Parker 02 - The Guilty (15 page)

go, and the owner was always kind. On weekends she would

treat herself to chocolate chip pancakes, then go straight to

the gym to work off the calories.

They wouldn't miss her at the office today. She'd called

in sick. They didn't much care whether she came in or not,

as long as her last name was still Loverne.

Mya walked up to the diner and opened the door. She

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welcomed the smell of frying bacon, sugary syrup and fresh

eggs, felt like ordering all of them to get rid of the awful taste

in her mouth. A bottomless cup of coffee would go a long

way. She had a vague idea of who she was looking for. Then

she saw a woman in the corner waving her hand. The woman

mouthed
Mya?

Mya nodded, walked over and slid into the booth. The

woman extended a hand with perfectly manicured nails, and

said, "Mya Loverne?"

Mya nodded.

"Paulina Cole. It's such a pleasure to meet you. Henry used

to talk about you all the time back at the
Gazette.
" Paulina

looked her over. It made Mya uncomfortable.

Paulina Cole wore a tailored pantsuit. Her jewelry was fine

but not ostentatious. She wore her hair tied back in a ponytail,

a thin string of pearls around her neck. A tape recorder sat on

the table next to two steaming cups of coffee. There was a

smile on Paulina's face, like a friendly aunt pleased to see how

well her niece is doing.

"You're much more elegant in person. I've only seen your

picture in the society pages."

"The lighting always sucks," Mya said. "And the dresses

make me feel like I can't breathe."

"Coming from a well-known family is as much a curse as

it is a gift," Paulina said. "You know, it's a real shame that

Henry is too stubborn to see what he's lost."

Mya didn't know whether to smile or throw a cup of coffee

in Paulina's face.

"Please don't patronize me."

Paulina sat back, held up her hands. "I understand. But I

can't apologize for saying it. Listen," she said, leaning

forward again. "I'm embarrassed to say that we both know

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how stories in the news take on a life of their own. From what

I gather, the last year has been hard for you."

"What do you know about it?"

"Well, after you were involved in Henry's
altercation,
"

Paulina said, as though they'd been in a fender-bender, "your

career doesn't seem to have taken off the way you expected."

"What do you care about my career?"

"I shouldn't," Paulina said. "But the truth is we both know

how hard it is for strong women to make it in corporate America. Add to that the pressure of being a Loverne. Whether it's

law or journalism, it's still about who can claw the hardest

and deepest. Cornell, then law school at Columbia, you have

a pretty terrific pedigree. I imagine neither were easy to

achieve."

"Easy is what you make of it. Some kids can study eight

hours a night and still blow the bar. Some can soak it up

while spending three years sucking down beers five nights a

week."

"And which were you?" Paulina asked.

Mya shifted in her seat. "I don't really know. I think I used

to be the former. Now...I don't know."

"Mya," Paulina said, her voice growing soft. "You know

why I asked you here, right?"

"Not exactly," she said. "You said something about my

father. What does he have to do with anything?"

Paulina sighed. "I'm going to be straight with you. I'm

writing an article on your father's campaign. Well, more specifically...his life. I think you can get where I'm going with this."

"No. Enlighten me."

"You're not blind," Paulina said, "and clearly not stupid.You

must have heard the rumors. Or seen it with your own eyes."

"Seen what?" Mya said.

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127

"The other women."

Mya nearly choked.

"You're writing an article about my father seeing other

women? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Paulina offered her hands. "It's more than that," she said.

"Your father is an important man. Important people need to

gain the trust of their constituents. It's my job, it's what I'm

paid for, to make sure people know the full story."

"Jesus," Mya whispered.

"It's going to be in the newspapers," Paulina said. "I have

nothing against you or your father. I just want to know the

truth. It doesn't need to be painful. If you just tell me what

you know, the innuendos are kept out of it. The truth is all I

want."

"I can't believe he's so stupid," Mya said, feeling her

cheeks grow warm.

"Your father?" Mya nodded. "So you knew."

"Yes," Mya said, her voice barely a sound.

"Do you know who?" Mya shook her head. "Or how

many?" Again.

"I don't know anything else, please, just leave it alone."

"Mya," Paulina said, "I honestly can't imagine how hard

this is for you. Have you been able to talk to anyone else about

it?" Mya stared into her coffee. "What about Henry?"

Mya looked at her, stared into Paulina's eyes. Then

shook her head.

"We don't talk anymore. At least he doesn't talk to me." Mya

took a sip of her coffee, holding the mug in both hands. She let

the warmth travel down her hands. She put it down, added

some more sugar. "I'm not sure what else you want to know."

"Why doesn't Henry want to talk to you? Weren't you

two close?"

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"Were," Mya said.

"What happened?"

"It ended. Relationships do."

"You didn't want to stay friends?"

"
I
did," Mya said. Paulina leaned closer. Mya could smell

her perfume. It smelled good, not too strong.

"The truth is, Mya, Henry is in an incredibly important

position right now. I fear that the brain trust at the
Gazette,

that would be Harvey Hillerman and Wallace Langston, have

placed too much pressure on Henry. Since the scandals last

year, there haven't been many young reporters given access

to the kind of stories he's had. Did you know he's covering

Athena Paradis's murder?"

"I read his stories," Mya said.

"So much pressure though," Paulina said, as though the

weight of the world was pressing on her shoulders. "If you're

not up to the job, in our profession there are catastrophic

consequences."

Mya sipped her coffee, said nothing. Paulina offered a

warm smile.

"My ex was addicted to coffee," she said. "If he didn't

drink a minimum of six cups a day, he'd throw furniture

around our apartment like he was shooting rubber bands. I

think I spent as much money staying in hotels to get away

from him as I did paying our mortgage."

"Really?"

"God, yes. If you're ever in an abusive relationship, please

take it from someone who's made too many mistakes in the

love department, get your ass out of that place quick and

don't ever look back."

They both laughed. Mya looked at Paulina. Her smile

seemed so genuine, like she wasn't simply a reporter, but

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129

someone who truly cared. Mya thought about her friends, the

ones who said they'd always be there for her. The ones who

never called, never checked up, always assumed her tears

came from happiness. Never stopping to think that she had

nothing to be happy about. And hadn't for a long time.

"We were together almost three years," Mya said, sighing.

"Then it ended."

"Just like that." Paulina spread some raspberry jam over a

slice of toast. She bit into it, brushed some crumbs off her lip.

"Was it one thing, or just a lot of one things?"

"Kind of both. You know how college relationships are.

Eventually you either move in or get lost. I was a year older

than Henry, and when I moved back to the city we just grew

apart." Paulina kept chewing. "And then..."

Paulina stopped chewing. Waited. Mya stayed quiet.

"And then what?"

"You know, shit happens. Life. He was up there, I was

down here. Shit."

Paulina spoke faster now, like she'd sensed something.

"No, I have a feeling it was something specific. Did Henry

do something? Did you?"

Mya stayed silent. She didn't know if she could go on.

Thought about her father. Thought about Henry. The two men

in her life who'd promised to care for her, had in the end abandoned her. She stared at the tape recorder, cold gray, wheels

turning. A memory that wouldn't be erased.

Paulina reached across the table. She placed her hand on

top of Mya's. Kind. Mya felt her skin, smooth with just a hint

of roughness around the fingertips. She looked at Paulina's

lips, coated with a demure red gloss. Mya felt tears come to

her eyes again. She wanted to excuse herself, to go to the

bathroom and wail and pound the walls and let it all out, let

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all the shit ooze into the walls and cracks and disappear. Then

she could come back and sit here silent, without feeling like

a dam about to burst. The tape recorder might as well have

been a magnet holding her down. All she could do was talk.

Afterwards her story wouldn't get lost in the cracks, it would

be recorded in those metal wheels. For some reason, she felt

better knowing that.

"It was about a year and a half ago," Mya said. She felt the

tears subside. Her jaw didn't hurt, but she could feel the scar.

Her eyes dried up. It felt good to get it out. "Henry and I were

in a fight."

Paulina listened to the whole story. She nodded, smiled,

nearly looked to be in tears at the end. And while they

spoke, the tape recorder sitting on the table disappeared

from Mya's thoughts.

20

"So if you were a hundred-and-thirty-year-old gun whose

reputation was more notorious than Andy Dick on a bender,

where would you be?"

"Do you really expect me to answer that?" Amanda said.

"It'd be helpful if you could," I replied. "But I won't be

too disappointed if you don't."

Thankfully I had the deep resources of the
Gazette
archives

at my disposal. Speed was key. With a thread this important,

it was only a matter of time before other news outlets picked

up on it. Once a story began percolating, you had to spill it

before it grew cold. I had to find out if the killer was using a

Winchester, and just what his motives were for killing three

seemingly unconnected people.

"I'm gonna head back to the office, see what I can dig up,"

I said to Amanda. "Thanks for setting me up with Trimble, I

knew there was a reason I keep you around." I gave her a

playful nudge, then wrapped my arm around her. As she

leaned in, I heard a beep come from my pocket. I always kept

my cell phone on silent mode when talking to a source.

Someone had called and left a message.

I checked my call log. One missed call. I recognized the

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number. I immediately shoved it back into my pocket.

Amanda didn't need to see the number. She only had to look

at my expression to know.

"It was her again, wasn't it?"

I nodded.

"You know I'm not a jealous girlfriend," Amanda said. "I

don't need the password to your e-mail, I have a life outside

of you, I don't sit around at night wondering when you'll be

home, and I sure as hell don't care if you subscribe to
Maxim.

But raging jealousy and curiosity as to why your ex seems to

think it's all right to call you every freaking day are two different things entirely."

"She's not calling me every day," I said, and immediately

regretted it. That wasn't the point. Amanda was right. If the

tables were turned and some old boyfriend was calling her at

freaky hours, I'd be bugging the phone lines and setting up a

tent outside the guy's house waiting for him to come home.

The fact that she'd let Mya's intrusions go on for this long said

a lot about her character and patience. And maybe mine, too.

"Listen, Mya's had it rough the past few years.You remember

what I told you about us, that night? When she was attacked?"

Amanda sighed, nodded. She knew about the attack. It was

one of the first things I'd told her when we decided to be

together. I thought it was important, to approach our relationship with all the cards on the table. It was a painful one to show.

A year and a half ago, Mya had been attacked. She was

living in New York, while I was finishing my senior year. We

were fighting constantly, and late one night she called me. Still

boiling over an insult from before, I hung up on her. It turned

out she had pressed Redial in the middle of being attacked and

nearly raped by a man who jumped her outside of a bar. She

managed to fight him off, but he broke her jaw. I didn't know

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this until the next morning. It was as much consolation as