“Could you put out a few feelers and see if any other women have stories like Bree’s?” I asked.
“Sure, but others may be too embarrassed to talk.”
“Give it a shot. I will ask Harden to do the same,” I said.
Gravy nodded and started to gather up his newspaper.
“Anything else you need from me?” he asked.
“What do you think will be the fallout from the suicide note?”
“Like I said, the state attorney will be pissed if you go public with the note before giving it to him. If his wife wrote it, Bo Hines looks guilty as hell. The prosecutors will have to take him to trial. Hell, the public will demand it.”
Gravy took another sip of his Tab. “Part of the town will applaud your investigative skills. The others will hate you for it. It definitely will help you sell papers.”
“My papers are free.”
“Then you’re a dumb ass.”
“I know.”
“You never cease to amaze me,” Gravy said, folding up the wrinkled papers. “I’ve never seen someone so focused on self-destruction, but I’m glad you’re here. I will try to smooth things over with the state attorney.”
“Gravy, all this is somehow linked. Posting the note on the blog will be how we fish for more leads. Maybe someone will want to talk once they read it.”
“And the nuts will crucify you,” Gravy said as he got up to pay the bill. “But you’re used to that.”
I gave him the suicide note and the sample of Sue’s writing Dare had given me. I didn’t mention that the cover story on Sheriff Frost’s payroll would be on the newsstands Thursday morning. Gravy might have wanted to have me committed to a psychiatric ward.
When I got back to the office, Big Boy was lying at the backdoor. Dare had tied his leash to a nearby lamppost and a note was attached to his collar.
“I fed him two spicy burritos for breakfast. Have fun!—Dare.”
Big Boy passed gas all the way up the stairs. He didn’t even acknowledge that I was walking behind him. After a shower, I felt better. The dog demanded I take him for a walk. Considering his breakfast, I agreed. Fortunately, a cool breeze blew off the bay.
I picked up a copy of the Pensacola Herald as we walked and read about Hines and his brother-in-law’s performance at the Save Our Pensacola meeting during Big Boy’s many pit stops. The two lavishly praised Sue and were quoted saying their efforts to stop the park were to create an environment-friendly park to honor her memory. One section would be kept completely natural and off-limits to even the public. They weren’t going to let a carpetbagger ruin the people’s waterfront. A. J. Kettler could build his ballpark elsewhere.
Hines hinted his “legal troubles” were behind him, and his attorneys had indicated all charges against him might be dropped.
“It was a witch hunt perpetrated by someone trying to make a name for himself, someone I thought was a friend,” Hines told the reporter, who was more than happy to include it in the article. “We have cooperated fully with the authorities, and they agree I’m innocent.”
My old friend aimed one solid shot at me. “And once all the charges are dropped I plan to sue Walker Holmes and the Pensacola Insider for libel and defamation, and I will win. It’s time we end the negative influence that they have had on Pensacola. I can’t bring back Sue, but I can avenge her death.”
14
The paper ran smoothly for a change. Mal had received the last outstanding ad, and she had printed me the pages for one last read through. No matter how many times you looked at the pages, there was always something you missed. Roxie took a break from working on the Best of the Coast sales and looked over the pages, too. The only one missing was Doug. Mal and Roxie made sure I noticed his absence.
“You’ve got to quit babying him,” said Mal, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
“He’s fine and still growing into the job,” I said.
“But he isn’t getting better at making deadlines.”
For the next two hours, we worked on the cutlines and pull quotes, and Mal loaded the pages up on the printer’s FTP site. Mal and Teddy’s friend Kyle completed the database with all the salary information so that readers could search online for the pay of their “favorite” deputies. We tested the web page, and it worked splendidly.
“Frost’s head will explode when the issue hits the stands tomorrow and he realizes how easily voters can check out his payroll,” I said to Mal and Teddy.
“It could make for some uncomfortable nights for you,” said Teddy.
“I’ll do more walking than driving,” I replied. “This is a nice change of direction from all the Hines reporting.”
“But how many chainsaws can you juggle?” chimed Mal. “One slip and you lose a limb.”
We all laughed, but Mal did have a point.
Summer pulled me aside and asked to talk with me in the conference room.
“My paycheck bounced,” she whispered.
“How? Everything looked fine yesterday.”
She said, “The bank put a hold on the McGliney check for some reason and didn’t give us credit for it. They returned my check and the Gulf Power payment NSF.”
“Give me some time,” I told her. “I’ll take care of it.”
After thirty minutes working my way up the food chain at the bank, a vice president agreed to release the deposit. Unfortunately, the amount wouldn’t show up until after midnight. Meanwhile, Summer had to worry about her rent check and car note payment.
“I’m sorry,” Summer said after we had gotten the bank to release the deposit. “I should have held my paycheck until I knew the funds were available.”
“No, this is my problem,” I said. I had some cash in my savings account and withdrew enough to cover her check.
Handing her the cash, I said, “Go
