Never Tomorrow Read online

  Whitney took a sip of the cafe latte that appeared at her elbow like magic. “It’s not the first time I’ve been asked that.” She paused. “If I said a routine assignment from my boss, would you believe me?”

  “Frankly no. Too much passion. Besides, you’re the boss.”

  Whitney laughed lightly. “You’re right. I wanted to explore some personal issues in writing this.”

  Rich rested his elbows on the table and studied her. “Like fear of being murdered, or fear of sudden death? Do I sound like a therapist?”

  Whitney chuckled and shook her head. “Maybe concern for the unknown, fear of the implausible, and worry for those you care about. When someone close to you has an unexplainable tragedy, you’re affected deeply. It creates a lot of anxiety that can’t be easily dismissed.”

  “Want to be more specific?”

  “You’re a digger, aren’t you?” Whitney bit her lip. “Let me put it this way. My mother experienced a period of depression apparently related to menopause, then stepped out and did something bold, which I encouraged. She went abroad to Europe but never got past touring the first country. I seldom talk about it because the event is painful to discuss, and I don’t know why I’m telling you.”

  “If you’d rather not...”

  “It’s okay. Maybe it will help.”

  “Was your father with her?”

  Whitney’s stared out the window. “He’d stayed home. I talked to Mom the night before she left. She sounded excited for the first time in ages. Seven days into her trip in Ireland, I received a call from the police in Ballybunion that she was dead from a fall off a cliff. ‘Accident at a tourist site’ was the official description.”

  “Terrible tragedy.”

  Whitney’s voice became almost a whisper. “Does that make me afraid to take my own risks in life? You bet.”

  Whitney’s right hand gripped the edge of the table. Rich reached over and covered it with his.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “But even more important the bigger issue is...” Whitney stared into space. Should she tell him?

  She bit her lip and chose to continue. “The accident never made sense to me. Maybe if Mom had been a drinker, but she wasn’t. I never saw her have more than one glass of wine with dinner. Add to that she was very cautious around heights. I’d have to coax her onto the Ferris Wheel with me. I can’t imagine what would prompt her to get so close to the edge of a cliff that she could fall. I believe something else happened.”

  “Like?”

  “Someone shoved her.” Whitney shifted in her chair. “I know that sounds bizarre.”

  “But why? What would be the motive?”

  “I can’t think of any.” Whitney shrugged and swirled the latte still in her cup. “Why do people do hurtful things to other human beings?”

  “You don’t think she was being adventurous and simply stepped too far?”

  Whitney’s tossed her head back. “You’d have to know my mom. She wasn’t a risk taker or careless. Prior to this she traveled with a group.”

  “Surely the local authorities investigated?”

  “I doubt it was done thoroughly.” Whitney picked up a crumb that had fallen on the linen cloth. “Think of it as a news story. Across an ocean in a foreign country, a lone woman near the edge of a cliff at a tourist site, possibly taking pictures, goes over the edge. It’s a tragedy but also an embarrassment. The local authorities and the tourist bureau want the event forgotten as quickly as possible.”

  Rich stirred his coffee. “Might your mother’s death have been suicide?”

  Whitney stiffened and remained silent. Why did he bring that up? Immediately contrite for being so sensitive, Whitney put his thoughts into words. “I know. Everyone says I’m in denial. That I should deal with her death as a possible suicide.” Whitney’s voice grew louder. “I can’t. I know she’d never have made plans to meet me the next week if she didn’t intend to keep them. Suicide is an impossibility. Can you understand that?”

  “Yes, but falling makes absolute sense. I’ve been to Ireland several times. If I remember correctly, some of the sites like the gigantic Cliffs of Mohr aren’t well protected for tourists.”

  “You’re right. I visited those same cliffs afterwards. I don’t care how dangerous they were. She wouldn’t go beyond the railing. She didn’t fall or jump.”

  “You know her habits.”

  Whitney wiped away a tear rolling down her cheek. “The officials stamped it a closed case. Daddy had her body cremated in Ireland and the ashes sent back here—it was much cheaper. He told me not to bother coming home—he was okay. The day she was cremated, I mourned alone in England. I’m still upset there wasn’t even a memorial service.”

  “Why?”

  “Daddy said he wasn’t up to the ordeal. He wanted me to stay at school and finish my semester.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes. When I returned, I made sure her ashes got a proper burial and a nice headstone.”

  “I’m no counselor, but do you suppose part of the problem is you never saw the body so you haven’t been able to put closure on this? We did a show on something like that about a year ago.”

  “Maybe seeing it would have helped some, but no.” Whitney shook her head. “My struggle is believing the story of her death is plausible. No one else agrees, not the police or my dad, although I haven’t talked about this with many people.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Rich finished a tuna finger sandwich and wiped the corners of his mouth with the damask napkin.

  Her stomach tightened. “If only my school schedule had been different, I could have been with her. I know, God doesn’t want us to think in terms of what-ifs, but it’s hard.”

  “If your mom traveled with a group, why did she leave it?”

  “The tour ended. She wanted a few days on her own to be independent, an adventurer again, like before she married. Dad never wanted to go anywhere. He hated to travel because he did it so much for work, covering six states for his sales job. I remember him being gone more than home. Mom put up with his schedule without a murmur. She was a saint.”

  “How sad.”

  “Yes. I won’t budge from my conclusion that mom met with foul play. But how can I ever prove it?”

  “How’s your dad doing?”

  Whitney was grateful Rich changed the subject. “He remarried within six months, if that’s any indication.” Whitney etched her words with sarcasm. “He seemed almost in a stupor when Mom died. Maybe her going through the change of life had been hard on him. He tenses whenever I mention her name.”

  “I take it you weren’t pleased to acquire a stepmom that fast?”

  “I’ve let go of my resentment. As a Christian I had to, but it was tough. Dad’s entitled to happiness.” Whitney sighed. “I don’t see much of him and his new wife now.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “He moved a little over an hour from here.”

  “What a shame your mom’s death affected your relationship with your dad.”

  “We never were that close. Like I said, he was gone a lot.” An awkward pause followed as Whitney refolded her napkin.

  “Well, you came back to a great city to work.”

  “I feel closer to my mom here. Did I already say that? Do you know what, Rich?” Whitney paused. “I’ve given you a huge slice of my life story, but I know next to nothing about you. You’re a great interviewer, but I’m supposed to be the journalist.”

  Rich laughed, a deep throaty sound that seemed only waiting for an excuse to erupt.

  She looked intently into his gorgeous green eyes. For a moment Jordan’s face popped into her mind. A twinge rippled through her. Was it guilt? How silly. They had no commitment. She’d given their relationship a chance, and he blew her off. She shook Jordan’s image away. Besides, this coffee was business.

  Whitney glanced at her wrist. “Watch check. Ohh. I need to run. By the way, this conversation is all private stuff, not talk
show material.”

  “Maybe discussing it would be a good idea. It could possibly help you as well as others.”

  Whitney bristled at the thought. “No way.”

  Rich shrugged. “Okay, but think about it.” He walked her out.

  As Whitney headed her Honda in the direction of her office, a sick feeling settled in her stomach.

  Why had she shared so many details of her personal life with someone she’d just met?

  How did she know if she could trust Rich?

  TWENTY-NINE

  Lily’s bracelet caught the sun streaming through the window. The sapphire rays turned into rainbow-colored stripes in the air. She admired their beauty then resumed making a turkey sandwich while listening to the end of a TV infomercial for an exercise program.

  The topic of a show coming on in two hours was announced, and Lily’s ears perked up—“Women’s Health and Safety. A news alert about the many murders and accidental deaths of women in our society in recent years.” She didn’t watch much TV, but The Lena and Rich Show banter amused her, and this would be intriguing.

  She made a point to tune back in later.

  Lily missed the beginning but sat down with a cup of coffee as guests Whitney Barnes and Ellie O’Connell entered The Lena and Rich Show set from backstage.

  She observed Whitney Barnes shake hands with both hosts before getting settled on her chair.

  The cohost Lena greeted the women with what Lily perceived to be artificial brightness. “Our viewers are eager to hear the results of your investigative article.”

  Whitney tossed off facts and statistics relating to the local history of violent deaths. Her air of precision and professionalism added instant authenticity to the horrors.

  Lena’s eyes appeared to widen with shock.

  “Quite frankly, this both fascinates and disturbs me.” The male host, Rich, popped in. “Why do you think middle-aged women are so vulnerable? Loneliness? Depression?”

  “Probably both.”

  Lily stood and snapped off the TV. She reached for her coffee cup. It suddenly tasted like charcoal on her tongue.

  This Whitney Barnes understood nothing about the deaths in Cortland City. How dare she hypothesize? Her probing could become a serious threat.

  The consequences couldn’t be put off. Lily hadn’t intended for this. What was happening?

  For a moment remorse flickered close to the surface of her thoughts. Just as quickly, the emotion disappeared.

  THIRTY

  Two days after her TV appearance, Whitney received a call from Lena’s producer. “When we first invited you to be a guest, we hadn’t realized you’d also lost your mom in a tragic death. We’re sincerely sorry.”

  Whitney’s grip tightened on the phone. She looked at the picture of her mom on the wall of her office but said nothing.

  “Perhaps you’d consider discussing this on the next show we do together.”

  “Excuse me?” Whitney stammered as emotion exploded inside her.

  “I understand you have some questions regarding the circumstances of her death. Isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Perhaps discussing this on TV could lead to reopening the investigation in Ireland.”

  “What investigation?” Whitney spluttered as her body stiffened. “There never was one.”

  A year ago Whitney would have welcomed the TV publicity. Most crimes that got solved were unraveled within hours. After all this time, what was to be gained? Why expose her connection now? She’d only be subjecting her father and herself to useless sensationalism.

  Her recent newspaper article had generated no useful information about the other victims. Whitney hadn’t mentioned in it that she was the daughter of Kendra Starin, the victim who had died in Ireland.

  She struggled to stay composed. How had Lena’s producer found out? Whitney’s face heated and she jumped from her chair. Rich! She was barely polite to her as she made her refusal.

  “If you change your mind, call…”

  “I won’t. You know what. I need to discuss something with Rich. Is he in, by any chance?”

  “No, but I can put you through to his voice mail.”

  “Thank you.”

  Whitney waited for the smooth, deep voice to finish its announcement. “I’m sorry I’m not here to take your call...”

  You’d be sorrier if I could reach you at this moment.

  His voice continued pleasantly, “Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  Whitney’s words flowed in a torrent. “Thanks for respecting my privacy regarding my mom’s death. I’ll never discuss any subject regarding my personal life with you again. And don’t bother to return my call ever.”

  She slammed the phone down—a mistake. Her head already throbbed with a hundred pinpoints of pain.

  Reaching into her desk drawer, she groped for the pillbox she kept there. She opened the tiny silver oval with its turtle engraving and shook out two aspirin into trembling hands. She swallowed the pills with a gulp from her water bottle.

  Her office phone line rang. Whitney picked up immediately, glad for the distraction. Ken asked, “Want to take a call from the new writer?”

  “Sure. Put her on.”

  “Hi, Whitney, it’s Blaine. I have two articles ready for your approval.”

  “Great. Fax them over. Send e-mail copies too.”

  “I just did. I’ll be here until I leave for class at 6:00.”

  Whitney smiled. Blaine was obviously eager to get her comments. “I can’t promise by then, but I’ll e-mail my response ASAP.”

  Whitney didn’t get to review them until almost 7:00. She sat with pencil in hand. The article on the hiking trail around the lake was excellent. Blaine wrote about the inspiration the beautiful Lake Wionna setting had been to local poets and authors over the years and included excerpts from several works. The other article, on the attraction of older students to computer and literature courses offered at the local college, listed the benefits they derived from them and included several colorful interviews that could lead to a series.

  Whitney addressed a response e-mail to Blaine. Her fingers flew over the keys: “These articles will work fine! I’ve made only a few minor changes. Get started on the next two.” It warmed Whitney’s heart to send Blaine good news.

  Before leaving work, three calls came in from Rich, all of which Whitney rejected. Her cell phone showed five voice mail messages from him. She deleted them without listening and had no intention of returning his calls. Her job required doing the next interview on The Rich and Lena Show as scheduled, but that would be the end of her contact with him.

  Whitney clenched her jaw. Trust broken, lesson learned.

  Who needed an insensitive man in her life? Besides, she didn’t have time for men. She had to uncover this serial killer before another woman lost her life.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Jordan didn’t lose his composure easily or often as he had during his dinner with Whitney. Monday morning, two days after the evening, it still agitated him as he drove into work and reviewed their date.

  The chemistry definitely was there. He’d never experienced a woman like this. The rhythm in her voice, the shape of her lips as she mouthed words, her smile opened a torrent of emotion in him. He wanted to see her again but was scared. Had he floated into a rip tide?

  This relationship could turn out to be the real thing. That scared him enough to make a cold chill run up his spine. Marriage didn’t fit with being a ladies’ man, a party guy—the image he’d cultivated since age seventeen, ten years ago. He coached himself. Remember the mantra: “Women—enjoy them, forget them.”

  New conquests fed something primal in his ego. He frankly liked manipulating women. His original plan for Friday night had been purely sensual pleasure. When he realized that wouldn’t happen with Whitney without a commitment, he needed to get away. She might lead him to walk a road he’d avoided.

&
nbsp; One thing for sure, he was too young to marry. Maybe closer to thirty-five he’d be ready to settle down. The last thing he needed now was a relationship with a woman bright, beautiful, and moral, like Whitney Barnes, who could turn him into a lovesick kid. Something about her, an authenticity, peacefulness, made him want to calm his impulsivity and relate to her on a deeper level than he’d ever done. He had no clue how to handle a real relationship.

  After their abbreviated date, he’d slept poorly. The next day he’d cancelled his weekend work engagements and instead spent Saturday and Sunday at the lake with his aunt and uncle. Yet Whitney had filled his mind. When he and his uncle had played golf, her scent had filled a space in his memory. His timing was off on his backswing, and he couldn’t sink a putt longer than two feet. If only she weren’t so beautiful, so poised.

  Even Uncle Charles had noticed something was off about him and asked, “What’s on your mind? You seem preoccupied. Beating you is too easy today.”

  “Nothing.” Jordan had responded too quickly. His tactful uncle didn’t pursue it.

  Now, Monday morning at 9:30 a.m., Jordan had paperwork to review for a 4 p.m. closing. He recalled Whitney’s intensity and grace and her passionate God talk that he didn’t understand. Whitney Barnes had opened another dimension in his life.

  His eyes kept moving toward his desktop phone. Call her. You’ve nothing to fear. Finally, he pressed in the number of The Cortland City Courier. He’d put a stop to this.

  A brisk female voice answered and asked if he wanted to place a classified ad. “No, thank you. May I speak with the editor, Whitney Barnes, please?”

  “I’ll transfer you.”

  When Whitney’s voice came over the line, his fingers tightened on the receiver. “Hi, it’s Jordan. I’d like to see you again. Are you free for lunch today?”

  “Well, this is a surprise.”

  Of course, after he’d practically run away from her on their first date. Would her first impulse be to say no? She probably had a busy day and didn’t want to deplete emotional energy by tangling with him again. His behavior Friday had been rude.