“So you didn’t ask Brady’s permission to take another look at the episode that covered the Mellin case because you were afraid he’d say no.”
“Correct.”
“Hmm. Beyond Brady’s reaction, what were Max’s other reasons for discouraging you from coming down here and poking around?”
She lowered her gaze. “He thinks it’s hooey.”
“The blood moon angle?”
“He called it ‘moon cycle crap.’ In other words, he agrees with you.” She raised her head and looked at him. “Satisfied?”
She was still miffed, and, for some nameless reason, that was a colossal turn-on. He wanted to get up and go to her, lift her face to his, and kiss her. Without timidity or finesse. Kiss her until those lips, now unsmiling and compressed, softened and opened to him. And then take it from there.
He put the brakes on that runaway-train fantasy and came back to the subject at hand. “It’s a long way up the corporate ladder from gofer and fact checker to where you are now.”
“Not all that far. I still do research and fact checking, only now it’s exclusively for Max. I also serve as his personal assistant. I order chocolates for staffers at Christmas and forge his name on the enclosure cards.” She raised a shoulder in a slight shrug. “I’m his go-to person.”
“For what else besides chocolates and fact checking?”
“Like foot rubs and sex?”
“You give him foot rubs?”
“No. And I don’t have sex with him, either.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t have to. The implication was loud and clear. Let’s get this out of the way so we can move past it, all right?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Max isn’t my sugar daddy. He’s eighty-two years old. He’s been married and divorced four times, and none of his exes has a good word to say about him.
“His son by wife number two is his only progeny, but they haven’t spoken to each other in twenty years, even though he also works in the television industry and they often attend the same functions.
“Max isn’t a warm fuzzy. In fact, he’s rather horrible. On a good day, he’s merely irascible. Ordinarily, he’s hot-tempered, mule-headed, dictatorial, rude, often crude, and he views all those traits as assets. Despite all that, he’s my mentor and friend.”
“How does he feel about you?”
She smiled wistfully. “I’d like to think he has a soft spot for me, but he would never acknowledge it, and, if he did, it would feel patronizing. Given the choice, I would far rather have his respect. It’s not easily earned. He would regard that as the greatest honor he could bestow on me.”
John processed everything she’d told him, then asked, “When did your obsession with the Mellin case start?”
“Initially, I took special interest because it happened here, my old stomping grounds. My familiarity with the area made me useful to the production crew while they were down here. I got twenty calls a day, asking for background info on this or that. And then Max and I oversaw the post-production process, as we did for every episode.”
“What does post-production entail?”
“A lot of work,” she said with a light laugh. “As a piece was being constructed, he and I would watch the edited segments and give the producer our notes.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like ‘This interview runs too long. Trim it, but don’t cut the last sentence because it’s a cliffhanger. Go from it straight into a commercial break.’ Things like that. We’d nitpick and suggest edits that could make a big difference, give the story more oomph.”
“No wonder the show is so highly rated.”
“Thanks.” She shot him a smile, but it didn’t last long. “Shortly after Max and I had watched what was to become the broadcast version of the Mellin episode, he had a heart attack that kept him out for six weeks.
“When he returned, it was obvious to everyone that it had taken a toll. He was still a dragon, but he had little fire left in him. It wasn’t long before he was asked to resign. Brady took over. It was he who gave the Mellin episode final approval and put it into the schedule.”
“But that episode didn’t get your approval. If it had, you wouldn’t be down here secretly meeting me in a beer joint.”
“The episode is good, but no, it didn’t win my wholehearted approval.”
“Why not?”
“I felt there was more to that story than we had. We’d skimmed the surface well enough but hadn’t gotten to the bottom of it.” She sat forward, clasped her hands on her knees, and looked directly at him. “I believe you think the same about the investigation. Don’t you?”
The question sank into him like the claws of a lion, holding him inescapably captive like newly caught prey.
He looked away from Beth’s inquiring eyes and noticed how dim the room had become. Today was the start of daylight saving time. Even so, when the sun slipped behind the trees that surrounded his bungalow and formed a thick canopy above its low roof, darkness fell earlier than it did most places.
The encroaching dusk contributed to his feeling of entrapment.
He was about to reach for the lamp on the end table and switch it on. But lamplight would make Beth’s incisiveness all the more evident, all the more compelling, so he left the lamp alone.
“Don’t you?” she repeated.
She wouldn’t spare him from answering, so he gave her the straightforward answer he felt she deserved. “To me, a homicide investigation remains open until the body is found.”
“Crissy’s isn’t shut. It’s classified as a cold case.”
He scoffed. “If her remains are ever discovered, it won’t be by anyone inside the Auclair PD. It’s understood that the lid is on that case and that it’s to be left as is. Dormant.”