Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (6 page)

She would try Cheryl first, but Kris wouldn't
mention Diana, not yet. She would do what Dex, Bruce and Jacqueline
insisted was important.

She'd build a rapport with her source.

During a lull in the newsroom, Kris called
the Chamber of Commerce and discovered that Cheryl owned the
"Treasures in the Aisles" bookstore. She dialed the number.

"Treasures in the Aisles," said a soft mellow
voice.

"Could I speak to Cheryl Soares, please?"

"This is Cheryl."

Kris's heart leapt to her throat. Blood
drummed in her ears, drowning out the police scanner, Dex and Bruce
arguing about a car accident, everything but ...

"This is Cheryl," the woman repeated.

She was talking to Diana Ferguson's sister.
Kris blurted the cover story she had mentally rehearsed.

"My name is Kris Langley and I write for the
Fremont Daily News
. We're doing an article about small
bookstores that compete with big chains. I was wondering if I could
stop by sometime and talk to you about it."

"You mean for an interview?"

"Right. For the business page."

"Forgive me," Cheryl said. "You caught me
off-guard. The local papers have printed my calendar items about
events at the store, but no reporters have come out. Are you
looking to do it this week?"

"Would Wednesday or Thursday be okay?" Kris
asked.

They settled on Wednesday afternoon.

"Thanks for your interest," Cheryl said.
"I'll look forward to it."

Kris hung up and raked a hand through her
bangs. She was going to meet Diana Ferguson's sister. And interview
her for a story that would require Jacqueline’s approval. She'd
gotten herself into a mess, no question.

She'd take that risk. Cheryl Soares didn't
know it yet, but her sister's case was about to be re-opened.

Chapter 5

25 Years Ago Today

A proposal is made to build a town
swimming pool in Fremont
.

K
ris huddled in her
parked Toyota, staring at the red brick building, a former mill
with separate entrances for a florist and frame store. The faded
paint looked like an eraser had swept across it, flaking off the
crumbled chips.

She opened her narrow reporter notebook. If
she wanted to investigate Diana, she had to carry out this charade.
It was too late to switch strategies now.

A bell tinkled as Kris stepped inside the
shop. She lingered near a metal stepladder resting against the
plaster wall. Books lined aisles and aisles of wooden shelves. She
inhaled their musty scent.

"Are you Kris?"

She hunted for the source of the voice. A
slight woman crouched on an Oriental rug, pulling paperbacks out of
a cardboard box.

"Yes. You must be Cheryl?"

Smiling, the woman wiped her fingers on a rag
and straightened. She wore a checkered black and white blazer over
a scoop-necked blouse and jeans. Wisps of brown hair strayed out of
a gold clip at the base of her neck. Crow's feet bracketed her
eyes, the only sign of middle age. Cheryl Soares held out her hand
and Kris shook it.

"Would you like some coffee?" Cheryl
asked.

"Sure, if you have decaf."

"No problem."

Kris followed her past low tables strewn with
jigsaw puzzle pieces and children’s picture books. Flames burned in
a brick fireplace, hissing over the logs. A dusty mirror hung above
the mantel and silk roses poked out of a glass jar. She sank onto
the secondhand sofa, draped with an Indian blanket of swirled ruby,
tan and green. Cheryl carried over a tray of coffee and
biscotti.

Twenty-five years ago, this woman's younger
sister had been murdered. Dex had asked her for a statement and
she'd said Diana was an artist. Before Cheryl Soares had been a
name on the microfilm, but here she was in the flesh, urging Kris
to try the biscotti.

"I can't resist the chocolate almond myself.
Tell me about your story." Cheryl settled into an easy chair and
tilted her head to one side.

Over the next half hour, Kris asked how
Cheryl had entered the business, the difficulty of the competition
and how she could afford selling books at low prices. Cheryl had
been president of the Greater Fremont Area Women in Business
organization for two years. Maybe she and Diana had been like Holly
and Kris. One a joiner, the other a watcher.

Cheryl answered each question, slowing down
as Kris jotted notes. "My husband was skeptical when I told him
about my bookstore idea, but eight years later, I love what I'm
doing. I'm still educating people by introducing them to new books
and authors. My book discussion group analyzes literature and
examines it from different perspectives."

"Did your family encourage reading while you
were growing up?" Kris asked.

"Definitely. My parents took my sister and me
to the library every Saturday."

"Does your sister still like to read?"

"She ... she did. She's dead now."

"I'm so sorry."

Cheryl hung her head. "Thank you. I have to
admit, I feel more comfortable with you than I'd expected. In the
past, reporters have let me down."

Dex? Too bad Cheryl didn't know that an
editor, not the reporter, had betrayed her trust. But would it
matter? Thousands of people had read the headline.

"How long have you worked for the paper?"
Cheryl asked.

"Not long." Kris found herself relating how
she had switched careers, bolstered by Cheryl's sympathetic
nods.

"You did the right thing. Everyone said I was
nuts to quit teaching English when I knew nothing about business,
but I had to do it. I was burned out. My husband was nervous, but
after a few months of running the store, he could see how happy I
was. We both say it's the best decision that I ever made."

"Too bad my mother isn't as understanding as
he was, or as you are. She thinks I'm crazy to work for a small
paper, making peanuts."

"It's hard when you're afraid that your child
is making a mistake, but sometimes it isn't a mistake. Your mom
will have to realize that you know best." Cheryl laughed. "I'm one
to talk. I don't know if my son, Eric, would call me understanding.
And my own mother was uneasy about my endeavor, but that didn't
stop her from taking a part-time job here."

Irene Ferguson helped out in the shop? Was
she there now? Kris glanced around, but saw only a couple of
customers in the corner.

After the interview, Cheryl provided a tour
of the aisles. Kris halted before a row of Nancy Drew and Hardy
Boys books. A pang jabbed her heart. She and Nicole had loved those
mysteries. Two young mothers greeted Cheryl, and they paused to
discuss the book group’s latest selection. Kris waited by the broad
mahogany sales counter.

Behind it hung a striking oil painting of a
girl backing away from a large jar, arms raised above her face.
Creatures charged past her, spiders and bats darting across a
candlelit room. In the lower right-hand corner, the black ink
stark, were the bold initials DMF.

Diana Marie Ferguson.

Kris covered her mouth to hold back a gasp.
Cheryl joined her at the counter.

"What a fascinating painting," Kris said. "Do
you know the artist?"

"My sister painted it the year before she
died. Her name was Diana." Tears glimmered in Cheryl's blue eyes.
"I'm sorry. Next week is the anniversary of her death. Anyway, the
painting is based on the Greek myth of Pandora. She opened the jar
and the plagues escaped, like envy and spite. I enjoy the story
because Pandora closed the lid in time to keep hope intact."

"A jar? I always thought it was Pandora’s
Box."

"Diana said that ‘box’ was a mistranslation
that occurred when the tale was retold in Latin. I believe she used
the old stories as a framework, but saw how they applied to all
times. Even today. We need hope as much as ancient people did."

Had Diana clung to hope even as her murderer
attacked her? Kris wanted to sympathize, to blurt out that she knew
everything. The truth burned on her tongue, but the moment passed,
sailing away like the plagues in the picture. Not yet. She patted
Cheryl's hand, noticing a fresh pool of tears. "Are you okay?"

Cheryl shrugged, her smile forced. "So so.
This is a tough time of year."

"Diana was lucky to have a sister who cared
so much. I'm sure she wouldn't want you to be upset."

"Thank you. That's a nice thing to say."
Cheryl steadied her voice. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Kris.
When do you think the story will run?"

"I'm not sure. I'll let you know if it'll be
more than a week."

Minutes later, Kris made her way across the
icy parking lot and looked back. Dusk shadowed the brick
building.

She had lied. In fact, she had turned out to
be good at skirting the truth. She would write the article Cheryl
expected and push to get it in the paper. Kris hadn't yet exploited
Cheryl Soares, but she knew that she might.

She'd like to help her first.

Chapter 6

25 Years Ago Today

Fremont High School History Club member
Patricia Addison wins a state award for her essay on Greek
Mythology.

H
olly gripped the
sides of the armchair in Kris's living room. "You're kidding. You
called the dead girl's sister?"

"Her name was Diana and her sister is
Cheryl," Kris said.

"I know her name is Cheryl. It's right on the
front page." Holly gestured to the Saturday edition on the coffee
table.

Smiling, Kris picked up the newspaper. Her
first published work. Okay, it had been a slow news day, but there
it was, 'By Kris Langley, Staff Writer.' Exhaustion had swallowed
her ambitions in New York. Here she was alive, rejuvenated. She
craved more bylines.

Kris had approached Dex with the bookstore
idea and he'd suggested contacting other owners for a round-up. He
allowed her to lead off with Treasures in the Aisles, and assigned
a photographer to a meeting of Cheryl's book discussion group. Dex
had convinced Jacqueline of the story's merit, but her lips had
tightened and she’d stacked typing jobs onto Kris's desk.

"You're psyched, huh?" Holly asked.

"You bet. I feel like I can do anything."
Kris folded the newspaper onto her lap and leaned against the
cranberry-slipcovered couch.

"How will you find out more about the murder?
You won't tell Cheryl you lied, will you?"

"I'll say an old-timer at the paper
recognized her name and told me about Diana."

"You really think she'd open up? She might
not want to talk about it."

Kris’s brow furled. She'd hoped to impress
her family and prove the newspaper had career potential. Her sister
hadn't reacted as she'd expected. Only her father had offered
congratulations. Dear old Mom hadn't bothered getting on the
phone.

"I'll convince her to talk," Kris said.
"That's what reporters do."

Holly reached for the coat draped over the
armrest. "I'd better go. Don't make plans for next Saturday.
There's this resident at work, Dennis. He's flown in the helicopter
with me as an observer. I've invited him to dinner. He's lonely,
and I think he'd hit it off with R.J., but I don't want him to feel
like a third wheel."

"Forget it. You're setting me up on a blind
date. You know I hate those."

"Come on, it'd be totally casual. Please?
R.J. isn't sure of his schedule yet, but he's ninety percent
certain about Saturday night."

"Holly-"

"What's the big deal? If you don't like him,
you never have to see him again."

Kris shoved a pair of gloves into her
sister’s hand. "All right, but it's just one dinner. I'm warning
you, don't build me up to this guy. I'm not looking for a
boyfriend."

"I won't. You'll have fun, I promise."

She wanted to wipe off Holly's grin. As a new
writer, fun wasn't the word she would've chosen.

***

Monday at work, Kris focused on obits,
weddings and births, even though Diana Ferguson had been discovered
dead twenty-five years ago this week.

Dex lingered near her desk, a backwards
baseball cap topping his wrinkled sweatshirt and jeans. "Your story
wasn't half-bad. You know how to get to the point."

"Thanks," she said. "I think. It wasn’t
half-bad, huh?"

"I'll keep my eye out for another feature you
can do." He glanced down at the front page of
The Greater
Remington Mirror
. "Jesus Christ! The
Mirror
did a huge
write-up on the new judge at Fremont District Court. Where the hell
is Jacqueline?" He stormed across the newsroom.

Bruce strolled over to Kris, his red gold
hair flaming in the sunlight that filtered through the window. Soon
the sun would set and the staff would shrink to a skeleton crew.
"You got your first byline, huh? You didn't tell me you were
working on something. Is this gonna be a regular thing?"

"Maybe," she said. "Why do you care?"

He smirked, but avoided her question. "I
doubt you'll have much time. People don't stop dying."

"I don't mind putting in extra hours. You'd
be surprised what you can accomplish when you don't sleep."

"Yeah, well be careful, or they'll take
advantage of you." Bruce stomped back to his desk.

Now that he had a competitor, he didn't seem
interested in her weekend. Good. Maybe he'd leave her alone. Kris
reached for her ringing phone. "Newsroom. This is Kris."

"Kris, this is Cheryl Soares. Thank you for
the wonderful article. Your story was excellent. The picture came
out nice, too. I really appreciate the publicity."

"I'm glad. Uh…Cheryl? I have something to
discuss with you. Could I come by tomorrow?"

"Of course. Is something wrong?"

"I'll explain when I see you." Kris replaced
the receiver and stared at the phone. Ready or not, she had to take
the next step.