Cover Story Page 19

  *

  Porter Family Implodes as Wife Arrested for Attempted Murder

  By Tobi Fletcher and Sofia Franklin

  A police source has confirmed that Adelaide Porter, wife to former State Senator Frank Porter has been arrested for the attempted murder of her husband.

  Doctors had been treating Senator Porter for schizophrenia, but in a surprise twist, his wife (pictured right) is alleged to have been poisoning him.

  Acting on a tip-off to the Santa Fe Daily, police yesterday conducted a thorough search of Mr. Porter’s home and discovered his favorite tea had been laced with belladonna, a naturally occuring poison, which induces symptoms such as hallucinations, confusion, and delirium.

  Possible motives at this stage are unclear. Mrs. Porter had appeared to be a tireless supporter of her husband and had been quoted in past interviews as saying that Mr. Porter was “her rock”.

  Family members have closed ranks and declined to comment but it is understood that the Porters’ three children have flown home from interstate. Mr. Porter’s father, former New Mexico Governor Harry Porter, and his wife are believed to have cut short an overseas holiday to join their family.

  The Porters: A Family in Crisis—page 3.

  Senate Considering New Precautionary Measures—page 5.

  Belladonna: An Unfashionable Poison—page 6.

  *

  For another week, we thought of nothing else but the story. We filed articles on the political ramifications, the impact on the average citizen, the by-election, the effects on the senator’s popularity, the legislation that would be held up, past decisions of the former senator that were now in question and the care he was receiving.

  We filed stories that Made a Difference. Important stories. Not a gnome in sight.

  Sofia and I snagged an exclusive interview with Harry Porter, grateful we’d rescued his son. A television current affairs show interviewed us and we received kudos both nationally and internationally.

  It was fantastic … most probably. The strength of the adrenalin rush made it difficult to properly distinguish excitement from stress. Or achievement from frenzy. Whatever. This was what I’d trained to do. What I’d groomed myself to do. I was fulfilling my dreams.

  Senator Frank Porter caught the biggest swell of public support I’d ever seen for a politician. Once he’d recovered, that man could run for Governor.

  I played tag-team phone calls with Simon several times before I finally caught him. I hadn’t had the mind space or emotional capacity to think about his declaration … so I hadn’t. The call was short.

  “Simon Hansen.”

  “Ah, Simon, it’s Tobi.”

  “Finally.” I heard the smile in his voice. “I was beginning to think we’d never connect again. In fact, I hear you’ve become quite good friends with my receptionist.”

  My heart was running far too fast for banter. “Er, yes. Look, I only have a minute, but I promised that I’d call and—”

  “Tobi, you don’t owe me anything.”

  “I know, but I wanted to call. It’s just that I’ve got the story of the year on my plate and I need a little time …”

  “I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here afterward.”

  “Thanks, Simon.” But I still felt like I’d let him down.

  Whenever I had a spare second—which wasn’t often—I called my mother. Kevin hovered as I left messages on both her home answering machine and her cell’s voicemail. I suspected she was avoiding me—her answer to problems had always been to ignore them, and frankly that suited me just fine with the amount of work I had on.

  The only person from Los Alamos Court I spoke to at length was Rafaella—who’d come forward as the whistleblower to huge shows of support—and that was over the phone.

  Then, two weeks after Rafaella’s interview, I got a call from another advertising agency wanting to use the “famous Los Alamos Court” gnomes in a TV campaign for pineapples (two of the photographed gnomes were carrying pineapples). Still in the thick of covering the political and criminal fallout, things eased enough that I took a couple of hours off to visit Valentina. I could have discussed the offer with her by phone and popped the information in the post, but I needed to get out of the office. The intensity was exhausting and a trip to Los Alamos Court sounded peculiarly appealing.

  I pulled up in her driveway—still not thinking even a little bit about Simon’s deli-declaration … or Simon himself … or his kisses—and grabbed the paperwork. But before I could open the driver’s door, I heard a thud on the car roof. Instinct made me freeze but then my rational brain kicked in. It was broad daylight in a quiet little dead-end street—what sort of threat could there be? It was probably a branch from an overhanging tree.

  I opened my door and leaned forward to get out but jumped back in when something sharp hit my forehead. I slammed the door closed and I lifted a finger to the injury site. Blood. Oh, this was one step too far.

  “Winston! You get off my roof!”

  No movement. No noise.

  I opened the door again but leaned back, keeping all body parts clear of the opening.

  Fast as lightning, a black paw swept down in an arc of menace, then retreated again.

  I thumped the ceiling. “Winston! I mean it. Get off my roof or I’ll … I’ll …” What exactly did I have to threaten him with? What did cats fear? Dogs? I thought of Remington and Deefer. Nope, not going to work. A large blunt object? A vision of Winston taking the blunt object from me and bashing me over the head leaped to mind. And that’s when I made a terrifying realization.

  Winston was top of the food chain. My place in the chain was to scurry away like a little bunny rabbit when a roaring lion prowled through the jungle. And if Los Alamos Court had taught me nothing else, it was that I needed to pick my battles. Sometimes putting up a fight was nothing more than a waste of energy.

  Time for plan B.

  I scooted over the gear stick to the passenger seat and hastily flung open the door, but the black paw appeared, claws at the ready.

  I thumped the ceiling again. “Winston! Get off my roof!”

  Nothing.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement further up the driveway.

  “Winston, darling, there you are,” Valentina called out. “I’ve got a little cream left over from filling the layer cake”.

  Two paws appeared on my windscreen followed by another two, as he elegantly slid down the glass and swaggered across my bonnet. As he passed Valentina, he circled her legs, making the briefest of eye contact with me, then strutted into the house, tail high in the air.

  Heart racing, I collected my things and let myself out the passenger door. Newsflash: important political journalist rescued from suburban housecat by Beverly Hillbillies character. I suppressed a groan as I walked over to meet Valentina.

  “Tobi, dear, I thought I heard your car. Would you like a cup of tea?” She turned down her Scooby-Doo hallway with the eyes in the pictures probably watching me, and I followed.

  “You know what, Valentina? I think I would. Have you got any White Earl Grey? The organic one.”

  We reached the kitchen and she smiled before retrieving her red rose-shaped teapot and spooned in the tea leaves.

  “You said on the phone you have another advertising offer, dear?”

  “From another agency. I thought I’d just give it to you and you could talk to the street about it?”

  She laid out some homemade cookies from a tin and brought them over to the table. “I’d be happy to.” She paused and frowned. “Of course, it’ll be hard to work out what we should do about Martin and Beverley for this one.”

  I scanned the cookies, looking for the crunchiest. “Why?”

  “Well, they’re still officially residents of Los Alamos Court now, but by the time this deal comes together they’ll be gone.” She continued with the tea preparation as if she’d announced nothing of significance.

  “They’re moving?”<
br />
  She paused and turned to me, her expression surprised and a little confused. “Why, yes, dear. You haven’t heard? I thought Simon would be keeping you up to date with our goings on.”

  “Er … I’ve been a little busy.” I turned away to hide my blush—embarrassed they knew about me and Simon, and that I’d been so incommunicado with him lately. I really needed to set some time aside soon to think about him—just not yet. “Tell me what I missed.”

  The kettle boiled and Valentina filled the teapot, then turned it twice clockwise then once anticlockwise before carrying it to the table. Instead of rolling my eyes, I found myself trying to remember the routine. I winced. I was beginning to lose hope for myself.

  “Well, apparently,” she said in a stage whisper, “Martin has been having an affair with that lovely Liz at the end of the street. All the neighbors were shocked.”

  I poured myself a cup, not meeting her eyes. “How did they find out?”

  Valentina stirred in her sugar, practically bursting with excitement. “It was the most awful thing. Last Wednesday morning, the Sinclairs had an argument practically on their sidewalk. Seems Beverley had caught Martin coming back from Liz’s house and she’d had enough. Young Rafaella told me afterward he’d been down there yelling at Liz about letting the cat out of the bag. Cookie, dear?”

  She offered me the plate without missing a beat in her story. I took the crunchy one I’d been eyeing.

  “Well, Beverley found him coming back and met him in the front yard. And did she tell him what for!”

  “Um, did she?” I nibbled my cookie.

  “My word, she did. He tried to round her up inside, but she wouldn’t have it. I’ve never seen a woman angrier—I’d say she’d been storing it up for years. Told him she’d had enough of his behavior. And did he do some groveling!”

  “Um, did he?” I smiled, hoping so.

  “My word he did. Told her he’d do anything. So she said he had one more chance. He was to take a transfer to San Francisco he’d been offered and pull his socks up. Not her exact words, you understand, she was a little too cross to be using polite words.”

  I grinned, imagining the scene. “Of course.”

  “So the next day, a For Sale sign appeared in front of the house. Another cookie, dear?”

  “Er … no thanks.” I’d never been a fan of Beverley’s, but I wanted to get up and cheer for her. She hadn’t chosen the solution I would have—i.e., hitting him over the head with the closest frying pan and throwing his clothes on the street—but she’d found her power. Good for her.

  Then another thought struck. “Davo? He’ll be leaving too?”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” She flashed a conspiratorial smile. “Within an hour he had four offers of a room.”

  “Four?” My mind flicked through the list of residents.

  “I have a spare room just filled with my sewing things. Didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t use it. Jazlyn, Simon, and the boys on the corner all offered as well.”

  “Good for them.” Despite it having nothing to do with me, the damnedest thing happened. I felt warm and fuzzy all over.

  I stood. “Anyway, here’s the paperwork for the offer. If you have any questions call the number at the top, or call me.”

  “Thank you, dear.” She stood as well and we walked down her hall. “Do you mind if I don’t walk you out? I’m expecting a call from my grandson, Adam, and I can’t hear too well from the driveway.”

  “No problem. And thanks for the tea and cookie.” I hesitated for a second, wondering if I should give her a hug. Not my usual salutation of choice, but for some reason, a smile and a wave seemed inadequate. Maybe I was coming down with something?

  I smiled and waved and closed her door behind me. Then saw Davo sitting on my hood. What was it about this car that seemed to attract teenage boys and psycho cats?

  Then I remembered the turmoil in his home and I had that warm fuzzy thing again. “Hey, Davo.”

  “Hey, boss chick.” They were classic Davo words but the cockiness was missing.

  He moved to get down, but I held up a hand then hopped up beside him on the bonnet.

  “I heard your parents are moving.”

  “Yeah.” He looked down at the concrete driveway in front of us.

  “You’re not happy about it?”

  He shrugged.

  I looked down at the concrete as well. “Valentina told me the most amazing thing today.”

  I sensed his interest catch. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. She told me that four houses on this street have offered you a room if you want to stay.” Without moving, I watched him from the corner of my eye.

  He grinned but tried to bite it down. “So they said.”

  I nodded in mock contemplation. “If I were you, I’d be pretty proud right now.”

  “You would?” He swung around to face me.

  “Absolutely. No one’s ever offered me a room in their house.” Not that I wanted them to—I liked living alone. “These people must think you’re pretty special to invite you into their homes like that.” I shook my head, as if in wonder. “Four of them. And I bet it would’ve been five if Gerald had all his marbles.”

  His face betrayed a desperate need to be wanted and in that moment I wanted to take him home myself.

  He swung his legs back and forth, forgetting to be cool. “You really reckon they like me?”

  I winked. “Sure of it.”

  He smiled so wide that it was beautiful. A kid feeling loved. My breath hitched and I smiled too.

  “So, have you thought about taking any of them up on the offer or are you going to San Francisco with your parents?”

  A scowl replaced the smile and he looked back at the concrete. “They don’t really want me.”

  “Your parents?”

  He nodded.

  “Course they do.” Though I had doubts myself. Both seemed a little too self-centered to care about Davo.

  “S’okay.” He shrugged. “I know where I stand with them. They love me, they just love themselves more.” He glanced over his shoulder at his parents’ house and I wondered if Davo was smarter than I’d given him credit for.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  He jumped down from my bonnet and surveyed the street. “I’ve been thinkin’.” He grinned and the old cocky Davo was back.

  I grinned back. “What have you been thinking?”

  “I might move in with the guys on the corner.”

  I laughed out loud. “You know what? If I was a seventeen-year-old guy like you, footloose and fancy free, I think I’d do exactly the same thing.”

  He winked and made that bizarre clicking sound that seemed to be his new favorite. “Later, babe. I gotta pack.”

  As he sauntered off, I thought for the millionth time that someone needed to give that boy some instruction.

  The answer dawned with clarity and brilliance. I whipped out my cell and dialed the number I needed.

  “Hey, it’s Tobi. Can you meet me tonight?”

  Chapter 18

  I opened the door on the first knock. Grace stood on my doorstep with no make-up and her long black hair in pigtails. She looked about twelve years old. Was that the age we’d started to grow apart? No, it would’ve been younger. Seeing her look so young brought a rush of the feelings we’d always shared, despite everything. We’d just forgotten about them for a while.

  “Hey, Tobi!”

  Before I could reply, she pulled me into a hug. I resisted for a second, then a wave of emotion crashed over me, not only for her now, but also for what we’d lost over the years. We’d been close as children but somewhere along the way, we’d lost that. I couldn’t remember when we’d last spent time together just because we wanted to. Had we ever? Certainly not as adults.

  She let go and I stumbled but quickly recovered. For a moment there, I’d lost myself in a hug. Weird.

  I led her into the kitchen and opened my new—three-hour-old�
�wooden tea box, with separators between the twelve varieties of teabag. But no loose leaf. I figured you had to crawl before you could run.

  “Like a cup of tea? It’s organic.”

  “Oooh, nice. I’ll have a … Darjeeling, please.”

  I put the teakettle on to boil and got out the cups.

  “I’m glad you called, Tobi. I wanted to ask your advice about something.”

  “Yes?” I couldn’t think when she’d asked my advice before. I’d certainly offered it freely in the past, but that wasn’t the same. But then, asking for seduction advice was probably the first time I’d asked for hers as well. It felt nice.

  Grace hopped up on the counter. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my life lately.”

  The retort I would have given only months ago floated into my mind but I smiled instead. “Did you come up with anything?”

  “I want a job.” Her words were certain but her tone was far from it.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. No. Maybe. The thing is,” she twirled her hair around a finger, “I do want one, but I can’t see anyone wanting to employ me.”

  She had a point. She’d never had a job before, had no qualifications or training. But I figured my role was to be supportive. “Of course they will.”

  She laughed and released her hair. “You’re a really bad liar, Tobi, but thanks for trying.”

  I blushed, which I hated, so I busied myself taking the cups over to the table. “Have you had any ideas about what you’d like to do?”

  “Well, the divorces left me enough that I don’t have to worry about how well it pays. But beyond that, no. That’s why I wanted your advice. Tell me what I’m qualified for.”

  I grinned, more retorts coming to mind, but I rejected them all. It’d be like taking candy from a baby. Besides, I didn’t want to ruin the fledgling sisterly bond we’d created—I liked it. “Hmm, a professional gift-buyer?”

  She nodded, considering. “That’s not bad.”

  “An image consultant?” I carried the sugar and milk to the table. “A personal shopper?”