Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
It was the morning after Elena’s dinner with Maxine that James Murphy himself came to the newspaper offices with fresh croissants—not just for Elena, but for everyone.
Elena watched as her newsroom colleagues paraded by, clutching the soft yet crunchy delights, eager to refill their coffee cops.
“Thank you, James!” they called out, eyeing Elena.
Everyone knew what Maxine knew. The entire town knew! James was really into Elena.
But was Elena crazy for James?
Oh, he’d been through so much in the past three years. But Elena had felt safe enough with him to tell him everything about her own harrowing three years. What did it mean that she’d felt so comfortable around him? It didn’t have to mean “love,” she knew. But what if it did?
James stood near the box of croissants, unafraid, his eyes on Elena. Her heart did a backflip. Slowly, she moved toward him, sensing the attention of every person in the room. “That was kind of you,” she said, drawing her hair behind her ear.
“I was off work this morning,” James said. “I stopped into the bakery and saw there was a sale and thought, what the heck? ‘Tis the season.”
Elena had to fight to keep herself from wrapping her arms around him. “Would you like to get lunch with me?” she said, surprising herself.
James blushed. Stuttering, he said, “You know, I didn’t do this for, um. I didn’t mean to force you into anything?”
Elena laughed. “I don’t feel forced if you don’t.”
James smiled. “I have a therapy session till one. Pick you up then?”
Elena watched as James left the newsroom with a skip in his step. As soon as the door closed behind him, her colleagues erupted with questions.
“Is it finally happening?” one of them asked. “The official date?”
Elena blushed and put on her best Carmen impersonation. “Back to work, everyone! Nothing to see here.” She sauntered back down the hall, laughing to herself.
But Natalie was hot on her heels. Her face was conspiratorial, and for a moment, Elena was worried that she wanted to probe for more information about James. But that wasn’t it at all.
“Listen, Elena,” Natalie said, closing the office door behind them, “I remembered something. Something I think you should know.”
Immediately, Elena snapped into business mode. “What’s up?”
Natalie pulled up a series of emails from Carmen to Natalie, all sent between September and November—leading up to her collapse.
In them, Carmen asked for more specific details regarding the case that Natalie broke open in Connersville.
Some of the questions were very specific, suggesting that Carmen knew a great deal more about the situation than she let on.
In each email, Carmen pushed Natalie to keep digging.
And then, at the end of one of the final emails, Carmen wrote: I believe your piece will be an excellent introduction to a series I have planned.
The theme is criminality and fraud in our country.
There’s so much more of it than first meets the eye.
Elena’s jaw hung open.
“I’m so sorry,” Natalie muttered. “I forgot about these conversations. I saw this more as Carmen being my mentor, watching over me. But I forgot that she had her own series planned. Maybe she has more notes? More information about Judge Drury and the Cranberry Cove?”
Elena’s heart pounded. Hurriedly, she reached for her mother’s laptop, which remained on the second shelf of the desk.
She hadn’t considered investigating any of the harder-hitting articles her mother had been working on, mostly because she hadn’t assumed there were any.
She’d thought her mother had specialized in Christmas fluff—and that was it.
How wrong she’d been!
Together, Natalie and Elena gathered around her mother’s computer and dug through files.
There were all kinds of unfinished documents, articles about basketball teams, child theater clubs, and synchronized swimming teams, articles about National Ribbon Cutting Day and National Ride Your Bike Day, and so on.
There was enough material here to fill ten, if not twenty newspapers.
It brought tears to Elena’s eyes, thinking of all the work her mother had done for the paper over the years—some of it recognized, some of it not.
But there was nothing on there, as far as they could tell, about Judge Drury or Cranberry Cove. In fact, they were about to give up until they got to her email.
First, they discovered the numerous emails Carmen had sent to Natalie about Natalie’s own research.
“Strangely, she wasn’t working on anything,” Natalie breathed. “It really sounded like she was, you know?”
Elena inhaled sharply. “My mother’s been sick for a while. You said so yourself. Maybe she thought she was researching something? Perhaps she made something up in her head?”
But Natalie looked stiff with worry. “No. I don’t think so. She sounded so sure. And you know how Carmen can be when she’s sure.”
Elena did know. She continued clicking through the email, thinking, Come on, Mom. Reveal something to us! Something that will trigger understanding!
Into the search bar, she typed: Cranberry Cove. And that was when she discovered the emails sent between Carmen Vasquez and the head editor, Sam Ellison, starting in September and ending on the day Sam had quit as said editor, three days before Carmen’s collapse.
Natalie gasped.
Hi Sam. Me again. I wonder what you think about these documents?
(Attached.) They seem to suggest that Judge Drury is in cahoots with Connersville Mayor Roth.
I mean, I think they’re going to destroy the last bit of ecosystem we have right there on the cove.
The last bit of “prettiness” we “normal” Millbrook residents can enjoy!
But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. It looks like they want to destroy part of Webb Forest, too.
What do you think? I need your editorial eye. Carmen.
Carmen, thanks for the message. I checked the documents and can’t see any connection between Cranberry Cove, Judge Drury, or any of these so-called “plans.” Honestly, I think reporting on it would be a little irresponsible. Sam.
Hi Sam. Thanks for your feedback. You’re probably right. Natalie seems to think this is a strong case over in Connersville, and I thought maybe we had a connection here. You know how my brain’s been lately.
Carmen, yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you. Are you feeling all right?
Sam, hard to say. I think I’m just burned out. It was bound to happen sometime.
But in the wake of these emails, Carmen wrote to Sam about the potential criminality happening in Cranberry Cove, not once but four more times.
Each time, Sam pushed back, suggesting that Carmen’s brain wasn’t working correctly, that she was either too exhausted or too ill to perceive what was really going on.
Natalie hissed as they read, “He was gaslighting her!”
Elena’s ears rang with anger. What Sam, the editor, had done to her mother was horrendous. Now, as she clicked through the documents her mother had asked Sam to look at, she could see the connection between Cranberry Cove and Connersville plain as day. Sam had seen it too, unless he was blind.
“There has to be a reason he did this,” Natalie whispered.
Elena put her face in her hands and thought of her poor mother, who must have known that her mind was going. She’d wanted to turn to her friend Sam for guidance, and he’d essentially shoved her away, calling her insane, or tired, or old.
“What was your impression of Sam?” Elena asked Natalie now.
Natalie leaned back in her chair. She’d gone pale. “I always thought he was great! Kind. Smart. A brilliant editor. I always thought that he and your mom got on like a house on fire. I feel so naive again. So stupid for not seeing what he was doing!”
Elena tried to console her. “He was being pretty sneaky about it, I think. I’m sure he didn’t want anyone else to notice.”
Natalie blinked and blinked to keep her tears at bay. “But then he quit! Out of the blue. Why?”
Elena knew this was a clue to the greater puzzle. “What was his official reason?”
“Exhaustion. Early retirement,” Natalie said. “We had a little party for him and everything. Carmen gave an impassioned speech about all his years at the paper.”
Elena groaned and reached for the phone. “We’re going to call him. Now. And see what he says.”
“Now?” Natalie sounded frightened.
“I think the element of surprise is essential here,” Elena said. Using the list of reporters' phone numbers taped to her mother’s desk, she dialed Sam’s number and let it ring and ring till, after seven, he answered.
“Sam Ellison here,” he said. “Now, who’s handling Carmen’s desk these days?”
Annoyance shot through Elena. He knows about my mother’s medical problems, but we haven’t heard from him once since she collapsed. They worked together for twenty years! Wouldn’t a true friend have come by? Wouldn’t a true friend have called?
“Hi, Sam,” Elena said. “It’s Elena Vasquez.”
Sam put on a false, bright tone. “Elena Vasquez! As I live and breathe! I can hardly believe it’s you at your mother’s desk. Weren’t you chased away when that woman showed you her true colors? Like I was?” Sam barked with laughter. “I’m only kidding you, you know.”
“Well, you know how it is when someone gets sick,” Elena said, trying to match his brightness and hating herself for it.
“I was sorry to hear about your mother,” Sam said, dropping his tone. “She’s a wonderful and brilliant woman. I hope treatment’s going okay?”
“It’s just fine, Sam. But I’m not calling about my mother,” Elena said. “I understand you were the editor here at the paper for the better part of twenty years?”
“Twenty years! Yep. You should see all the gray hair on my head,” Sam said.
“That’s what the paper will do to you,” Elena agreed, rolling her eyes at Natalie. “But to keep the paper running, we need some information from you. You were a pretty important part of the machinery around here.”
“No doubt about that! I’m surprised you’re still in operation.”
Elena flared her nostrils. “We’re trying to break a case right now,” she said. “A case about the Cranberry Cove. A case involving Judge Baxter Drury that may date back to 1957. We’re looking for my mother’s notes about that. Do you happen to know where they might be?”
Sam let out a high-pitched laugh that made Elena’s blood run cold. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous in my life.”
Elena blinked and blinked. “Are you sure about that?”
“Sure? Of course, I’m sure,” Sam said, his volatility showing. “I wish you all the luck in the world, darling Vasquez. But stay out of stories that have no merit, will you? I would have thought you’d have learned your lesson over in Syria.” With that, he hung up.
Elena smashed her fist on the desk and got to her feet.
“He sounds guilty, all right,” Natalie murmured.
Elena tried to call him again, but by then, Sam had already blocked her. Elena’s heart slammed again and again against her rib cage. Something was very wrong.