She cocked her head to look at me.
“But they can only draw you the way you’ll let them. And it isn’t so much how you look as what you have to say.”
“All right, ladies.” Ida’s voice brought everyone back to their stations. “Enough with the coffee klatch, huh? Let’s get this in the can.”
Kelly took a deep breath, patted her hair, squared her shoulders, folded her hands in her lap, smiled at me and asked, “Ready?”
I smiled back. “When you are.”
The red light came back on atop the lens of camera one; the tape editor said, “We have speed.” And Ida began to count, “We are taping in five, four, three…”
Kelly took a breath, and turned to me.
“Maggie MacGowen, welcome back to the network. Congratulations for signing on for a new project.” She was sitting upright, sounded friendly but forthright. “Being with us again must feel like déjà vu.”
“It does a bit, yes,” I said, thinking, What now? “It’s nice to be back working with old friends.”
“You have reported news events from all over the world, sending your observations over the airwaves from war zones and natural disasters to the viewing public. But last week, you were, yourself, at the center of an important breaking-news story.”
I was thinking, Good for you, girl, trying not to smile because she was about to ask me about finding a dead man. The cupcake was suddenly sounding more like a steak sandwich, so I did my best to help her out. We got the essentials of what happened Friday evening taken care of without gory details. I thought she did a good job of framing the crime within the context of the community where it occurred: the college campus, where murder is rare.
Skillfully, she segued from the crime to a brief conversation about Park Holloway’s background-from Congress to campus-and on to the reason I was back at the network. She was frank about my series cancellation, and from there to my teaching gig, which brought us full circle to the origins of the film topic. She gave me a good opening to promote my film. And then left her audience with a cliff-hanger.
“Is it possible,” she asked, “that the murderer is someone you see on campus every day?”
“Entirely possible,” I said.
“We are all eager to see your film, Maggie.” She leaned slightly toward me. “But you be careful out there.”
She gave her face to camera one, and closed.
We turned to each other and pretended to chat while Ida counted to ten. At ten, Ida said, “And we’re out. Thank you very much, boys and girls.”
Ida came over to us. “Great job, Kelly. Great job. Maggie, thank you very much. Good luck with the project, and try to stay out from underfoot, will you?”
“No promises, Ida,” I said.
As Kelly and I unclipped our microphones and handed them to a crewman, she glanced at me.
“Well done, Kelly,” I said. “Excellent interview structure.”
“It’s easier when you help,” she said, smiling.
“It’s easier when you cover up your chest.”
She chuckled. “Why do the guys get to wear neckties?”
“Because that’s what turns women on,” I said.
Offering her hand, she said, “It will be interesting having you around.”
“Don’t blink,” I said, giving her hand a quick squeeze.
Before we taped the crime scene, I gave Early and Ida the sequence of events, and on camera, led Kelly through the scene. Someone from campus public relations trailed along behind Ida, though I wasn’t sure why. Curious? The appointed censor? Good luck if he decided we needed to clear out for some reason, I thought. Ida had signed releases from the college and a house full of corporate lawyers behind her who were always eager for fresh carrion.
The walk-around took only a few minutes. I managed a few quiet, private words with Early and then headed for the parking lot. Guido Patrini, my film partner, was already at the network studio, waiting for me-he had called several times. I told him I would only be able to make a drive-by, but I was on my way.
Guido was waiting for me in Lana’s top floor office. The little lift of his eyebrows asked me how the interview went, my little shrug answered that it went okay. Guido and I had worked together, off and on, since my stint in Kansas City, so there were a lot of words that didn’t need to get spoken between us anymore.
“Ida’s happy,” Lana said, hanging up her desk phone. “She said you put Kelly Lopez through the traces.”
“That one has possibilities,” I said.
“Maggie, someone else has moved into our old fun zone,” Guido said, referring to our former production office. “Lana’s negotiated some new real estate for us.”
“Guido has given me his usual extravagant wish list,” Lana said, coming to sit on the sofa beside him. “I divided what he asked for by ten, and found a good space for you on the fourth floor, near Studio Eight.”
“You’ll move out the mops and brooms first, though, won’t you?” Guido asked.
“Guido, Guido,” she said, patting his chiseled jaw. “If you weren’t so damn good-looking I’d drop-kick you right out that window onto Alameda Avenue.”
He caught her hand. “Just think of me and Maggie like the ex that moved back in after the divorce was final, and we’ll get along perfectly fine.”
“You two can stop now,” I said. “Lana, does this space have keys, or are we out in a hallway?”
She handed me a manila envelope heavy with keys.
I held out a hand to help Guido up off the couch. “You coming?”
“What’s that thing on your chin?” he asked, leaning in for a closer look at my face.
“Someone took a shot at me today with a pellet gun.”
“Who did?” Lana demanded, voice full of some cross between righteous indignation and morbid curiosity.
“Beats me,” I said. “Sure hope the bugger doesn’t finish the job before we get the film finished. I like this project.”
“Oh my God,” she said, emphasizing every syllable, probably composing the press release in her head, “Filmmaker shot at to stop her from…”
As we headed for the door, Lana, still sitting on the couch, called after us. “What, you’re leaving already? No little good-to-be-back-and-thanks-a-ton-Lana speech?”
“Might be too early for that,” I said. “I need roses, a box of candy and a little smooching first.”
“Dinner tonight, then, both of you?” she asked.
“Sorry, I promised to take my mom grocery shopping.”
She looked crestfallen-we had once been pretty good friends-so I said, “How about tomorrow? Fergie will join us.”
Lana said she would make reservations, and Guido and I headed for the elevator.
“What happened?” Guido asked when we were alone.
“I think it was a kid,” I said. “Someone did a kamikaze graffiti run and took a pellet gun in case he was confronted. Honestly, I think I just happened into the situation.”
“You weren’t hurt?”
I flexed my shoulder up, winced, said, “Just a scratch.”
We found our office on the fourth floor. It had been vacated recently by the production staff of a cancelled afternoon talk show, and was still partially furnished. The phone on a desk in the small outer office worked, so I called Fergie, told her where we were and that she could move in at any time; I would leave her set of keys with Security downstairs. She said she would be there in the morning to start getting things set up.
The second call was to Jack Flaherty in the Archives and Research department to tell him that we could be friends again.
“Fergie already told me,” he said. “I found some interesting poop about this Hiram Chin guy. You want me to shoot it to you now?”
I did. And asked him to copy the files to Fergie.
Guido and I explored our new space. There were two desks in the outer office that would do for him and Fergie. He would be spending most of his time in the field, so all he needed was a telephone and a desk for his computer.