Read Online The Darkness Knows by Cheryl Honigford - Free Book Online
Authors: Cheryl Honigford
Ads: Link
SIX
Marjorieâs murder had pushed Hitler below the fold of the morning papers. Vivianâs mother held up that morningâs copy of the Tribune wordlessly as Vivian entered the dining room. A photo of a much younger Marjorie graced a full one-third of the front page. It appeared to be a publicity photo taken when The Golden Years was first catching on. Sheâd been quite a striking woman before the booze really took hold, Vivian thought. Amazing what it could do in only half a dozen years. Vivian took the paper and quickly scanned the story.
The article held scant detail about the murder itself, and Vivian was not mentioned at all. The contents of the mysterious fan letter still seemed to be under wraps. Mr. Hart had no doubt worked his magic, or more likely his muscle, with the staffs of the cityâs major newspapers.
The Chicago Patriot had identical information, but also ran a side story trumpeting access to Marjorieâs secret diaries, which would be published in tomorrowâs edition. Giving them enough time to be fabricated, Vivian mused. Secret diaries were a staple of the Patriot . There was little cause to think that anything they published would be the remotest neighbor to the truth. Marjorie didnât seem like the type to keep a secret diary.
âYouâre not mentioned in either paper, Vivian,â her mother said. âThank goodness.â
âThe Patriot , Mother?â Vivian raised an eyebrow. She buttered a slice of toast and applied a hefty dollop of strawberry jam. Unfortunately, being in mortal danger had done nothing to quell her appetite.
Her mother sniffed as she glanced at the tabloid.
âYes, well, I had to see what the papers were saying⦠All the papers.â
âMmm,â Vivian mumbled, her mouth full of toast. She didnât want a rehash of last night. She wasnât going to spend a few weeks in that dreary cabin in the Wisconsin wilderness, and that was final.
Mrs. Witchell appraised her only daughter. âVivian, darling, you look awful.â
âWhy, thank you, Mother.â
âSuch dark circles under your eyesâ¦â She tut-tutted.
âI didnât sleep very well last night, as you can imagine.â
âI can imagine,â her mother said. âWith this mess youâve gotten yourself into.â
Vivian glared at her. âGotten myself into? I did absolutely nothing wrong, Iâll have you know, besides walk into the station lounge at the wrong time.â
Her mother sighed heavily. She didnât have to say another word. Vivian knew the lines of this particular argument by heart: Julia Witchell didnât think Vivian should be walking around the halls of WCHI at all, let alone at night. She shouldnât be messing around with radio. She shouldnât pursue this silly acting business. She shouldnât have a job at all. She shouldnât. She shouldnât. She shouldnât.
Vivian fumed silently. She was determined not to let her mother get her goat this morning, even though preventing that would take something akin to a Herculean effort. She knew better than to think she could have a rational conversation about something like this with her mother. What she needed was to talk this through with someone who was on her side, someone who was always on her sideâsomeone like her best friend, Imogene Crook.
She wasnât supposed to tell anyone about the letter, but Vivian had picked up the telephone several times during the course of her sleepless night. Sheâd never completed the call. Not because she didnât trust her best friend to keep a secret, but because it had been too late to give her a ring. She didnât want to wake Genie and get her stewing about something she couldnât do anything about. Besides, sheâd see her at the station today. Genie was the station program managerâs secretary.
âNothing new with the investigation,â Mr. Haverman said,
Marjorieâs murder had pushed Hitler below the fold of the morning papers. Vivianâs mother held up that morningâs copy of the Tribune wordlessly as Vivian entered the dining room. A photo of a much younger Marjorie graced a full one-third of the front page. It appeared to be a publicity photo taken when The Golden Years was first catching on. Sheâd been quite a striking woman before the booze really took hold, Vivian thought. Amazing what it could do in only half a dozen years. Vivian took the paper and quickly scanned the story.
The article held scant detail about the murder itself, and Vivian was not mentioned at all. The contents of the mysterious fan letter still seemed to be under wraps. Mr. Hart had no doubt worked his magic, or more likely his muscle, with the staffs of the cityâs major newspapers.
The Chicago Patriot had identical information, but also ran a side story trumpeting access to Marjorieâs secret diaries, which would be published in tomorrowâs edition. Giving them enough time to be fabricated, Vivian mused. Secret diaries were a staple of the Patriot . There was little cause to think that anything they published would be the remotest neighbor to the truth. Marjorie didnât seem like the type to keep a secret diary.
âYouâre not mentioned in either paper, Vivian,â her mother said. âThank goodness.â
âThe Patriot , Mother?â Vivian raised an eyebrow. She buttered a slice of toast and applied a hefty dollop of strawberry jam. Unfortunately, being in mortal danger had done nothing to quell her appetite.
Her mother sniffed as she glanced at the tabloid.
âYes, well, I had to see what the papers were saying⦠All the papers.â
âMmm,â Vivian mumbled, her mouth full of toast. She didnât want a rehash of last night. She wasnât going to spend a few weeks in that dreary cabin in the Wisconsin wilderness, and that was final.
Mrs. Witchell appraised her only daughter. âVivian, darling, you look awful.â
âWhy, thank you, Mother.â
âSuch dark circles under your eyesâ¦â She tut-tutted.
âI didnât sleep very well last night, as you can imagine.â
âI can imagine,â her mother said. âWith this mess youâve gotten yourself into.â
Vivian glared at her. âGotten myself into? I did absolutely nothing wrong, Iâll have you know, besides walk into the station lounge at the wrong time.â
Her mother sighed heavily. She didnât have to say another word. Vivian knew the lines of this particular argument by heart: Julia Witchell didnât think Vivian should be walking around the halls of WCHI at all, let alone at night. She shouldnât be messing around with radio. She shouldnât pursue this silly acting business. She shouldnât have a job at all. She shouldnât. She shouldnât. She shouldnât.
Vivian fumed silently. She was determined not to let her mother get her goat this morning, even though preventing that would take something akin to a Herculean effort. She knew better than to think she could have a rational conversation about something like this with her mother. What she needed was to talk this through with someone who was on her side, someone who was always on her sideâsomeone like her best friend, Imogene Crook.
She wasnât supposed to tell anyone about the letter, but Vivian had picked up the telephone several times during the course of her sleepless night. Sheâd never completed the call. Not because she didnât trust her best friend to keep a secret, but because it had been too late to give her a ring. She didnât want to wake Genie and get her stewing about something she couldnât do anything about. Besides, sheâd see her at the station today. Genie was the station program managerâs secretary.
âNothing new with the investigation,â Mr. Haverman said,
Similar Books
