Malice Times Read online

  Regina sat at her desk reading a magazine. I walked over to her. She looked up from her magazine. “Well, if it isn’t Samuel Marlow. Shocked to see you again. Selling more computers?”

  I laughed. "Joe March."

  “No, really.” She put her hand over her chest with a fake gasp. “I had no idea.”

  “I fooled Daniel.”

  “Well, Daniel is a fool.”

  She stood up to reveal nice slender legs. I looked at them a little longer than I should have. "Is the skirt too short? Would you prefer I wear longer ones?"

  "No, that fits you just fine."

  "Thank you,” she said.

  “Tell me about yourself?"

  "My name is Regina Chappel."

  "Nice to meet you, Ms. Chappel."

  “Please call me Regina. I think we’re going to be fast friends.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you are about to make Ms. Cranston very miserable.”

  "Who is Ms. Cranston?" I asked.

  "You know full well who she is."

  “I do, but I’d like to hear how you would describe her.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. I’m a nice girl.”

  “You keep saying that. Why is it that I don’t particularly believe you?”

  “Maybe it’s the legs.”

  "What were Ms. Cranston’s duties when my brother was alive and before she imagined herself the owner of The Malice Times?"

  "She was Mr. Marchello's personal assistant."

  "What did that entail?"

  She smiled at me. I could get used to that smile. It was nice. It made me feel warm inside. "The usual things."

  "The usual things? Filing, running for coffee?”

  "Sure. Plenty of filing,” she said. “Not sure she would know what a filing cabinet looked like though.”

  "I see. So how long have they been filing each other?”

  “A couple months,” she said.

  “Did she have any other duties around here?”

  “Not that I knew of.”

  “How about my brother? What kind of duties did he have?”

  "Well, he would tell all the writers what angles he wanted on the stories he assigned, but he hired an editor to take care of all the important work."

  "What important work?”

  "You know," she said. "Editorial stuff. How the paper was laid out, which stories went where. I’m just a secretary."

  "This Miss Cranston doesn't do that?"

  "No. Elizabeth Pray. She’s right over there." She pointed a tiny little finger in the direction of a short woman with curves. She had short brown hair and sapphire eyes. Michael really knew how to hire them, I'll give him that. Her fingers flew effortlessly along the typewriter. I'd never seen anyone type so quickly. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms upward. Catching my gaze, she lowered her arms folding them across her ample chest.

  "How long has Ms. Pray been working here?" I asked.

  "About six months," she said.

  “Before or after my brother bought the Malice Times?”

  “Not long after Mr. Marchello bought the Malice Times.”

  "What else do we know about this Ms. Cranston?" I asked.

  "Robert Dempsey has been in every day since Mr. Marchello died. He and Lynda are rather chummy."

  “More filing?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  I walked towards the door behind the desk and stopped when I remembered one last question. "Who do you consider the best reporters here?"

  She thought it over for a moment. "Elizabeth, of course. Daniel Miles. He might be a fool, but he never lets go of a lead until he’s run every last detail into the ground. He could be faster, but he always gets the facts right in the end. And probably Dulcy Baxter."

  "Tell them that I'm going to want to see them, as well as you, in my office. I'll buzz you when I'm ready."

  She nodded her head and stood up. She walked away. I watched her walk away. I enjoyed it. I tried to turn the knob on the door. The knob didn't move and thus the door didn't budge an inch. I was already irritated, so I pounded on the door.

  "Go away, I'm busy,” said a voice from the other side of the door. I turned and noticed everyone staring at me. Regina was standing next to Elizabeth with an amused smile. I flashed a grin to the room. I turned back to the door. The grin evaporated into a grimace and I kicked the door repeatedly. The door shook hard in its frame. The office had gone quiet. "Goddamn it," the voice said. I heard a phone being slammed down. Footsteps came toward the door. The dragon-lady was about to make her grand entrance. Oh joy. The bolt scratched open. The door flung open. I knew who it would be before the door even opened. I wondered where she had fit into this whole business last night at the reading of the will. When she had been at the cemetery with Dempsey, I figured she was just his current girl. He went through them pretty quickly ever since his wife died when I was ten.

  "Oh, it's you,” she said. “What the hell do you want?"

  "I want you to get out of my office," I said. "I figured that would be pretty obvious."

  "This is my office," she said.

  I pushed past her and into my new office. It looked like something you would see in a Hollywood producer's house, not that I have ever been in a Hollywood producer’s house. A huge white marble desk in front of a large window looked down on Malice Lake. The floors were marble. Pieces of art hung from the wall. A beautiful oak cuckoo clock hung by the door.

  "Welcome to Xanadu," I said. "Where's Rosebud?"

  "This is my office. Now, get out."

  I turned to her with a sneer. It felt satisfying on my face. "Not anymore. You know full well this office is mine. You were there when it was given to me last night."

  "Why don't you go back to where you came from little boy before you get hurt?"

  The threat made me want to laugh. ‘Little boy’ made me want to collapse her face. "Who's going to hurt me? Dempsey?"

  "Maybe."

  "Me and Robert go way back. I wouldn't write checks without knowing what’s in the bank," I said. "How long have you known old Robert?"

  "Ever since I came to town a year ago."

  "And you think because you’ve lasted a couple months longer than most of his girls that you can speak for Robert." I slid into the leather chair and laid my head against the plush headrest. “Honey, you have it all backwards.”

  "Robert said you couldn't stand it here." She seemed genuinely upset that I wasn't going anywhere. "In fact, he said you downright hated Malice Grove."

  "I do."

  "Then, why are you staying?"

  "I could say to piss you off," I said. "But that's just a really nice bonus. Mostly, you’re just insignificant. Besides, if I leave, the paper goes to my father. So, no matter what happens, you’re fucked."

  She stormed the desk and plopped her splendidly manicured hands on the smooth surface. I wondered how much the desk weighed and how the weak floor could be holding it. The image of my brother and this woman writhing in ecstasy on this very desk filled my brain like a disease. I shook it out of my mind as quickly as I could.

  "Look, if you want to stick around," she said. "You'll follow my lead. I'm in charge. Is that understood?"

  "Clearly," I said. She stood tall with a complete look of satisfaction on her face. "You're fired."

  Her look of satisfaction disappeared as quickly as it came. "You can't do that. You don't have the authority."

  "Honey, I own this paper. That gives me the authority to hire and fire and do whatever I want. I could burn this place down and collect the insurance money in a town like this and no one would blink an eye. Now get out of my fucking office and out of my fucking building before I throw you out the fucking window."

  Her eyes rolled over white like a shark’s does right before it feeds. "I'll be back. We'll see who's in charge around here." She turned and walked towards the door.

  "Did IQs drastically drop in the last ten years? Do you
know what fired means? I'll give you a hint. If you step one foot inside this building, I'll have you arrested. You step one foot inside this office I'll toss you out the window and then have you arrested for loitering."

  She didn't even stop. She walked out the door. A few seconds later I heard the outer door slam shut. Not very long after that I heard the street door open and slam shut. Applause erupted outside my office.

  12

  Ireached for the phone, but Regina was already standing at the door. “When you said you'd buzz me, you really meant it."

  "You want me to fire someone else?"

  Regina entered, followed by Elizabeth Pray, Daniel Miles, and a short, stick figure of a woman who had to be Dulcy Baxter. She couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds.

  "You're all probably wondering what I have planned for this place," I said. "Not being an editor, or even a journalist, I don't have the slightest clue of how to run a paper. So, I’m going to be relying on all of you to do that. Elizabeth is in charge. I hear she pretty much is already."

  All four of them sat and looked at me anxiously. I went to the window and stared out across Main Street. Waves tumbled slowly against the beach. The sun hung in the sky above while a few scant clouds drifted overhead meanderingly. How could anyone think of murder on a day like that? I opened the window to let some fresh air into the room. The lake breeze floated up into my nostrils and it smelled good. All my memories of Malice Grove weren't bad. Summers at the beach with Rae. Playing shark in the surf with Michael. My mother, always the beauty of the beach with her fine white skin, fawning over us like little princes. Going to the Saturday matinee with my father. One thing that he gave me that stuck was his love of the movies. I guess that would make two things me and my father shared a love for, boats and movies. I shared more in common with my father than comfortable.

  Then there was Brad Graber. Someone to fear, but also an idol. The kind of man we all hope to become. His thick brown hair, pearly teeth set off by his dark tanned face, always enjoying himself and never off his guard. I idolized Brad even after I ran away. I wondered what had happened to Brad. Perhaps that was what bothered me the most. Nobody had bothered to find out. Not even my father, and Brad was family. No one's opinion mattered more to my father than Brad’s. In a lot of ways, Brad had run the Marchello family businesses. When people thought of my father, they always thought of Brad first and foremost. And my father didn't even look for him. The only reason he wouldn’t have tried to find out what happened to Brad is because he already knew. I turned away from the window. They all sat looking very concerned for my mental stability.

  “So here is the deal. I’m not going to lie to you and I’m not going to finesse you. I have one thing to do in this poisonous town and then I’m out of here. I am going to find out who killed my brother and I’m going to do it as quickly and economically as possible. If I do that, I get to keep this paper and do whatever I want with it. If I don’t, you start working for my father. I asked for you three because Regina says you are the best. I am going to ask you to do a little digging for me into some backgrounds. Now, digging into people’s histories around here is a dangerous thing. I don’t want anyone sticking their noses somewhere that they don’t feel comfortable or is in any way dangerous. Dan, we met the other day. Sorry, I lied to you, but I wanted some information."

  "I understand. And I prefer Daniel.”

  "Sorry. I prefer Joe. We really do need a little bit of a renovating though. Bring you guys into the 90s. No one uses a typewriter anymore. That will also help with the research.”

  "Renovations?” Regina said obviously pleased with the prospect of a project. “Do you want me to get in touch with some decorators?"

  "Sure. Not exactly what I had in mind. But if you want, we have some money to do a little renovating and I mean a little. Let’s talk about what I really want you all to do. It has to do with Robert Dempsey, my father and I think it's safe to say a man by the name of Bruce Drake."

  Right then, as I said the word Drake, something changed in the room. Someone had changed. I noticed it like one notices something moving in the corner of their eye, and when they turn to see what it was it disappears like smoke. Drake must have someone here at the paper. Everyone else did.

  "All I care about is fulfilling a promise I made to a dead man. I am going to be kind to you and in the end one of you will probably end up owning this place. I make no promises, because things happen. And in a town like Malice Grove things happen fast and sometimes not very pleasantly. I want to know everything about Drake, Dempsey, my father and the people that work around them. That includes Tom Watkins, Lynda Cranston and a man that I only know by the name of Joshua. I also want to know more about Stephen Archer. I'm going to use this paper to find my brother's killer and that means I'm going to use you."

  "I don't know if I like the sound of that," Daniel said.

  "I didn’t imagine that you would. If you don’t have the stomach for it, then I’ll find someone else out there who does. You’re reporters. I thought you might like to do some actual reporting instead of just writing stories you are told to write and how to write them.”

  Daniel shrunk back a little in his chair. They probably didn't care about my brother one way or the other. Hell, I didn't even know Michael that well. I knew him when he was sixteen. Manhood changes people sometimes for the better, but more often than not for the worse and Michael was no great prize at sixteen. So, the first thing I needed to do was get reacquainted with my brother.

  "I'm not going to force any of you. Like I said, the paper is one of yours at the end of this. If you'll help me, tell me. If you can't, I'll find someone else who will."

  “I’m kind of busy right now,” Daniel said. “I’ve been working on a story for a little while.”

  “Yeah, you told me about that a little before. What is it?” I asked out of curiosity.

  “I don’t really have it all put together yet,” he said.

  “So, you’re out?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “That’s okay. I’m not going to force anyone into anything. Anyone else?”

  The rest agreed to help. I took Drake for myself, because I didn't know which of them was working for him, if any. I asked Dulcy to look into the Marchello family, particularly Tom Watkins. I asked Elizabeth to take a look at the Dempsey family. I would have to take a look at District Attorney Stephen Archer myself. I wanted to know more about him, especially his wife Celia Archer. The story was that she and Brad Graber ran off together. Watkins’ demeanor seemed to make that unlikely. It may not have anything to do with my brother, but I wanted to know what happened to Brad Graber.

  13

  It was time to visit 223 Westbrook Lane, Apartment Five. The place was even more rundown in the light of day. The grass grew tall and weeds poked out through cracks in the sidewalk. The rusted railing leading up the steps felt gritty and unstable to my touch. Hanging in the doorway was a for rent sign. I rang the manager's bell. A big old slob of a man opened the door in nothing but boxers with tiny beer logos. His arms were hairy and the odor of cheap beer came from his mouth. He made snorting sounds with his sinuses and coughed before he talked. He looked like the kind of landlord that a tenant might come to hate after only a couple of days.

  "What do you want?" He asked with a voice choked by too many years smoking cigarettes. Just then he slipped a cigarette out of the pack he was holding in his hand and shoved it between yellowed teeth. He then started the inevitable search for a lighter. He wouldn't find one in his boxers. I pulled out my lighter. I don't smoke, but I always carried a lighter. He winced as he took in the first puff of smoke. The smoke never reappeared. It just went down like garbage in a garbage disposal.

  "I want to see apartment five," I said.

  "I'm sure you do." He sighed and coughed a long, exaggerated cough. If he wasn't dying of cancer he soon would be.

  "I'm sure I do, too. I'm funny that way. I often mean what I say
. Not always, but often enough.”

  "His stuff's still up there, Mr. Marchello."

  "March." Look at me, I'm a local celebrity. Perhaps I should get some sunglasses and run down the paparazzi with my Jeep. Actually, that kind of sounds like fun.

  "If ya wanna look, I'll take ya up."

  "I certainly would appreciate it," I said.

  He led me into the building. I followed him up the flight of stairs and to the first door on the left. It looked just like I had left it. The sounds of fighting came from room number six down the hall and then the crashing of glass. The manager glanced over his right shoulder down the hall and grunted as he turned the key in the lock.

  "This is it," he said still wheezing from the walk up the steps.

  "I'll take it."

  "What?"

  "Remember what I said about meaning what I say."

  He just stared at me like I had two heads.

  "I want to rent the apartment," I said simply thinking that maybe I had somehow managed to confuse the idiot.

  "Look, I don't want any more trouble."

  "Don't worry,” I said. “I'm smarter than my brother."

  "He was plenty smart. Would have to be?"

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Oh, nothin’, I just heard things."

  "What things?"

  "I said nothin'."

  "You know that those are famous last words. Perhaps you should tell me what you heard, before someone silences you."

  He looked behind him as if someone was going to shoot him through the door. Then, he glanced out the window, obviously looking for someone with a poison dart or bow and arrow.

  “I mean really,” I said. “Who are you? Will anyone really care if you disappeared?”

  "Well, it's like this. I hear him on the phone a lot, so does Mr. Carver across the hall. We talk about it all the time. Ask him. We thought Mr. Marchello was doin' some bad things."

  "What kind of bad things?"

  "Maybe blackmail."