Read Online Prime Time by Hank Phillippi Ryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Hank Phillippi Ryan
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“It’s Charlie McNally, returning your call. Is everything all right?”
“Thanks, Charlie.” I hear a little exhale, as if maybe she’s smoking. “Do you have a moment?”
“Of course,” I say. Melanie has something to tell me. Maybe it’s something good, like Brad’s big secret. But maybe it’s something bad, like Aztratech lawyers with a federal warrant demanding the box of stolen files.
“Well, I was going through some of Bradley’s things, you know?”
“Yes,” I say, relieved. No warrant. “Go on.”
“I finally got into his e-mail,” she begins again. “He had a separate password. I hadn’t known about it. But I tried—” she pauses “—I tried ‘Moondance.’ It was our wedding song. And that was it. So I suppose I was just looking to see if…I don’t know. But I found a copy of that e-mail he sent you,” she continues. “And it appears he sent copies of it to two other people.”
My heart revs. He’d better not have e-mailed any other reporters.
“Two other people?” I say, trying to keep my voice level. What if he sent it to other reporters? “Can you—just tell me their names?”
A pause. “Well, Charlie, I don’t know,” she says. “If Brad wanted to keep it private, maybe it should stay that way.”
I slap my palm against my forehead in frustration, and try to transmit persuasive telepathic messages to her through the phone wires. Tell. Me. The NAMES.
“Whatever you say, Melanie,” I begin out loud, trying the reporter’s faithful reverse-psychology ploy. “No pressure.” Shifting gears, I move in for the takedown. “ButI thought you wanted to know what happened to your husband, and I was just thinking those other two people would have some ideas. In fact, maybe they could really help you.” And me, and our possible big story, I don’t add.
Melanie doesn’t answer, and I hope she’s considering my unassailable logic. Finally, I hear a little sigh.
“Got a pencil?” she asks.
I sit up straight and hold the phone to my ear with one hand. With the other, I write the names I’m hoping will be our key to success.
“Okay, got it,” I say. “Let me just repeat to make sure I’m correct. You said, Joshua Gelston? And Mack Briggs? Briggs with two G s? Mack like Mack truck?”
“Right,” Melanie confirms.
“Do you know who these people are?” It could be they already know what Brad wanted to tell me, that’s for sure. I’ll just get in touch with them, and the mystery will be solved.
“Pssst.” I cover the phone mouthpiece and hiss to get Franklin’s attention without letting Melanie know. “Mela-nie,” I mouth her name noiselessly.
Franklin wrinkles his forehead; he doesn’t get it. I scrawl her name on a piece of paper and hold it up. Now Franklin’s interested. He gets off his phone call and rolls closer to my desk.
“What does she want?” he whispers.
I glare at him. Why do people think it’s easier to have two conversations at once if one person is whispering?
Meanwhile, I’ve missed part of what Melanie is trying to tell me.
“I’m so sorry, someone came to the door,” I fib. “You said, what again?”
“Briggs, no, I’ve never heard of him,” Melanie answers.
So much for the easy solution.
“Josh Gelston, though,” she continues. “I think he’s someone Brad met at a dinner party. A teacher, or something.”
“Can you read me their e-mail addresses?” I ask.
I hear some clicking on the other end.
“I apologize, Charlie,” Melanie finally says. “But I don’t see any addresses. Do you honestly think you could find out if these people know anything? I’d be terribly grateful if you could tell me what Brad may have confided to them.”
Her voice sounds so beseeching, so needy. Of course, she’s still deeply in mourning. Looking for explanations. And I’m thrilled to be able to help her. I feel just like Nancy Drew, only a whole lot older and without the blue roadster. I can’t wait to start working
“Thanks, Charlie.” I hear a little exhale, as if maybe she’s smoking. “Do you have a moment?”
“Of course,” I say. Melanie has something to tell me. Maybe it’s something good, like Brad’s big secret. But maybe it’s something bad, like Aztratech lawyers with a federal warrant demanding the box of stolen files.
“Well, I was going through some of Bradley’s things, you know?”
“Yes,” I say, relieved. No warrant. “Go on.”
“I finally got into his e-mail,” she begins again. “He had a separate password. I hadn’t known about it. But I tried—” she pauses “—I tried ‘Moondance.’ It was our wedding song. And that was it. So I suppose I was just looking to see if…I don’t know. But I found a copy of that e-mail he sent you,” she continues. “And it appears he sent copies of it to two other people.”
My heart revs. He’d better not have e-mailed any other reporters.
“Two other people?” I say, trying to keep my voice level. What if he sent it to other reporters? “Can you—just tell me their names?”
A pause. “Well, Charlie, I don’t know,” she says. “If Brad wanted to keep it private, maybe it should stay that way.”
I slap my palm against my forehead in frustration, and try to transmit persuasive telepathic messages to her through the phone wires. Tell. Me. The NAMES.
“Whatever you say, Melanie,” I begin out loud, trying the reporter’s faithful reverse-psychology ploy. “No pressure.” Shifting gears, I move in for the takedown. “ButI thought you wanted to know what happened to your husband, and I was just thinking those other two people would have some ideas. In fact, maybe they could really help you.” And me, and our possible big story, I don’t add.
Melanie doesn’t answer, and I hope she’s considering my unassailable logic. Finally, I hear a little sigh.
“Got a pencil?” she asks.
I sit up straight and hold the phone to my ear with one hand. With the other, I write the names I’m hoping will be our key to success.
“Okay, got it,” I say. “Let me just repeat to make sure I’m correct. You said, Joshua Gelston? And Mack Briggs? Briggs with two G s? Mack like Mack truck?”
“Right,” Melanie confirms.
“Do you know who these people are?” It could be they already know what Brad wanted to tell me, that’s for sure. I’ll just get in touch with them, and the mystery will be solved.
“Pssst.” I cover the phone mouthpiece and hiss to get Franklin’s attention without letting Melanie know. “Mela-nie,” I mouth her name noiselessly.
Franklin wrinkles his forehead; he doesn’t get it. I scrawl her name on a piece of paper and hold it up. Now Franklin’s interested. He gets off his phone call and rolls closer to my desk.
“What does she want?” he whispers.
I glare at him. Why do people think it’s easier to have two conversations at once if one person is whispering?
Meanwhile, I’ve missed part of what Melanie is trying to tell me.
“I’m so sorry, someone came to the door,” I fib. “You said, what again?”
“Briggs, no, I’ve never heard of him,” Melanie answers.
So much for the easy solution.
“Josh Gelston, though,” she continues. “I think he’s someone Brad met at a dinner party. A teacher, or something.”
“Can you read me their e-mail addresses?” I ask.
I hear some clicking on the other end.
“I apologize, Charlie,” Melanie finally says. “But I don’t see any addresses. Do you honestly think you could find out if these people know anything? I’d be terribly grateful if you could tell me what Brad may have confided to them.”
Her voice sounds so beseeching, so needy. Of course, she’s still deeply in mourning. Looking for explanations. And I’m thrilled to be able to help her. I feel just like Nancy Drew, only a whole lot older and without the blue roadster. I can’t wait to start working
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