Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(75)
Geoff’s pulling the plug on the REL News story denied her the thrill of the chase, the exhilaration that results from being the first to see what no one else saw, the privilege of shining a light on truth that had been left to rot in a dark, anonymous grave. She had imagined the accolades that would flow in her direction when the REL News saga was published. More than once she’d fantasized about a Pulitzer Prize. Andrew’s email was a sober reminder of the young women whose lives had been unfairly taken or irreparably altered by a monster sheltered and protected by a corporation, and now they might never get justice.
Gina glanced around the small kitchen. The new appliances and quartz countertops and shiny, glass-tiled backsplash had given her unit a brighter and more modern look. The new master bathroom was an absolute joy with its walk-in shower and new tiles. But these amenities had not come cheap. While adding to the value of the apartment, the improvements had significantly diminished her savings.
Geoff had said he had “another project for her.” When would that start? Next week? Next month? Three months from now? This was the first time she had been shut down in the middle of an investigation. It was ambiguous how much she would be paid for the work she had done. With everyone fretting about Friedman’s bankruptcy, clearly now was not the time to ask. Some of the advance she had been given was not yet spent, but that was to work on the REL story. The balance would have to be returned.
Empire Review is not the only game in town, she thought to herself. Several other magazines published investigative journalism. A few had reached out to her in the past. But the way forward would be tricky at best and fraught with difficulties. She would have to disclose that she had developed the story while working for Empire. Why did ER pass on the story? Would an editor at a different publisher choose to see things the way Geoff had: an accidental death and a suicide, period.
Another question occurred to her that made the situation even more murky. ER had given her a monetary advance. Even though the magazine declined to pursue the story, did it retain any ownership interest? She was tempted to call the lawyer Bruce Brady and ask him to clarify the situation, but she decided against it. Brady was a nice guy, but at the end of the day he worked for ER. His job was to protect and get the best outcome for his client.
Assuming the REL News story belonged to her, would it be feasible to pursue it on her own? When she thought about it, there was only one lead that would cost some money to follow. Did Paula Stephenson’s parents know anything that might be helpful to her? The paperwork from the Durham funeral home indicated that Paula’s body had been shipped to Xavier, Nebraska. A quick search on her phone revealed Xavier was an agricultural community seventy miles from Omaha, the nearest major city. It would be plane fare, a rental car, and maybe one night in a hotel, she thought to herself. Why is it so easy to spend somebody else’s money and so difficult to part with your own?
Gina knew her father wouldn’t hesitate to lend her money, but she didn’t want to go that route. With extra time on her hands, she wanted to take a close look at Marian Callow’s background. The thought of borrowing money from her father and using some of it to investigate his girlfriend gave her a queasy feeling.
“God, I miss talking to him,” she said aloud as she stared at the small, round, solitary refrigerator magnet. Ted’s mother had given it to her after they visited his parents at their vacation home in Cape Cod. She had snapped the picture as Gina and Ted were standing on the deck overlooking the bay, watching the sunset. Even though Ted was gone, the picture offered a faint hope. Despite everything that had happened, at some point in the future they would hold hands and watch the sun slowly dip below the horizon.
82
There were no direct flights to Omaha. She chose a Delta flight out of Newark that included an eighty-three-minute layover at O’Hare in Chicago. By departing at eight-thirty in the morning, she could get to Omaha by three-thirty. By the time she picked up her rental car and drove seventy miles to Xavier, she would arrive around five o’clock. That gave her a half-hour cushion before she was scheduled to meet Paula Stephenson’s mother at five-thirty. It would be too late to fly back the same day. She decided against booking a hotel room in Omaha. Not knowing what to expect, she wanted the flexibility to stay in the Xavier area.
“God, I hope this isn’t a waste of time and money,” Gina said aloud as she finished inserting her credit card information. She stared at the blue box that read “Book This Flight.” In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought as she tapped on the box and Expedia processed her $831 reservation. Before I die, I wanted to be sure to see Nebraska, she mused.
Twenty minutes earlier she had spoken to Lucinda Stephenson. Paula’s mother had been initially hesitant when Gina said she was a journalist. Her mood brightened considerably when Gina used the word “reporter.” “Yes,” Lucinda responded in answer to Gina’s question, Paula’s personal items, including clothes and papers, had been boxed and shipped to Xavier and she had not gone to Durham. A nephew in the Marine Corps who was stationed at nearby Camp Lejeune had taken care of cleaning out the apartment and getting it ready to sell. No, she had not had a chance to go through the boxes he had sent. She had no problem letting Gina look through them. It was agreed that Gina would pick her up and they would go to dinner.
She glanced at the time on her phone: 7:30 p.m. After sulking at the kitchen table this morning, she had actually managed to put together a productive day. The receipts for the Aruba and Durham trips and car rentals to see Meg Williamson had been tallied and submitted to the magazine. She had put a check in the mail to return the advance money that hadn’t been spent.