She snatched up her desk phone and punched in Marty Kendall’s cell phone. “Get your gear ready and meet me at the news van in twenty minutes. And don’t be late,” she barked before hanging up.
Marty had a chronic problem with punctuality, one she’d long since stopped tolerating. Half the time, she suspected he dragged his feet just to irritate her. It wouldn’t matter much longer. This serial killer story was her way off the street and into the anchor chair, where she belonged.
Her gaze drifted out the window as she considered her options for where to film the segment. The sheriff’s department was too predictable. The last crime scene lacked visual punch. The bar where Daphne Jones disappeared had possibilities, but it wasn’t strong enough.
The medical examiner’s office. That was the one. Clinical. Stark. Ominous. Perfect.
Turning to her computer, she began typing out exactly what she intended to say. The words came fast, each line crafted for maximum impact.
This was going to be huge. Career-making huge.
At ten to four, the news van rolled into the parking lot of the municipal building that housed the Dare County medical examiner’s office. Cloud cover softened the late-afternoon light, and Jessica approved at once. Bright sun washed her out on camera and made her skin look pale. This muted gray cast would work far better.
Flipping down the passenger visor, she checked her reflection in the mirror and adjusted a strand of hair before touching up her lipstick.
Marty killed the engine. As he started to climb out, she turned toward him. “Hurry and get everything set. I want this filmed and ready for the top of the six.”
Landing the lead story was a battle every street reporter fought, and tonight’s lineup was already hers.
Marty muttered something under his breath, but Jessica ignored him. He might be slow, irritating, and perpetually sour, but he was also the best cameraman at Channel Four. That alone made him worth tolerating. As long as he made her look good on camera, she could overlook the rest.
After applying another layer of powder for the lights, she stepped out of the van and strode toward the front entrance, leaving Marty to wrestle the camera and equipment from the back.
The municipal building rose behind her in cold slabs of concrete and glass, the Dare County Medical Examiner sign mounted beside the entrance in clean black lettering. She studied several possible angles before choosing her spot just to the left of the sign. It gave the right visual weight without blocking the frame.
Perfect.
A glance over her shoulder showed Marty taking his time. Again.
“Hurry up, will you? I want to make sure we get this right.”
He muttered “witch” under his breath but made no effort to move faster. She dismissed it—she couldn’t care less what he thought about her. He was nothing more than a stepping stone in her career.
He disliked working with her, and the feeling was mutual, but she’d insisted he remain assigned to her shoots because no one framed a shot better. He’d complained to his supervisor more than once, but management knew results mattered more than personalities. And Jessica delivered results.
“Stand over there—I want this angle.” She pointed to the exact position she wanted as he handed her the microphone emblazoned with the bold CH4 logo.
Whatever his personal feelings, she knew what made strong television. His two regional filming awards were proof enough of what they accomplished together, though he’d never once acknowledged how much of that success came from her direction.
He hoisted the camera onto his shoulder, made a final adjustment, and gave her the signal.
Jessica drew herself up, squared her shoulders, and slipped on the expression viewers trusted—the composed, serious face of a reporter delivering hard truths. Holding the microphone just below her chin, she began.
“This is Jessica Daly for the evening news, reporting to you from the Dare County Medical Examiner’s Office with a Channel Four exclusive. Investigations into the strangling deaths of three county women continue. At this time, local law enforcement has very few leads. Sources inside the Dare County Sheriff’s Department report…”
Chapter Fifteen
After hanging up with Sean, Grace went to the hardware store to see Dan.
Late-afternoon sunlight spilled across Main Street, glazing the shop windows and warming the sidewalk beneath Grace’s feet. A faint breeze drifted through town, carrying the salty tang of the sound. Despite the knot of nerves fluttering low in her stomach at the thought of seeing Sean again later, she found herself smiling.
As usual, she had to step over Jinx stretched across a sunbeam near the threshold when she entered the store. The dog barely twitched, his heavy snoring rising and falling as if nothing in the world could disturb his afternoon nap. It was such a familiar sight that every regular customer knew to check the doorway before entering unless they wanted to trip over the big mutt.
Inside, shelves lined with tools, paint supplies, and hardware stretched down the familiar aisles, the worn plank floors creaking beneath her steps. Though she’d only been back in Whisper a few weeks, the store still felt familiar, bringing back memories of summer visits when she’d stop in with her mother to say hello.
Dan stood behind the front counter, handing change to a customer, and to Grace’s relief, he looked better than he had the day before. The rasp still clinging to his voice told her the cold hadn’t fully released its grip, but if she’d learned anything about him over the years, it was that sickness rarely kept him down for long.
Jimmy Merrick, the college student who worked for him part-time, stocked shelves near the back of the store. From what Bonnie told her, he’d been picking up extra hours so Dan could at least head upstairs for a short nap before coming back down to close at six.
