Off to one side, she noticed a tall, dark-haired man wearing khakis and a blue polo shirt. He was animatedly waving his arms in the air and Carlita wondered if he was the Mystic Dream’s owner, Lawson Bates.
The firefighters stepped out of sight and emerged on the dock, dragging their fire hoses back to the truck. After replacing the hoses, the men climbed into the fire truck and drove off.
Carlita inched past several onlookers in an attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation between the dark-haired man and another man she suspected might be the fire chief. They were still too far away and she only caught an occasional word.
She watched as the second man shook his head. He walked over to a pick-up truck sporting a City of Savannah logo, opened the door and climbed inside while the man Carlita guessed was Lawson Bates, marched off in the opposite direction.
“I guess we better get going.” Carlita began to retrace her steps when the sound of screeching tires caught her attention.
A reporter Carlita recognized from a local news channel sprang from the passenger side of a news van. A camera crew was hot on his heels and headed her way.
The young reporter adjusted his earpiece and grabbed a microphone. Carlita took a step back, anxious to steer clear of the camera’s line of vision.
“Five, four, three, two…” The cameraman began his countdown and lifted his finger for one.
“Hello, everyone. This is Brock Kensington, Channel Eleven News, reporting live from East River Street in downtown Savannah.”
“I’m standing in front of the Mystic Dream riverboat, a Savannah area landmark. City fire crews were called to the scene a short time ago after receiving reports of smoke and fire.” Brock motioned behind him. “And as you can see, this iconic Savannah treasure appears to be heavily damaged.”
Carlita rolled her eyes. “Heavily damaged?” she muttered under her breath.
“The details are starting to trickle in. From what we can tell, the majority of the damage appears to be located in the rear of the riverboat.”
“We’re breaking for a brief commercial.” Brock began to walk as he talked. “Stay with us, as we hope to have a moment to chat with the owner of the Mystic Dream, Lawson Bates.”
The reporter shifted the microphone to his other hand. “For now, reporting from the shores of the Savannah River, I’m Brock Kensington.”
Kensington gave a thumbs up and lowered the microphone. “I’ll see if I can get closer to Lawson.”
“Good luck with that,” one of the camera operators chuckled.
“He’s a jerk, I know.” Kensington straightened his back and smoothed his hair. “Still, it’s worth a shot.” The reporter made his way toward the man. There was a brief exchange before Kensington glanced at his watch and walked back to join his news crew.
Carlita scooted closer in an attempt to eavesdrop.
“Well?” the cameraman asked.
“Lawson had plenty to say,” the reporter said.
“Any finger pointing going on?”
“Yep. All ten of them. You know the drill with Lawson. The man has more enemies than his cousin, Mayor Puckett.”
The cameraman shifted the camera to his other shoulder. “Who is Lawson claiming is responsible for the fire?”
“He’s insisting it was arson and was throwing out names left and right,” Kensington said. “Emmett Pridgen, the chairman of the downtown development committee, who is also trying to get the gambling boat up and running.”
“Yeah, he would be the perfect suspect.”
“Mark Fox.”
Carlita perked up as the reporter rattled off the name of her friend’s husband. Mark Fox was a Savannah area property developer. Before she had time to digest that tidbit of information, Kensington rattled off another name…this one making her blood run cold.
“Pirate Pete Taylor. He was the first person Lawson named.”
“Pirate Pete is a good guy,” the cameraman said. “Why Pete?”
“I dunno.” Kensington shrugged. “Lawson was rambling on with all kinds of threats. I hope these guys watch their backs.”
The news crew began folding up their equipment and making their way back to the news van.
Carlita hurried after them, hoping to hear more about Lawson’s accusations.
“If I can score an interview with those three before the other local stations catch wind of Lawson’s suspicions, I might have the story of the season on my hands,” Kensington said.
“Excuse me.” Carlita tapped on the reporter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to bother you. I watch you on television all of the time and am a fan of your reporting.”
The man’s expression softened and a slow smile spread across his face. He puffed up his chest. “Thank you. I appreciate the feedback.”
“You’re welcome. I…I would love to have your autograph, Mr. Kensington, but I don’t have anything to write on.”
“I’m sure I can find something.” Brock reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. He turned to one of the other news crew. “You got a pen I can borrow?”
The man reluctantly pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it to Kensington.
“What’s your name, lovely lady?”
“Carlita.” Carlita started to tell him her last name, but thought better of it. “You can just sign it Carlita.”
The man signed the back of his business card and handed it to her. “You can catch my next news story at six o’clock. By then, we should have more information about the unfortunate damage to the Mystic Dream.”
“So you don’t know what happened or how the fire started?”
“Not yet,” Kensington replied. “Rest assured that we’ll be working nonstop to figure out the cause.”
“I’m sure you will.” Carlita studied the business card. “Thank you, Mr. Kensington. Keep up the good reporting.”
The reporter beamed at her. “It’s nice to see my hard work is appreciated.”
One of the camera guys snickered and the reporter shot him a dark look.
Carlita thanked him again
