that their skin once was won't prove anything,” Ina Claire said. Then she added another of her unlikely thoughts. “It's the reaction of those who put them there that will tell you the tale.”

Nell started to ask for clarification, but then two phones started ringing, including the line reserved for paying classifieds, and the moment was gone.

“Should I just dig, or do you have any suggestions?” Jacko asked Nell.

“Seems to me our morgue might be a good place to start, so head downstairs. After that, police or court records. Anything that seems reasonable. I'll give Kate a call and see if she has any guesses on the age of the bones. That might help.”

“I can call Marion over at the library and see if she has any ideas.”

“You can, although it might be good to be low key about this. Someone didn't want those bodies found. That someone may still be around.”

It was now that Carrie chose to arrive at work. As she divested herself of her raincoat and umbrella, she caught sight of Nell and hastily muttered, “Sorry I'm late, the car wouldn't start.”

“Whatever,” Nell muttered in return. “I've got election events I need you to cover.” She gave Carrie a moment to settle in as she retrieved the assignment sheet from her desk.

Carrie glanced at it, then commented. “I get prune face?”

“It's either that or waiting in the square to see if Everett has some comment on God raining on his picnic.”

They were interrupted by the entrance of three people. Nell recognized one, Lambert Gautier. He was the head of one of the leading local advertising agencies and he specialized in politics. With him were a man and a woman, both dressed in the serious and sober fashions of those seeking office, safely dry under the golf umbrella he was carrying.

At least we're far enough along that I can't guess which one is the candidate, Nell thought. Carrie, in reaction to the man, sat up straighter, leaning forward enough to display her cleavage. It didn't even seem
thought-out
to Nell, just her instinctual reaction to a handsome man. Nell had to admit that he was handsome; tall, full head of dark brown hair with a hint of gray at the temples. The woman was equally attractive, also tall, also with thick brown hair; either no gray or it had been artfully colored away.

Lambert wasted no time; he put out his hand and crossed to Nell. “Mrs. McGraw. We've just come from filing for office and I thought I might run my candidate by the local paper so we could get a chance to do a meet and greet.” He gave her hand a hearty pump.

“And who is the candidate?” Nell inquired, knowing if it were the woman, Lambert would have said that up front.

“Aaron Dupree, I'd like you to meet Nell McGraw,” Lambert said, his one hand now on Nell's forearm and the other reaching out and grasping Aaron Dupree's shoulder as he brought them together.

“Mr. Dupree, how do you do?” Nell said. His handshake didn't have the false heartiness of Lambert's. He had somehow perfected a warm, dry handshake with the right amount of firmness.

“Mrs. McGraw, I'm pleased to meet you. One of the ways I've kept connected to Pelican Bay was by my parents sending me copies of the Crier. I've been reading you for a while.”

“Aaron moved back here about six months ago, to help take over his father's business.”

Lambert didn't explain who his father was and Nell needed none. Andre Dupree was the man who had built the Back Bay Country Club and the posh and pricey real estate that surrounded it. Andre Dupree had a very thick file; he had been mayor back in the seventies. Thom had met Aaron since he had moved back, but Nell had not been with him. Thom had repeated what he'd heard, that Aaron had moved away as a young man, to California where he got his law degree. Rumor was he moved back because his father had a stroke and he wanted to help his mother care for his father as well as their estate. Or because of his sister's recent divorce from a husband rumored to be abusive and he wanted to help raise his two little nieces. There was also a rumor that he'd come back because of his own recent divorce. Those rumors mentioned how it might be to hide his assets in with his family's and out of the divorce settlement.

Nell had been in the newspaper business long enough to know how useful and misleading rumors could be.

Lambert continued his spiel. “Aaron always intended to come back to Pelican Bay and follow in his father's footsteps, and he felt that now was the right time.”

“You've been back here for six months?” Nell asked, although she knew the answer.

“Yes,” Aaron said, cutting off Lambert. “I thought I'd wait until the next election before considering running. Six months seems a little quick to be trying to take over.” He gave Nell a boyish grin. She kept her face neutral and left enough of a silence that he filled it. “Then I talked things over with my family and we decided that four more years of the current administration wouldn't be the best thing for Pelican Bay. It was their encouragement that made me decide to run.”

Nell merely nodded, although she couldn't disagree with his assessment of Hubert Pickings and was secretly relieved the mayor's race was no longer a done deal. Not talking was one of her reporter's tricks. It worked especially well with people who were talkers; they couldn't stand the silence and filled it, often with things they wished they hadn't said. Thom had called it hunting, that she knew exactly when to be silent, like a lion watching a gazelle.

Lambert took up the talking. “So, I … we know it's kind of late to enter the race, but the only choice was to wait another four years or do it now. It's going to take a lot of work to catch up to the current mayor, but we felt that we had to take on the challenge.”

Knowing he could well go on with this blather, Nell cut in. “Come on, Lambert, you know having the son of a former mayor charging in at the last second to enter the race will generate a ton of publicity. It's Hubert Pickings who'll have to scramble.”

Lambert's face showed the debate going on; did he go the slick route and insist they were the underdog or admit that Aaron's splashy entrance would indeed create the kind of obstacle that Hubert Pickings had shown no ability to overcome? He finally gave a rueful grin and said, “Well now, there might be some truth to that.” He was clearly used to dealing with the more politic Thom and not the blunt Nell. “But you know Thom and I used to talk a lot and we both agreed that with politics you just never can tell.”

“Thom's not here,” Nell retorted, angry at him for using Thom's putative views to bolster his, and angry at herself for the grief and anger that slipped in a moment of banal banter.

“Yes, ma'am,” Lambert said, “and I'm sorry for your …”

Nell abruptly cut him off. “We haven't been introduced,” she said to the woman.

“How do you do?” she said, offering Nell her hand. “I'm Desiree Hunter, the voice of reality in the Dupree campaign, which is why I've been silent.” Her hand was also dry, and her handshake firm for a woman. She seemed to sense that this was not the time to offer condolences to the recent widow. “I must also confess to being one of the strongest voices urging Aaron to run. Off the record, I've reached my quota of being able to say ‘Mayor' Pickings. Another four years is far beyond my capacity.”