Deadline. Metsy Hingle

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СКАЧАТЬ Ronnie. Hang on a sec, will you?” she said. “Eddie, I’m going to head over to the theater to do the interview with that playwright. I’ll just meet you there.”

      “Do I have time to grab some lunch?” the cameraman asked.

      “As long as it’s a quick one,” Tess replied. “Okay, sorry about that, Ronnie. What’s up?”

      “Tell Eddie to take a long lunch and see if you can push your interview back a couple of hours,” Ronnie instructed.

      “Why?” Tess asked, her voice wary.

      “Because you and I are having lunch. I’ll meet you at Vincent’s in thirty minutes.”

      “What’s going on, Ronnie?” Tess demanded suspiciously.

      “That’s what I intend to find out.”

      And before Tess could argue, Ronnie hung up the phone. After making a quick stop in her office for her car keys and purse and to advise her assistant where she’d be, Ronnie headed out of the station, intent on getting some answers.

      “All right, Ronnie,” Tess said once the two of them had been seated at a table and placed their orders. “What are we doing here?”

      Ronnie reached for the basket of crackers on the table. “Well, since all I had for breakfast was coffee and a bagel, I’m hoping we’re about to have lunch because I’m starved.”

      Tess eyed her skeptically. “You and I both know that you don’t ‘do’ lunch without a reason, Veronica Hill. And if you think that by feeding me you’ll be able to convince me to pull another weekend shift as news anchor, I’ll save you the trouble. The answer is no.”

      “My, my, you are a suspicious one,” Ronnie said as she began to butter a cracker. She glanced up, looked across the table at her from behind the tortoiseshell-framed glasses. “As it so happens, the weekend news shifts are covered.”

      “All right. I’ll bite. What are we doing here then?”

      “I’m your producer. Can’t I ask you to lunch once in a while?”

      “You can, but you don’t. Not without a reason,” Tess told her.

      Ronnie sighed. “Sometimes I think you know me a little too well.”

      “It works both ways. That’s why we make a good team. So why don’t you tell me just what it is you want.”

      “I want to know what’s bothering you.”

      “Nothing’s bothering me,” she replied. Yet even as she made the statement, Tess knew it wasn’t true. She’d been bothered a lot lately. First by the anonymous phone call claiming Jody Burns’s death hadn’t been a suicide. And now by the response from the Mississippi prison system after she’d made some inquiries about his death. According to the medical examiner and the review board’s reports, Jody Burns had been greatly depressed the week prior to his death—which in itself seemed odd since he was up for parole. But, following an investigation, his death had been ruled a suicide due to strangulation by hanging in his cell.

      The waitress arrived and served Tess her minestrone soup and Ronnie her green salad. Once she was gone, Ronnie said, “Then explain to me why you look like you haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week?”

      “Gee, thanks, Ronnie. I think you look nice, too.”

      “Oh, don’t get all pissy on me,” Ronnie told her as she dragged the strip of lettuce through the side of creamy Italian dressing. She paused, glanced up and met Tess’s gaze. “On your worst day, you look better than most of us do after a week at a health spa. Now quit pretending you’re insulted and tell me what’s wrong.”

      “I told you, nothing is wrong.”

      The waitress who’d taken their orders stopped at the table again and topped off their ice water. She eyed Tess curiously from beneath lashes thick with blue mascara. “Excuse me, but aren’t you that news lady? The one from Channel Seven who does those investigative reports?”

      “No, that’s her sister,” Ronnie offered before Tess could respond.

      “Oh,” the waitress replied, her expression falling. “I guess that explains the resemblance.”

      Tess bit the inside of her cheek at the fib. She didn’t kid herself. Unlike some of the reporters on the show, she never for a moment believed herself to be a celebrity simply because she appeared on television to report on a story. And although it didn’t happen with great frequency, she was occasionally recognized.

      “People confuse them all the time,” Ronnie told the girl. “But Tammy here is actually Tess Abbott’s older sister.”

      “Well, now that you mention it, I can see that you look older than the lady on the news. But your sister’s good. I liked her report on the plastic surgery stuff.”

      “Thank you. I’ll tell her,” Tess managed to say.

      “You do that. Your orders should be up in a minute. Can I get you anything else?” she asked over the din of voices.

      “No, thanks. I’m fine,” Tess said.

      “Me, too,” Ronnie echoed.

      “That wasn’t very nice,” Tess admonished once the waitress had moved on to the next table.

      Ronnie shrugged. “If you’d told her the truth, we’d have had half the people in this place craning their necks and stopping by the table to chat with you.”

      “I’d think that would make you happy. You’re the one always looking for ways to pump up the station’s ratings. The truth is, I’m surprised you didn’t get her to swear she’d tell everyone to tune in to the show tonight.”

      “I considered it,” Ronnie advised her. “But if I had, we wouldn’t have been able to finish our little chat. Now, are you going to tell me why you’ve got circles under your eyes that look like they belong to a raccoon? Or am I going to have to torture you to get the truth?”

      She’d probably do it, too, Tess thought. Despite her small stature, the feisty redhead in the chic navy suit had the heart and soul of an army drill sergeant. One of the first things she’d learned about the producer was that the woman didn’t know the meaning of the word no. Still, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to share with Ronnie, or anyone, the reason behind her sleepless nights. Instead, she said, “If I’m looking tired, it’s probably because you’ve been working me too hard.”

      Ronnie waved aside her comment. “You’re an investigative reporter. You’re supposed to work hard. It’s in your contract.”

      “Funny, I don’t recall seeing that particular clause.”

      “Oh it’s there all right, buried in the fine print.”

      Tess lifted her eyebrow skeptically as she added more sugar to her tea.

      “Trust me, the boys in black make sure it’s standard in everyone’s contract,” Ronnie explained, referring to the top brass at Channel Seven News.

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