The waiting room was a vanilla box with one plate glass window emblazoned with Channel 50’s logo. Life-size cutouts of the morning and evening news anchors formed a creepy wall of talent. She shuddered when she spotted Griffin’s, which had obviously been blown up larger than life-size since it was over six feet tall and had regular-size feet. Less than half of the dozen chairs scattered around the room’s perimeter were occupied.
“I really need this job.”The thought seemed to be coming from a thirty-something, white brunette in a cheap suit. She was jiggling her foot so hard her shoe fell off.
“Man, this place is depressing,”the Asian woman two chairs down in the gauzy summer blouse thought.“I’d need a lot of alcohol in my life to walk through this door every day. Maybe I should fake a family emergency?”
There was another person tucked into the corner holding up a newspaper. Purple hair peeked over the masthead.
Kellen badged the guy at the front desk, and less than a minute later, an overly eager staffer named Hudson appeared to lead them directly to the studio.
They arrived in time to see morning news anchor Griffin Gentry chortling with an area chef over crepes in the kitchen studio.
The set was looking a little dated. But the studio beyond it was downright decrepit. Paint peeled off the walls. The cleaner-resistant mold still dotted the baseboards above the concrete floor. Cables snaked between cameras and sound equipment held together with duct tape. Camera 2 now had two fans on it to keep it from overheating.
It looked like the years had not been kind to Channel 50, Riley noted.
“And we’re out,” a member of the crew yelled.
“I appreciate this opportunity,” the chef said, beaming at Griffin. “This means so much to my restaurant.”
“Yeah, whatever. Makeup! I need more bronzer,” Griffin bellowed, losing his boyish, for-the-cameras grin. He hopped down from his box and made a beeline for the makeup artist.
Kellen hid a laugh with a cough. “Was he—”
Riley nodded. “Oh, yeah. He does all his interviews on a booster box.”
“He looks like an overgrown preschooler who got in his mother’s spray tanner,” Kellen observed.
“Don’t I know it. Come on. The news director is over there,” she said, pointing to a man in a rumpled, short-sleeved plaid shirt that was two sizes too big. His khakis hadn’t seen the hot side of an iron in at least a month. “His name is Chris Yang. He’s been with Channel 50 for at least ten years. If anyone on the staff is getting threats, he’ll know.”
They picked their way around camera equipment and fraying cords to where Chris paced with a coffee in hand and a phone to his ear.
“I don’t care if she’s hungover. Put some eye drops in her and get her to fucking smile on camera for sixty seconds,” he said before disconnecting.
“Chris Yang?” Kellen asked.
“Yeah. One sec.” Chris held up a finger and called up an app on his phone to record a note. “Remind me to look into local rehab clinics. Also remind me to stop hiring twenty-two-year-old country club girls who serve Malcolm Gentry cocktails.” Memo recorded, he stowed his phone in the cargo pocket of his khakis.
“We’re in the middle of a show. You can sign up for a tour at the front desk.”
Kellen produced his badge. “I’m Detective Weber with homicide. I have a few questions for you.”
Chris’s eyes bulged, and his breath expelled in a nervous laugh. “Me? Ha. Questions from a homicide detective? Come on. This is some joke, right? Did Clarence in advertising put you up to this?”
“Two dead bodies are no joke,” Kellen said sternly.
“Well, shit. Yeah. Sure. Am I a suspect? Wait, you wouldn’t tell me if I was. Listen, I’ve got fifteen more minutes of the morning show. You mind hanging out in the sound booth?”
“That’s fine,” Kellen said.
“Holy shit.” Chris’s gaze finally landed on Riley. “I know you!”
They’d interacted on an almost daily basis when she’d been a lowly copywriter here. He damn well better know her.
“Hey, Chris,” Riley said in what she hoped was a cool, professional tone.
“I didn’t recognize you since you’re not dyed blue and bleeding from a bullet wound.”
Oh, right. The fountain shooting.The news crew had shown up within minutes of the gun fight and Mrs. Penny’s attempt at vehicular manslaughter. Well, it was better than being known as Griffin’s pathetic ex-wife, she supposed.
