Read Online Anonymous Sources by Mary Louise Kelly - Free Book Online Page B

same tone of disgust one might use to relate that Thom had decided to let his toenails grow out.
    Petronella’s response to Thom’s gallantry had been to dump him. The night before he flew home. The night before he died.
    She declined to be specific about when she had started up with Lucien Sly. It seemed obvious there had been some overlap with Thom Carlyle. But whether Petronella Black was a slut wasn’t any of my business. The interesting thing was that she and Thom had argued the night of his last party here. Argued so bitterly that they’d broken up. He’d flown home alone.
    I ventured that it was a reasonable conclusion that Thom was depressed when he arrived back in the States. That he might have had something drastic in mind when he climbed the Eliot House bell tower.
    But she shook her head. She was sure Thom hadn’t killed himself. She couldn’t say why, just that he wouldn’t have done that. She swore she had no idea what had happened up in the bell tower. None of the possibilities—that he jumped, that he fell, that he’d been pushed—none of them made sense to her.
    Finally I leaned back. Petronella struck me as shallow and immature. But she also struck me as someone telling the truth.
    â€œWill you be flying over for the funeral Tuesday?” I asked by way of wrapping things up.
    â€œI suppose so. They’ll be expecting me.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “Really? I don’t think the Carlyles will be thrilled to see you. I mean, no offense, but you did just dump their son and you’re already with another guy.”
    â€œThey don’t know any of that.”
    â€œMaybe not yet, but they will once my story comes out.”
    She jerked her shoulders back. “You can’t actually use any of this. Not in the paper. I want this all to be off the record.”
    â€œWhat? No. Sorry. We’ve been on the record this whole time. I told you up front that I’m a reporter. I told you who I work for. You’ve been watching me take notes the entire time we’ve been talking. Of course I’m going to use all this.”
    â€œBut I will look ridiculous!”
    â€œPossibly. Though I’m not sure you can blame my reporting for that.”
    She shot me a withering look. “I’m going to call my father. And my lawyer. You’ll be hearing from them.”
    â€œFine. Tell them to call my editors.”
    â€œI mean it. I don’t want my name in the paper.”
    â€œPetronella. With all due respect, grow up.”
    Instead, she stood up. Walked right over and gave me a little shove.
    â€œI am warning you, don’t print a single word of this. Don’t you dare. Or I will make you very sorry.”
    She was trying to intimidate me. I’m afraid she had the opposite effect.
    Try me, sister, I was thinking as I walked out. Try me.

    
13
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    L ater that morning I wandered down to the Emmanuel boathouse and found a few rowers who said they’d known Thom. They all were polite and gave me a few passable quotes about what a great guy he’d been.
    Then I walked back to the café where I’d bought the latte earlier, found a table, and called Marco Galloni.
    He had wisely avoided giving me his cell number, but it was easy enough to get it from the desk manager on the night shift. I told her he was expecting my call.
    Which he clearly was not.
    â€œHello?” he answered groggily. “Who? Miss James? Don’t you know it’s Saturday morning?”
    â€œI know. That’s why I waited till seven your time. And call me Alex,” I said sweetly.
    I could hear mumbled swearing on his end. “Seven my time? Where are you?”
    â€œSorry to wake you. But I’m in England and it’s already noon over here. I thought you might want to hear some of what Thom Carlyle’s girlfriend has been telling me.”
    â€œHang on.” I could hear him shuffling