Page 4 of Losing Control

Handing over her business card, Dana had asked as nicely as possible for what she needed. As soon as she told the woman what dates she was interested in, she could feel the hostility rise up like a stone wall from the woman behind the counter atThe High Ridge Messenger.Marion Jordan wasn’t about to budge an inch. The pencil in her fingers tapped against the counter with an irritating cadence.

Tap, tap, tap.Pause.Tap, tap, tap.

Dana was beyond tired. Landing in San Antonio just after eight o’clock that morning, she’d rented a car and immediately drove the three hours to High Ridge, fueled with industrial strength coffee and anxiety. She hadn’t even looked for a motel yet. And this woman was getting on her last nerve.

She tucked her hair behind her ears—a chronic nervous gesture—and tried to put on her best smile.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice cajoling. “Every newspaper I’ve ever worked with saves their editions all the way back to the very first one. Somewhere. Can you check for me? Please?”

Marion Jordan stared at her, lips thinned in disapproval.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Perhaps if you tell me what specific information you’re looking for I can direct you to another source.”

All right. If that’s the way she wants to play it.

“The pedophile killer is the subject of my next book, and I need the newspapers for research. All of them during those dates I gave you.”

Marion’s eyes were frosty, her posture rigid. “I think writing a book like that would be a very big mistake. The people in this town suffered a great deal during that time. I wouldn’t want to be the one helping you rake it all up again.”

Dana mentally counted to ten. “Perhaps there’s someone else here who could be of better assistance.”

“I can promise you no one will want to discuss this with you,” Marion assured her. “You can count on that. It took this town a long time to get over it. They won’t want it all dragged out again.”

The two women stared at each other.

“Is there a problem here?” A gravelly voice broke into the chill.

Dana hadn’t heard the outside door behind her open, but suddenly a man stood next to her. Dressed in jeans and a work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked to be about the same age as Marion Jordan. Mid-forties, Dana guessed. His hair, worn just a little long, was heavily laced with gray, with traces of its original sandy color here and there. His broad forehead was currently wrinkled in a frown.

Looking at him, her body tensed. Could he be the one? Was that possible? He was about the right age and height. Would she end up looking at every man in the county as a possible suspect?

Cut it out. Pull yourself together.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett. I told this woman the editions of the paper she wants aren’t available.” Each word was an icicle dropping from Marion Jordan’s lips.

Tap tap tap.

“I’ll take care of it, Marion. Thanks.” He held out his hand to Dana. “John Garrett. I’m the editor here.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For my sins.”

“Dana Moretti.” She withdrew her hand as quickly as she could. Although she managed in pubic with rigid discipline, contact of any kind with men froze everything inside her.

“The writer.” His sharp eyes studied her.

“Yes.” She fished out another business card.

“Marion usually isn’t so obstinate about requests.” He ran his fingers through his hair in an absent gesture. “Can you tell me a little more about what you want?”

“I’m here to do research for my next book. When I made a request to look at some old editions of the newspaper, I discovered there’s apparently some problem with me seeing them.”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “Here? What could possibly interest you in a small town like High Ridge?”

“She wants to see the newspapers from twenty-five years ago,” Marion told him, her face tight. “You know which ones. I said they weren’t available.”

Garrett studied the card for a long minute. “You want to dig up the pedophile killer case.”

“That’s right. If you’ve read any of my books, you know my interest is in old cases that were never solved.”

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