Free When Day Breaks by Mary Jane Clark Page A

open and close. She fumed as she listened to the sound of the car engine turning over.
    Faith walked back to the kitchen and opened a bag of cookies. With tears of frustration in her eyes, she found herself speculating about Constance’s will. Her sister’s estate had to be quite substantial. On so many levels, having all that money would be so freeing.

CHAPTER 18
     
    J ason Vaughan sat on his couch staring at the television set, waiting for any scrap of new information about the death of Constance Young. The CNN anchor was recycling the same information over and over, just telling it in different ways. An employee had found Constance’s body in the swimming pool of her weekend home in Westchester County. There was no obvious sign of foul play, yet there was already speculation that the death might not have been an accident. An autopsy would be performed.
    Footage of Constance in her farewell appearance on KEY to America was shown. Then, in what must have been a hastily assembled video package, an obituary included family pictures of Constance as a young girl and as a high school cheerleader. Later there were shots of her taken in college, followed by video of Constance after she won the Miss Virginia title. Next came shots from her early days as a reporter in small-market local television. As the footage continued, viewers watched the progression of hair and clothing styles that led up to the sassy blond hair and smart green suit Jason had seen Constance wearing just yesterday in front of the restaurant.
    There were clips of Constance interviewing the president of the United States and the First Lady as well as Elmo, Miss Piggy, and Oscar the Grouch. Constance was shown stirring up cake batters in cooking segments and trying to keep her balance as a teenage champion attempted to teach her how to skateboard. She was shown laughing with lottery winners and crying with people who had lost their homes in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Whether she was kissing a monkey or wiping away an orphan’s tears, the scope of her job was as wide as human experience and a constant source of continuing education.
    But nowhere in the television profile of Constance Young was there any mention of the havoc she had wrought in his life, Jason thought. In the list of professional accomplishments, wrecking him hadn’t even been worth listing. He had gone from man of the hour to persona non grata, and Constance had pounded the final nail into his coffin.
    The phone rang. Jason leaned over the pile of unopened bills to reach the receiver.
    “Hey, Jason. It’s Larry.”
    Larry Sargent? Jason was baffled. When was the last time his agent had called him on a Saturday? In fact, when was the last time Larry had called him at all?
    “Hiya, Larry. What’s up?”
    “I guess you’ve heard the news.”
    “You mean about the witch?”
    “It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, Jason.”
    “You’re right.”
    “But now that she’s dead, the timing of this couldn’t be better, could it? The book comes out on Tuesday.”
    Jason chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, what are the chances of that? Too bad we sold it for such a crappy advance. The publisher isn’t doing a thing to push it.”
    “Wasn’t doing a thing to push it,” the agent corrected. “Past tense. Young’s death changes everything. She’s given us a big fat gift. We’ll earn out that miserable advance in the first week.”
    “I don’t know about that, Larry.” Jason was afraid to get his hopes up.
    “Are you kidding me? Before today your book was just the ranting and grumbling of some bitter loser.”
    “Thanks, Larry. I really appreciate that.”
    “You know what I mean, buddy. We couldn’t get any of the big boys interested in the book, and we had to settle for this second-rate house. But if we play our cards right, we have the most mouthwatering public-relations and marketing opportunity. Constance Young is dead, and your book tells the world why.”
    “Not