“You asked.”
“Of course.”
“It’s in the name of the show that she’s a slayer. Everyone knows that.”
“Russo-remember, you’re the one who goes to the site. Not me. Let’s keep it that way.”
“I just told you because you asked-”
“OK.” Thompson cut in when he wanted. “Let’s hear what’s on the agenda.”
“Well, you saw in the banquet space piece that I had a few quotes from Jerry Rubenstein, the owner of Palmstead.”
“Was he the fat guy in those pictures?”
“Well, I suppose you could say that.”
“I wasn’t sure if it was him or…or you, Russo. You’re like twins.”
“I already told you-”
“Right, right, I know. Go ahead with your pitch.”
“So I talked to Rubenstein. Tomorrow I’m talking to another developer, Simeon Rothschild. I’m going to ask him some important questions.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“First, I’m going to ask him about the environmentalists. I told you how one protestor interrupted the banquet because of the upcoming vote on the Development Proposition. And there’s also been a suspicious death at one of his properties. I don’t want to sling mud, but I think one of his residents may have conspired in it.”
“OK-part of it’s good.”
“The environmentalists? Or the death?”
“The guy. Rothschild. People like profiles. Like…like celebrities.”
“But I really wanted to explore the development issues-”
“Russo-here’s what you do. You know Gillian Handle?”
“What?”
“Gillian Handle.”
“Isn’t she one of our gossip columnists?”
Thompson coughed and laughed.
“One of them? The best…best in the city Russo! You know the questionnaire she has?”
“Handling Handle?”
“It’s perfect. Write your story off that.”
He sighed. Doing “Handling Handle” with Rothschild didn’t seem like a good idea.
“Sir, I don’t know if that’s the best plan. He’s a businessman, not a celebrity.”
“We have to make do. I like that you came up with it. Now stop complaining and get to work.”
It wasn’t worth fighting. He just didn’t want to have to read “Handling Handle” for research. Or repeat any of it out loud.
“All right. Fine. Is that all? I have some other calls I should make.”
“No, wait.” Thompson yelled across the room. Someone laughed. Then Carla was on the phone.
“Jake,” she said in a sultry voice. Thompson was laughing. “Thompson wants me to ask you if Buffy is a vampire or a zombie.”
He hadn’t been on those message boards in months, except for his one moment of weakness. It wasn’t fair.
“Thanks Carla. Thanks a lot. She’s a slayer. Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”
He could hear the whole room laughing. It was loud enough that they wouldn’t notice when he hung up. It didn’t matter. He had more important calls to make, even if Thompson didn’t know about them. He opened the phone again and started dialing Abram Samuels’ number. It only rang once.
“Hello Mr. Russo.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Have you heard of Caller Identification?”
“Yes. It’s just that when I call…”
“People my age don’t use caller ID?”
“Yes.”
“I know how to use the things I buy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” His voice sounded less harsh, like he wanted to apologize to Jake. Instead he just waited for him to speak next.
“Listen.” He had his notebook out. “On the beach the other night, I didn’t mean to creep up on you. And I’m sorry if I scared you or offended you or whatever. I’m a reporter. I have to do it.”
“Have to?” Abram asked. “Let me quote from your last article. I found it on the internet. You say that the Palmstead ‘has a stage fit for a queen and a menu fit for a king.’ Whom did you have to harass for that quote, Mr. Russo?”
“Fine. That’s fair. But I don’t just write puff pieces. And now I’m trying to learn about what really goes on at Sunset Cove. I think that there are some things about the community that people should know about.”
“I see.”
“Does that seem reasonable?”
“I’m not your boss.” He was angry or resigned. Jake couldn’t tell which.
“I know you aren’t my boss. But you seem upset.”
“You followed me.”
“There was a reason.”
“What?”
He tapped his pen against the open page in his notebook. A scared woman with a walker was the reason. And he had to say it. To tell him right now.
“The reason is that I heard you were the last person to see Charlotte Ward.”
The phone went silent. No dial tone. He was still on the line, just not talking. Then he did.
“Who told you that?”
“I can’t say.”
“Sheryl Goldfein? She’s always been a gossip.”
“Abram.” He waited. “Is it true?”
“Ask yourself why she would tell you that.”
“What do you mean?”
“She has motives.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t know what they were. It was best to play along. “But we can talk about those later. Right now I want to know-were you the last one to see her?”
“It’s private.”
“Why?”
Silence again. He didn’t expect him to answer. But for him to be like this… Secretive. Defensive. He refused to even review the basics.
“Mr. Russo, it’s private because it is.”
“Were you the last to see her?”
“I’m the only one who will admit it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m the only one who will go on the record.”
“Who do you think saw her?”
“I have to go.” Closing the conversation. It was now or never. Be aggressive, or lose the chance to learn more. The man knew something.
“I think you know why she died. You know why Charlotte Ward died on the beach that night. But you don’t want to tell me the truth.”
Silence.
“I think you don’t want to tell me because you were part of it.”
Silence again. He pressed.
“Are you there?”
“Meet me tonight where you found me. On the beach. Don’t tell anyone you are coming out there. And don’t let anyone see you go. If you do, I’ll leave.”
“The same time?”
“No. Late, very late tonight.”
“Tonight? OK. How late?”
“Very late.” His voice turned serious. “Make it 8:15. PM.”
He hung up the phone. Jake held his in his hand and looked at the log. They’d only talked a few minutes. But Abram knew something. The only problem was the condition Abram had set. At night and alone on the beach-it sounded a lot like what had happened to Charlotte Ward.
CHAPTER 24
When he left to interview Simeon Rothschild that afternoon, Kaylie was waiting outside his door. She sat in front of her own, her shorts sliding up her legs. The tan didn’t stop. He didn’t have time to banter with her now, but she didn’t want to banter. She wanted to make plans.
“We’re supposed to go out.” She was still sitting down, chewing on a piece of grass. He looked down and closed his door.
“I’m sorry, I just made an appointment for tonight.”
“When?”
“Around eight.”
“What’s your appointment? Are you ditching us? You agreed to have drinks.”
“I’m not ditching.” He put his keys back in his pocket. “I’m just saying that I have plans.”
“When will you be back?”
“I’m not sure. I’m going for a long walk on the beach.”
“Romantic,” she said and tilted her head. “We’ll go out when you get back.”
“Will your friends wait?”
“They can handle it.” She reached up for him to help her stand. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. Close to him. Then she turned and opened the door to her apartment. It was unlocked.
He didn’t like going out with big groups and playing the memory game with names and faces. He hated trying to get in a word before splitting up the check. But he was still looking forward to it. After meeting with Simeon Rothschild and Abram Samuels in one day, he guessed he was going to need a drink.