Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Back at the newsroom, Elena and Natalie poured steaming cups of coffee and talked deliriously about next steps.
Their notes for the retirement facility’s Christmas party were spread out on Carmen’s desk, nearly forgotten.
One of them would have to put the article and the photographs together before tomorrow’s paper went to the press.
But corruption was a far more titillating topic.
It led them to forget, again and again, about the fluff piece the Gazette had slated.
“I can’t believe how honest and proud of all of it he was,” Natalie said of Greg for maybe the fifth time, clutching her mug with both hands. “It makes me think they’re all like this.”
“It definitely echoed Judge Drury,” Elena said. “He gave me the heebie-jeebies. They both did.”
“It’s like they’re raised in an entirely different universe than the rest of us. They’re told they can have whatever they want.” Natalie snapped her fingers. “Your grandmother knew that. Your mother still knows it. Why were we none the wiser?”
“I think when I left, I discredited what a small town really was,” Elena admitted.
“I dealt with war and big cities and mega-political parties. I didn’t imagine that corruption on such a small scale would affect so many people.
” But maybe, she thought, small-scale corruption and small-scale reporting are equally powerful tools—one used for bad, another for good.
Natalie collapsed into the chair across from Elena and ran her fingers through her hair. “What now?”
“He said follow the money,” Elena said. “But I’m not sure how we can pull, like, bank transfer information without breaking any laws.
My first thought is, we have to meet more of these people.
We have to go to Cranberry Cove and see what they say.
It feels to me like they’re unafraid to flaunt their wealth and their power.
Maybe they’ll say something that gives the game away. ”
Natalie went pale. Again, Elena knew, she was having second thoughts about involving herself in such a terrifying plot. But she felt the rush, too. Elena could sense that.
Elena and Natalie worked diligently for the next two hours, editing articles, throwing together a fluff piece about the Christmas party at the retirement facility, and assigning other articles to the journalists still in the office that day.
They assumed that an idea would come to them—something that would help them break the case.
But Elena’s mind was going too fast in too many directions.
When five o’clock rolled around, Natalie burst back into Elena’s office and said, “Why don’t we pretend we want to interview one of them?”
It was perfect. It spoke to the wealthy and elite members of society’s sense of importance. It also allowed them easy access to their homes, to their minds.
Together, after a thirty-minute research session about who lived on Cranberry Cove and for how long, Natalie and Elena decided on Henrietta Isaacson, a fifty-something woman who’d been raised in Cranberry Cove and, like the judge, had inherited her ugly mansion and her perfect view of the water.
Henrietta’s father had been a filmmaker, and her mother had been an Italian actress and model.
Now, Henrietta did very little, as far as Elena and Natalie could understand.
She was married to a mysterious man in his sixties, and they had three children, one of whom had returned home after a few semesters at Yale.
When they called Henrietta at home, she answered on the second ring, which felt like proof that she was out of her mind with boredom. When Elena explained that they wanted to interview her for a feature on Henrietta’s parents’ legacy, Henrietta leaped at the chance.
“I have a dinner party tonight at eight, but you can come before that,” Henrietta explained, her voice breathy. “You’ll want to take photographs, I assume? I’ve just gotten my hair done, and I’m wearing the perfect dress.”
Elena smiled into the receiver. “Sounds incredible. My photographer and I will be there in half an hour at most.”
It was hard to believe how simple it was.
On the drive to Cranberry Cove, Natalie and Elena discussed how they wanted the interview to go.
Natalie was bubbly, alternating between fear of being discovered and fear that they wouldn’t get enough out of her.
When they first saw the mansions that surrounded the cove, Elena inhaled sharply.
They were entering enemy territory. Through the gaudy mansions, she could see the glinting water just beyond, as well as the still-glorious stretch of forest and beach on the yonder side, the area that the current Cranberry Cove residents wanted to destroy in pursuit of their country club and their “better life.”
Natalie drove her car into Henrietta’s driveway, and the two journalists peered up at the horrible dark-green house, lined with red brick, decorated to bursting with Christmas gear. It looked like someone had thrown a bunch of glittery trash onto the house. It spoke to incredibly poor taste.
“Just because you’re born into wealth doesn’t mean you know how to use it, I guess,” Natalie mumbled as they got out of the car.
The minute they pressed the bell, the front door burst open to reveal Henrietta herself: six feet tall and slender, with arms sculpted from Pilates and eyes open as wide and full as saucers.
She wore a dark-green dress, and her hair cascaded in waves of red and gold.
When she smiled, they saw perfect white teeth, teeth that couldn’t have been natural, based on the older photographs they’d seen of Henrietta online. She smelled like too much perfume.
“Aren’t you both beautiful?” Henrietta said by way of hello.
“I didn’t know they made pretty journalists.
Come in. Come in.” She beckoned for them, and Natalie and Elena followed her into the overly ornate mansion, traipsing all the way to the sunroom, where Henrietta had laid out rosé and expensive-looking French cookies.
“This was really wonderful timing,” Henrietta explained as they sat. “My husband and I’ve just returned from Istanbul. We weren’t here for weeks and weeks.”
“Istanbul! What brought you there?” Elena asked, pressing Record on her phone. Later, she wanted to investigate every word Henrietta said.
“My husband has business all over the world,” Henrietta said. “And I have friends in every location.”
“What makes you stay in Cranberry Cove?” Elena asked.
“Oh, darling. Have you ever seen a more wonderful place?” Henrietta gestured toward the water just beyond, which glowed dark blue in the late hour. “I grew up in this house, and I’ll die in this house. I told that to my husband when we met.”
Elena folded her lips, wondering if she was capable enough as a journalist to find a way to the truth. “Tell me,” she said, “about the history of these wonderful houses.”
Henrietta blushed. “Well, my father was a part of the planning committee, which you might already know. He was a mighty man—a filmmaker. Maybe you’ve seen his films? In the Rain and Tempestuous are my favorites, but he filmed thirty-eight in all.”
Elena had never heard of those films before, nor had Natalie. But they pretended they knew all about them, gushing about Henrietta’s father’s eye for detail. Henrietta was pleased. She also, Elena recognized, hadn’t asked yet for Elena’s name, nor Natalie’s.
This was good, especially after the work Rosa had done to try to bring down the Cranberry Cove project.
Henrietta went on, explaining, “My father wanted the beauty of this world, but he had no interest in the small-town mentality of the people in it. I hope you don’t take offense.
But he was a man from another world, a man who yearned for beauty.
He didn’t want the simplistic gossip of Millbrook.
Just listen to the name! Millbrook. I mean, I hate saying it myself.
You must understand. It’s a wretched name. ”
“Millbrook,” Elena repeated, trying not to laugh. “You’re right. It’s awful.”
“Terrible,” Natalie agreed. They were faking it as best as they could.
“Of course, back in the old days, people fought my father and his dear friend Judge Drury, the father of the current Judge Drury. Journalists were up in arms, and there were protests.”
“How did they get past all those blockades?” Elena asked.
Henrietta raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why, money, of course? If you can pay the right people the right amount, it doesn’t matter who you support, what you say, or what you stand for. Money talks.”
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Henrietta got to her feet and smoothed her dress. “It’s really too early for my guests,” she said sweetly. “I can’t imagine who would be here already.” And then she called out, “Tommy? Tommy, where are you? Tommy, can you get the door?”
Elena watched as a slumped-over twenty-something came down the stairs and scowled at his mother.
He looked like he hadn’t showered in a few days.
This was his kingdom. He didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do.
Elena wanted to laugh at how outrageous it was.
Even if you’re wealthy, it doesn’t mean your children will like you very much, she thought.
Henrietta chased him, muttering, “You can’t answer the door looking like that!”
“I’m not your butler,” Tommy mumbled back. He sounded vaguely high.
Elena and Natalie exchanged glances. Natalie muttered, “I think we should get out of here?”
But Elena pressed it. “I don’t know. She hasn’t given us explicit names yet.”
“I mean, she said her father and the judge paid people off,” Natalie offered. “Maybe that’ll give us a route to follow at least?”
Elena’s heart thumped. She was reminded of dangerous situations back in the Middle East, of pushing her luck in pursuit of a story. Then again, she didn’t imagine the elite Cranberry Cove residents were the type to hurt someone like Elena. But she didn’t want to be naive.