Snow White and the Seven Murders Page 3

  “Jeremiah!” Ed exclaimed in a booming voice. “How goes it?”

  “Well, sir,” Jeremiah, Dayton City Newspaper’s Final Reader replied with a nod. He settled into one of the black leather seats that surrounded Ed’s desk. “How was your trip?”

  “Excellent,” Ed said.

  Two more editors entered the room. Kendrick covered the sports pages, and Lorna was in charge of everything leisure related—books, travel, shopping, food, and a daily calendar of events.

  Next, Glena Lawson stepped into the room. As Associate Editor, she was second only to Ed, who was Editor in Chief.

  Glena, eight months pregnant, waddled over to a chair and lowered herself into the deep cushions slowly.

  Sara realized that she was the only one still standing. She felt suddenly uncomfortable as she noticed the editorial staff stealing glances at her, clearly wondering about her purpose in the room.

  “Well, let’s get right down to it,” Ed began. “Sara, take a seat.” He motioned to the two empty chairs still available, and Sara chose one and sat.

  Ed addressed the room as staffers busily silenced phones, pulled folders out of bags, and settled into the soft chairs. “As you all know, Glena will be leaving us shortly. Next Friday, in fact. We’re going to need to fill her position while she’s on maternity leave. As I announced several months ago, I’ve decided not to pull a current editor away from their duties. Your positions are integral to the functioning of this paper, and moving one of you out of your role to fill Glena’s would be a mistake. Instead, I’m going to pull a head reporter.”

  The four editors, Jeremiah, Kendrick, Lorna, and Glena all nodded. Sara noted that their eyes continued to dart her way. They were clearly wondering if Ed was going to award her the position.

  Yet Sara knew, without a doubt, that Ed wouldn’t dare.

  At the newspaper, Ed ruled the roost.

  However, in his home there was a completely different power dynamic.

  Fiona, his wife of eleven years, was the Queen of the Castle.

  And for whatever reason—Sara suspected that she knew, but wasn’t certain—Fiona had it out for Sara.

  Fiona couldn’t stand her.

  The instant that Fiona had moved in, the trouble started. Fiona made life so difficult at home that Sara had no choice but to pack up and move out.

  It didn’t end there.

  The feeling of being watched pulled Sara back to the present moment. She looked down at her feet, to avoid the curious glances from the editorial staff, as Ed continued.

  “I want us to have an open discussion today and really make headway in our decision about who to invite into the position. As I’ve said before, I value your opinion on the matter. This editorial staff works as a team, so we all have a say in who will join us.”

  He cleared his throat, causing Sara to look up at him. He met her eye as he said, “That’s why I invited Sara here to join us. Sara works with the other section heads on a daily basis, whereas we are more removed, due to the nature of our work. I think Sara’s contribution to this discussion will be highly insightful.”

  The others kept staring. An awkward silence filled the room, and after several beats of uncomfortable silence Glena spoke up. “I’m sorry... I don’t think I’m understanding this. I thought that you were considering all head reporters for the position, Ed. Isn’t Sara up for the spot as well?”

  “Sara informed me several years ago that she does not want to become an editor. She prefers the reporter role.”

  “I can see why,” Jeremiah said, with a self-deprecating laugh. “I gained fifty pounds when I took the added responsibility of editing.” He shifted in his chair, hiking up his belt around his roly-poly waist. “It’s the stress, I tell you.” He offered another laugh.

  Sara felt beyond uncomfortable. How can Dad be so blind? she wondered. Has he really never figured out the reason why I refuse to become an editor?

  Is he really so blind to Fiona’s scheming ways?

  She remembered the day that Fiona had cornered her in the kitchen. Sara had been rounding up a few personal possessions that were mixed in with the household items. She was packing up to move out of her father’s house, to get away from her wicked stepmother. Instead of helping her pack, Fiona had hired a private masseuse and was getting a treatment in the family room.

  As Sara put the last item in her little cardboard box—a ceramic mug that she’d painted in high school—Fiona stormed into the kitchen.

  Sara remembered how badly she’d desired just to make it to the door. She wanted to escape this evil woman’s jealous rage—the rage that Fiona saved especially for Sara.

  But the door was too far away and Fiona crossed the kitchen quickly, cornering Sara so she couldn’t escape.

  “I know you don’t have a degree,” she’d said, narrowing her eyes.

  Sara remembered the sinking feeling in her gut.

  She was desperate to move out of the house—Fiona was making it a living hell for her—but she didn’t have a college education. Her father, eager to help his daughter, though he was unaware of why she suddenly wanted to leave his home, promised her a job at the paper despite the fact that she didn’t technically have the prerequisites. “No one will know,” Ed promised.

  But apparently, that wasn’t true. Fiona knew.

  “Don’t look so scared,” Fiona had hissed, in a near whisper. “I won’t tell a soul. You build up your career, sweetie, and this little secret will stay between us. But don’t you ever get it in your pretty little head that you’re going to become an editor like your father. I won’t allow it. If you try, I’ll spill your secret, and your career will crumble beneath you.”

  “Why do you hate me?” Sara had asked. “Why are you so intent on making my life miserable?” She felt so pitiful, standing there with the small box of meager belongings.

  “I don’t hate you, darling,” Fiona had said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “It’s for your own good. A little bit of adversity will make you stronger. I had to grow up poor. I had to struggle. You’ve had everything handed to you on a silver spoon.”

  “I’ve been very blessed,” Sara said. “But I don’t take any of it for granted. I’m sorry your life has been hard, Fiona. But please don’t take it out on me. This is about the beauty contest, isn’t it? This is all because I won? Fiona, you can’t hold that against me forever.”

  Fiona clearly didn’t like the turn the conversation was heading. She glanced into the box and spotted the hand painted mug. “I like that,” she said.

  “I painted it, in high school,” Sara reported.

  “I’m keeping it,” Fiona said, snatching the mug from the box.

  Sara remembered the sinking feeling in her gut, at that moment. She knew then that she had to get away from Fiona—for good.

  That meant agreeing to Fiona’s hateful terms. “I’m just going to be a reporter at Dad’s paper,” she had said. “That’s it.”

  “Correct,” Fiona had replied. “I know you. You think you’re smart—entitled people like you always do. You’ll get bored. You’ll try to reach higher. I’ll be watching. There will be no more easy street for you, darling. Mommy’s watching you.”

  Sara shivered as the memory faded, and she returned to the present.

  Her father had never found out about Fiona’s threats. He thought that his daughter wanted to move out... wanted to be a reporter... wanted to stay small and struggling.

  Sara had planned on telling him, she just couldn’t figure out how to inform him that the woman he’d chosen for a wife was evil and malicious behind his back.

  Then he came down with cancer, and she had lost her nerve all together. His health was the most important thing. She just wanted the best for him.

  As Sara pulled her focus back to the room, she noticed that Jeremiah was speaking. “I do think Maggie could do well, if it wasn’t for her bias when it comes to political articles.”

  “Her husband’s very active in the Dayton Republic
an’s Association, isn’t he?” Kendrick asked.

  “What does her husband have to do with it?” Lorna asked, in a heated tone.

  “Her loyalty to her husband affects the types of articles she okays versus the ones she denies. I’ve heard her staff complain about it on several occasions.”

  “That’s not good,” Ed said thoughtfully. He turned to Sara. “Have you heard complaints?”

  Sara nodded. “A few. She threw out Pete’s piece about the elections last November. She said it was promoting the left, but I read it and thought it was very objective. I think she does have a bias.”

  Ed nodded. “I see. This is good. Progress. What about Tim? I hear he’s doing well these days. His piece on the pollution of the Colorado River was phenomenal. Kendrick, you see the news he turns in. How’s the quality?”

  The conversation continued, and Sara tried to chime in when she could. Occasionally, she eyed the manila envelope on Ed’s desk, and thought of her own article within.

  Seven deaths... all REE mine owners... in just under two years. How was it possible? Had she stumbled on something truly big?

  She felt anxious for the meeting to wrap up, and finally it did. She made sure to linger in the room as the others filtered out—first by dawdling over a conversation with Lorna about gardening, and then pretending to check messages on her phone. Finally she was alone again with her father.

  “Dad, the piece I’m going to write up about the Peak Mine sale, for this Sunday’s paper...”

  “Yes?” Ed asked.

  “I might need to do some field research for it. There’s an angle of the sale that I haven’t quite... explored thoroughly yet. I think I need to talk to Matt Ferris’s wife.”

  “Matt Ferris... isn’t he the fellow that died in the car crash? He used to own Peak Mine, is that right? He was a relatively new owner, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Sara nodded. “That’s right,” she said.

  “Why on earth would you want to talk to his wife? I assume his lawyers are handling business arrangements. Does she have a say in the sale as well?”

  “No... it’s not that. It’s... well, something came to light today. Just now, actually, right before I came here.”

  “Is everything alright, sweetie? You look upset.”

  Sara hugged herself. “Dad, I was looking up info about this company out in New York They’re in a bidding war for the Peak Mine. They own almost all of the REE mines in the states—all except for Peak. They bought six of them pretty recently.”

  “I don’t see what’s so bad about that,” Ed said. “They must be good at business. Kudos to them.”

  “No, Dad—I haven’t gotten to the creepy part yet. They bought six mines, all of them within the last two years. Why would so many REE mines go up for sale in that short time period?”

  “Something must be going poorly within the industry. The owners wanted out.” Ed looked at his daughter, clearly curious to see where she was headed with this. He was an intelligent man, and enjoyed a good puzzle now and then.

  Sara shook her head. Her dark hair brushed against her back. “No, the industry is booming. You should see the profit margins these mines report. The reason all seven of the mines went up for sale was that their owners—six men and one woman, all between the ages of fifty and sixty-five—died in car crashes. All of them, Dad.”

  “Hunh,” Ed said, puzzled. He rubbed his forehead. “What are you thinking?”

  Sara hesitated before voicing her fear that the mine owners had been murdered. She didn’t want to sound crazy.

  Ed picked up on her hesitation, and spoke before she had to. “You think they were murdered?”

  “It looks that way to me,” Sara said.

  Ed drummed his fingers on his desk, a habit he had when thinking. “It is strange,” he said. “What do you hope to learn from Matt’s wife?”

  “I just want to find out more about his death, that’s all. I want to learn more about the circumstances. I also want to drive up to the Peak Mine and check out the road. The information I read said that he died coming home from work. Maybe there’s nothing corrupt or violent here—the problem could be where the mines are located.”

  “Rural, country roads,” Ed said with a nod. “Winding on mountain-sides, usually. Chewed up by plenty of trucks carrying heavy loads, I’d guess. You’re right. That could explain the vehicle accidents. You’ve always been so smart, Sara. You take after your mother. She was brilliant.”

  He gave her a dreamy, faraway look. Sara knew that as her father looked at her, at times all he could see was her mom. Though Sara’s mother had died in childbirth, Sara had seen pictures of her. Sara was the spitting image of her mother.

  Rather than enjoying her mother’s good looks, Sara wished she had never inherited them. It was because of her beauty that Fiona despised her so much.

  If only I took after Dad, instead, Sara thought, looking back at her father and examining his thick blonde hair, square jaw and rugged features. I got his eyes, perhaps, but other than that, I’m all Mom.

  Ed reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “I know... I know... I need to get it cut. But I can’t seem to bring myself to do it.”

  Sara laughed. “It is getting a bit unruly, Dad,” she said. “Why not visit your barber? It’s been months, hasn’t it?”

  Ed nodded. “I’m putting it off, it’s true. I want to wait to see if Dr. Elliot thinks I need another round of chemo. I might have to say goodbye to this hair, soon enough. It seems a waste to cut any of it off. The threat of losing it makes me want to keep all of it. Is that ridiculous?”

  Sara walked over to her father and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not ridiculous, Dad.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead—mostly just to judge his temperature again. If he was running a fever, she wanted to know about it. “When’s your next meeting with Dr. Elliot?” she asked. His forehead felt cooler than before. That was good. She stepped back.

  “Next Thursday,” he said. “In the afternoon. Fiona will bring me.”

  I’m sure she will, Sara thought with frustration. Fiona was fiercely territorial with Ed. It seemed that Ed’s illness only made Fiona worse, too. If it wasn’t for working at the paper, Sara was sure that she'd practically never see her father.

  She bit her lip instead of saying anything mean about her stepmother. Dad loves her and that’s what matters, she reminded herself.

  “I’ll probably leave for the Peak Mine tomorrow morning,” Sara said. “If it’s alright with you, I’ll be out of the office Saturday, as well. I’ll deliver my follow up piece on the sale via email, by Saturday at four pm.”

  “Are you going to include your theory about the seven deaths in your article?” her father wanted to know.

  Sara shook her head. “You know I don’t approve of wild speculation, Dad. If I find evidence of corruption, I’ll report it to the authorities and include it in a later, well-researched piece. But I’m not going to write anything that can’t be triple verified.”

  “That’s my girl,” Ed said proudly. “Happy hunting, darling. Your car’s working alright? I don’t want you to have any accidents on dangerous back roads.”

  “Car’s great,” Sara replied. “You remember to drink a shake a day. Seriously, Dad. No excuses. I don't care if they taste like chalk—you need the protein.”

  “Fine, fine,” her father said grudgingly.

  “When I see you on Monday morning, I want to hear a good report from you. Lots of sleep. Lots of protein shakes. Okay?”

  Ed nodded. “Be careful, Snow. If you come across anything dangerous, don’t try to be a hero. Newspaper sales aren’t worth it.”

  Yes, but finding out the truth is, thought Sara. Instead of voicing this opinion, which might upset her father, she smiled, and brightly promised him that she would stay out of trouble.

  As she stepped back out into the hallway, however, and considered the fact that her weekend plans included tracking down a possible serial killer, she wasn�
��t so sure.

  4

  The next morning at exactly 9:00, Sara pulled her Camry off to the side of the road in front of 302 Charles Street in Washton and slowed to a stop.

  She’d been pleased to find out that Gabrielle Ferris, Matt’s widow, lived in her old stomping grounds. She even knew the street, because of the long walks she used to take with her little dog Martin, back when she was in high school.

  Despite the fact that she was familiar with the street, she’d never paid much attention to number 302 in particular.

  The house was a sprawling stucco affair, with some natural stone accents and beautiful, pale wooden double doors. The front lawn and gardens were well kept. Sara suspected that a staff of landscapers were to thank for that, due to the degree to which the lawn was manicured.

  The Ferrises were clearly wealthy, just like most families that lived in the suburban town of Washton.

  Before getting out of the car, Sara quickly checked her work email. Last night, in addition to preparing for her meeting with Gabrielle Ferris, she had also talked with Cinda on the phone to fill her in on her findings about the seven deaths. She asked Cinda to help out with a few aspects of the research that needed to be done, and Cinda agreed.

  There was a new message from Cinda Rella in her inbox, and Sara opened it and began to read.

  “Hey! I’ve been learning more about HiTech Minerals, like you asked. The company is run by three individuals—a father, Byron Smith, and his two grown children, Davis and Lucy Smith. All three of them were out of town recently. Byron’s administrative assistant let it slip that the three of them have been here in Dayton for the past two weeks. They arrived on May 27th.”

  Sara felt a chill run up her spine. May 27th? That was the day before Matt’s accident. At that point, Peak Mine wasn’t even up for sale.

  What were the chances that they just happened to be in the same city as the only REE mine that they didn’t own, just at the time when the owner passed away accidentally? Slim to none, surely.