Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,20
apartment interiors and views of the lake.
Jacob stepped into the leasing office, and a fiftyish woman with bottle-blond hair looked up from her computer.
“How may I help you?” she asked with a smile.
“Jacob Merritt, Austin Police.” He flashed his credentials. “I need information about one of your tenants.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
BAILEY CUT THROUGH the newsroom, hoping to get in and out before Max spotted her and started nagging her for updates that she didn’t have. She walked through the sea of desks and workstations. Several years ago, the Herald had ditched the traditional cubicle setup and started clustering the desks together in “pods,” which were designed to “facilitate information sharing.” The staff hated the change, of course. Reporters were territorial enough about their sources without having to conduct phone interviews while directly facing colleagues who didn’t even bother to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping on every word.
Bailey dumped her backpack onto her desk chair. Her pod was empty at the moment. She shared it with several sports guys whose computers were decorated with Longhorn paraphernalia. Glancing across the newsroom, she was relieved not to see Max in his windowed office. But the conference room blinds were shut, and her chest tightened with apprehension. Were they letting someone go? She spotted Lance at the coffee maker. She dug some money from her backpack and darted over to catch him.
“Hi, Lance.”
“Hey, Bay.” He looked her over and lifted an eyebrow at her shorts and flip-flops. Lance was dressed for success in slacks and a blue silk tie, meaning he probably had a city council meeting later.
“Who’s in the conference room?” she asked.
“Sophia.”
She felt a stab of fear. “Sophia?”
“Relax.” He sipped his coffee. “She’s interviewing a new stringer for the lifestyle section.”
“Oh.”
Bailey stuffed a dollar bill in the glass jar beside the Keurig, then spun the coffee carousel and selected an extra-dark roast. She grabbed a chipped Snoopy mug from the drying rack by the sink.
“So, you’re still working the lake trail murder?” Lance asked.
“Yep.”
The machine whirred, and she watched her mug fill.
“They have an ID yet?” he asked.
“No.”
“Suspects?”
“No.”
He shook his head. “My girlfriend’s down there all the time with her running club. She’s really freaked out by this thing. Hope they make an arrest soon.”
“Same.” Bailey picked up her coffee. “I’ll keep you posted.”
She headed back to her desk, where she sank into her chair and scanned the newsroom as she waited for her computer to boot up. Still no Max, and she didn’t see any other metro reporters, either. Everyone was out, and it was unnervingly quiet.
Bailey checked the budget for tomorrow and saw that her story had been planned for A-1 again. RHOADS—LAKE MURDER FOLLOW. Just the words put a cramp in her stomach. She checked her cell phone for the nth time this morning. Her source at dispatch still hadn’t responded to her message.
“Thought you were off today.”
She turned around to see Max looming behind her. Her boss was tall and lanky and had a neatly trimmed beard. He wore his typical starched shirt with jeans today, but his eyes were bloodshot and his hair looked messier than usual.
“I just stopped in to see if anything came in on the scanner last night,” she told him.
“Nothing interesting.” He sat on the edge of her desk with a sigh.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah.” He combed his hand through his hair. “The twins are sick. We were up all night.”
“I’m sorry. What is it?”
“I don’t know. Some kind of summer cold. Selma’s taking them to the doctor this morning.” He glanced at his watch, and she knew he would rather be with his wife than working. He was a family guy, but his job required crazy hours.
“Hey, thanks for getting those photos posted,” she said.
“No problem. They get any tips yet?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“You check with your PD source? The dispatcher?”
“I was just about to call her again.”
“You know you’re on for tomorrow, right?”
“I know.”
He looked her up and down, and she sensed his disapproval. Not about her casual attire. Max didn’t care about that, and he knew she was technically off right now because she’d worked the weekend. Although no one was every really off around here. They simply worked from home. But Max seemed uneasy, and Bailey got the feeling he didn’t think she was up for this assignment. Bailey was the youngest reporter and the only woman to ever cover the crime beat, which made her doubly determined to prove herself.
“What’s your plan if they don’t come up with an ID?” he asked.
She didn’t