Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,91

once Henry made Jess filter them. Moriarty was there when that all happened. That has to be more than coincidental. And all the times she says “I’m only trying to help” after insulting my hair or my clothes or my shoes or really, anything . . . Is that just coincidental too? It can’t be. It has to be her.

“I could probably prove it if I had more time,” Brady says.

“Okay, let me know what you find. Thanks, Brady, I really appreciate it.”

I can wait. I can take the time to be sure of this, and then I’ll make sure everyone at this place knows what she did, what she’s capable of.

But later on, when I’ve just finished doing the midday news and Jerry and I are discussing weekend plans, the devil herself waltzes by.

“Feeling better?” she asks, her fake grin on her face.

“I’m back, aren’t I?” I say, my tone oozing with sarcasm. Jerry does a little whistling thing at my comment.

“Well, I mean, you don’t look fully recovered. There are bags for days under those eyes,” she says, and Jerry whistles again.

“Thanks so much,” I say, clipping my words.

“I’m—”

“Only trying to help?” I finish.

“Well, yes,” she says.

“Tell me, Stacey, all those anonymous emails you sent to me? Those were ‘only trying to help,’ too, right?”

She flinches. It’s tiny, but I catch it. Busted.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says.

“Don’t you?” I ask, my head tilted to the side. Jerry appears to be getting whiplash as his face swings back and forth between me and Moriarty as he watches this all go down.

“Emails? Why would I do that?” she says.

“Good question,” I say. “Aren’t you so busy and important? Why take the time to send me a degrading email under an anonymous name nearly every day that I’ve been here?”

She snort laughs. “This is too much, Quinn. You’re really reaching.”

At this point I realize the newsroom has gone uncharacteristically quiet; all heads are up from their desks, all conversations have stopped, and all focus is now on Moriarty and me.

“You can deny it all you want, but soon I’ll have proof, and then there will be nothing you can say.”

She rolls her eyes. “You won’t find proof, because there’s none. I’m not this Grace person you’re talking about.”

I smile—my best mischievous grin. “I never said I was talking about Grace,” I say.

A very distinct red color moves up her neck and spreads to her nose and cheeks. “I only know that name because you said it before.”

“Sure.”

“You’re making all this up,” she says, her voice now getting louder.

“Why would I make this up?” I say, my voice matching hers.

“To . . . to frame me. You want my job,” she says, her red face now making her look like she’s teetering on the side of psychotic.

“Why would I send myself mean emails all to frame you?”

“Well, it’s just as ridiculous as me sending them to you!”

“You did send them to me!” I yell.

“No, I didn’t!” she yells back.

“Ladies,” Jerry says, and when I look at him, he nods his head over to where Henry and Dwayne can be seen walking toward us.

“What’s going on here?” Dwayne asks, in that deep, commanding voice of his.

I see many emotions pour over Henry’s face when our eyes make contact. Confusion being the most prominent one. Except for the one text I responded to, I haven’t seen or spoken to him since I walked away on Tuesday.

“Apparently,” Jerry says. “Little Miss Sunshine here”—he points to Moriarty—“has been sending Quinn rude anonymous emails.”

A low murmur spreads across the room.

“I have not,” Moriarty says, still holding her stance.

“She has,” I say turning to Dwayne. “Under the name Grace Is Amazing.”

“What?” says Henry.

“And how do you know this?” Dwayne asks.

“Because I suspected her and had someone do a search of the IP address, and some of those emails were found to have come from here, inside the building.” I don’t drop Brady’s name so as not to implicate him in any of this. I don’t even know if I explained it right—Brady gave me an earful about how to do it last night when I called him asking if it was possible, but I didn’t really understand the technicalities of it all.

“And because she practically admitted as much,” Jerry adds.

“I never admitted anything,” Moriarty practically screeches out, her eyes actually looking demonic.

“Calm down, please,” Dwayne says, his voice booming.

“You did,” Jerry says to Moriarty. “You knew the name of the person sending the