Social Death: A Clyde Shaw Mystery (35 page)

I
ended up needing that winter coat.

I stayed with Dad for almost three months. I watched late fall turn to deep winter, filling my time reading novels, cuddling with Milton, and watching football with Dad. I shoveled snow, drank hot chocolate, and spent a lot of time doing the things I thought would make me feel better—journaling, meditating, and taking yoga classes. None of it really worked, but I got a hell of a lot stronger. My head healed. My hands, wrist, and ribs were as good as new. But I was never going to be normal again. For one, I was rich.

Charles Kravis died in December, a month after I met with him, leaving me an obscene amount of money, about $250 million after taxes. The rest of his fortune was divided between his foundation, other charities, his wife, and Delphine’s two children. My money was in probate, and would be for a while, so I didn’t actually get to go crazy spending it on new stuff, but Dad and I talked a bit about how I was going to use it, and what I was going to do with my life now that I didn’t have to work.

“Don’t let this define you,” Dad had said one night to me as we were sitting by the fire, reading the papers. It wasn’t clear what he’d meant by this—the money, my mother’s suicide, or the murders—but he was right.

“I just don’t know what to do,” I said.

“That’s the beauty of it. You can do anything.”

I said nothing. I should have felt liberated, but the money made me uncomfortable. I hadn’t earned it; I’d barely known the man who’d given it to me. And I believed the real reason Charles had left it to me was because he felt guilty—not just about what had happened with Delphine, but for abandoning my mother in her time of need.

My father got up to add a log to the fire. “It’s an incredible luxury to be able to think about what would make you most happy. If the money does anything for you, let it do that.”

“That’s just it, Dad.” I tossed the magazine I’d been reading back on the coffee table. “I don’t know what makes me happy. Besides work.” I missed the camaraderie, the adrenaline, the race to find sources, the hunt for the truth.

“Then go back to work.”

He was right. Lying around was doing me no good. I couldn’t sleep at night, I was avoiding talking to my old friends and colleagues, and despite my hours on the yoga mat, I still felt unsettled. I may have finally found out the truth, but that didn’t mean I’d made my peace with it. “Do you think I should give the money away?”

Dad considered my question. He’d already refused my offers to buy him a new house or a new truck. He wouldn’t even let me take him on an around-the-world vacation once I got my money. “I think you shouldn’t do anything until you’re sure about it,” he said.

The next morning I opened my laptop and started dealing with everything I’d put on hold since I’d left Manhattan, namely my job situation. The incident had turned me into a minor celebrity and done more for my career than any of the awards or scoops I’d landed in my tenure at FirstNews. I’d fielded dozens of job offers, plus a couple of offers from major publishing houses to write a memoir about my ordeal. I’d turned the book deals down flat, but I hadn’t said no to some of the jobs, the most surprising of which came from GSBC News. Of all people, they wanted to team me up with Penny Harlich.

The network president, a woman by the name of Janine Saltz, claimed it was all Penny’s idea, before admitting that within the network there were concerns Penny wasn’t being taken seriously enough by her audience. “We think you can help,” she said before offering me a 30 percent bump in salary, a sizable signing bonus, matching 401K plan, and all sorts of other benefits I’d only dreamed of in the past. I’d told Janine I needed a few weeks to think it over. Considering the circumstances, she said she was happy to give me time to mull over my response.

Soon after that, Alex called. He was a star now—FirstNews’ biggest draw, second only to Georgia Jacobs, who had been pulling in record ratings every night since the Kravis scandal. Alex had offered to come to visit me in Hudson, but I had some things to do in the city anyway, and agreed to meet him for lunch at Michael’s.

The restaurant was Alex’s choice, a favorite Midtown cantina of media-industry heavyweights. The fare was good, but the people-watching was unparalleled, particularly on that sunny day in late winter. Sarah Palin with her literary agent; Keith Richards with his. Michael, the restaurant’s namesake proprietor, greeted Alex by name at the door and personally escorted us to our table within spitting distance of George Stephanopoulos and the executive producer of
Good Morning America
. They nodded their hellos as we took our seats.

Our waiter arrived tableside, unfurling one of the restaurant’s heavy, oversize white napkins in my lap. I ordered an iced tea and the burger, while Alex opted for the dayboat scallops and a Perrier.

“So how have you been?” I asked after the waiter left.

“Good.” He planted his elbows on the table. “The network green-lit my show.”

I’d heard and I was genuinely happy for him. “Congratulations. You deserve it.”

I raised my glass of iced tea and clinked it against his over the small floral centerpiece. “To your success.”

He took a sip of his water and placed it back on the table. “When I signed the deal, I told Diskin I had two conditions. One, I wanted to move back to D.C. and two, I wanted you as my executive producer. I can’t do this show without you, Clyde.”

I was speechless. I hadn’t been expecting this. Finally I said, “Washington, huh?”

He rubbed his hands together. “You’re gonna love it there. Wait till you see what kind of apartment you can rent.”

“How does Diskin feel about me coming back on board?”

“He said you would have been his first choice.”

I cocked my head. “C’mon. Tell me what he really said.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “I’m telling you, he’s all for it. The network is prepared to offer you a big package.”

I smiled to myself. Little did Alex know that Georgia was also hounding me to come back to work for her. Not a day went by that I didn’t receive an email or voice-message from her. I missed her, but I couldn’t fathom going back to doing what I’d done before Olivia died.

“It’s a tempting offer,” I acknowledged.

Alex could read my ambivalence. “But?”

“I’m still sorting some things out.”

“Where are your things?”

He’d misread my meaning, but I humored him anyway. “In a storage unit upstate.” My dad and I had driven down in a U-Haul one morning in early December, a few weeks after I realized it was going to take me more than a few days to be ready to face city life again. We salvaged what we could, put the rest in trash bags, and left my key with the super.

“I won’t need you to start for another few weeks,” Alex said. “That’ll give you plenty of time to move.”

I sat back in my chair, took another sip of the iced tea. “I’ve got other offers on the table.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice before adding, “Whatever they’re offering, we’ll give you more.”

A server deposited our entrées. Alex picked up his knife and fork and sliced into one of his scallops. “Anything new from the Kravis case?”

I shook my head. As grateful as I was to Alex for saving my life, the case was personal to me. I could no longer discuss it like it was just another news story. Besides, I didn’t want anyone finding out about my inheritance. Talking openly about the millions Charles had left for me would have invited more intrusive questions about my private life and past. I wanted to get back into the news business, but I was done being the day’s lead story.

“Your turn,” I said, picking up my burger. “What’s new at the network?”

He set down his utensils. “Well, Charles Kravis died, as you know. And the sale went through, as I’m sure you also know. FirstNews is now officially part of Maldone Enterprises. The stock is on the rise. Ratings are good. But they could be better, which is where I come in… and you. What’s holding you back, Shaw? I thought this is what you wanted.” His brown eyes regarded me intently.

I balked. “You’re actually surprised I might be a bit hesitant to go back to work for the network that unceremoniously canned my ass not four months ago?”

Alex picked up his silverware again. “Back to prickly so soon? You must be feeling better.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I am.”

We glared at each other across the table.

Finally Alex sighed. “Look, I invited you here to offer you a job. Say the word; you’re on the team. No, more than that. You’re the head of the team.”

There was no question I’d be smart to take the executive-producer job. The network was fully invested in the success of his show, and Alex had the natural charisma and smarts it took to make it for the long haul. The money would be good, too, not that I needed to worry about my finances, but it was a measure of my value to the network, and I still wanted that, as well as the respect of my peers. With this job, I could finally get to call some shots, make great TV, and maybe get nominated for an Emmy. Truth be told, even moving to another city appealed to me. I could use a fresh start, a real honest-to-goodness chance to start over.

But then there was the fact that I was attracted to Alex, an attraction I was slowly and unhappily realizing had only intensified in the months we’d spent apart. He’d visited me in the hospital, sent flowers to me upstate. He’d said he wanted to see me again, as soon as possible, but before that week I hadn’t been ready. Every time I thought of him, my stomach felt like it was pulling taffy.

I could close my eyes and imagine him standing next to me at his stove, the heat radiating from his body, his breath on my neck. I could picture his eyes, those warm brown eyes, as he promised not to let me go, my body dangling eleven stories above the sidewalk. And I could feel his lips against mine, soft and warm, the kiss that promised everything I yearned for—companionship, passion, love. Working with Alex in such close proximity would be torture. I had a million good reasons to want to be his executive producer and only one not to be. But that one was enough. I’d fallen for him—hard, which meant that taking a job with him wasn’t just a business decision. Not when my heart was involved.

“How’s Sabine?” I asked, my posture stiffening.

“She still feels terrible. She really had no idea Delphine was the killer.”

He’d said it without saying it: They were still together. I’d had a feeling they were, but until that moment I’d allowed a part of myself to fantasize that Alex had realized how he felt about me and broken things off with her. But that hadn’t happened. In my confused and medicated state, had I read something in his kiss that wasn’t there?

“I know she didn’t mean to put me in danger,” I said quietly. As envious as I was of Sabine, what happened wasn’t her fault, and I didn’t hold her accountable.

Alex finished his scallops. “She’d love to apologize to you in person. And it would mean a lot to me, personally, if you would let her do that.”

“I’ll call her,” I said, meaning it. I took the last sip of my iced tea. Beyond our table, a quartet of bone-thin socialites was being seated, all of them trying to catch Alex’s eye, all of them wearing door-knocker-size diamond rings. I crooked my thumb in their direction. “Your new fan club.”

Alex reached for my hand across the table. “Look at me, Clyde.”

My eyes met his.

“This isn’t about her. It’s about us. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have as my partner in all this.”

My eyebrows arched. Did he mean the job or
us
? “Why me?”

“You’re smart, Clyde. You’re ethical. And tough. Nothing gets to you. Nothing scares you. And to top it all off, you’re pretty damn fine to look at. You’re the one I want by my side. Since the very beginning I pictured us together.”

I felt the rest of the room slip away. We were alone once again, back at his dining-room table with the tea lights flickering and music on the stereo. Almost dying had brought a few things in my life into sharp focus, including the fact I’d never been in love. Sure there had been men. Too many, actually. And too much meaningless sex. But love? Even when I’d gotten my act together, I’d dated men like Phil Drucker precisely because I knew I wasn’t in any danger of falling for them. With love came vulnerability, abandonment,
pain
. Still, I couldn’t live the rest of my life like that. It was a misery of its own kind, and one I’d known for far too long.

I wasn’t a teenager anymore, and I didn’t want to act like one. “Alex, be honest with me. What’s the deal with you and Sabine?”

He let go of my hand, and sank backward in his seat. “She’s pregnant,” he said flatly. “She’s coming to D.C. and we’re moving in together.”

And just like that, the waiters, the media titans, the rock stars, and social gadflies reappeared, buzzing around us, stealing center stage. Alex and I sat in silence, his announcement hanging between us like a toxic cloud. “I suppose I should say congratulations.” I would have lifted my glass again but it was empty.

“You don’t—”

“No,” I said firmly. “I do. She’s a lucky girl. And I wish you both the best of everything.”