Free Head to Head by Linda Ladd Page B

hope to hell he’s not thinking of telling—” I stopped midsentence when Black spoke again.
    “The wonderful young actress Sylvie Border, a very close friend of both of us, Larry, died last night at my resort in Missouri.”
    King looked as stunned as I was. “What the hell does he think he’s doing?” I jumped up, rattling my coffee cup. “This is going to whip up a frenzy around here.”
    “Oh, my God. Sylvie was on this show not a month ago.” King glanced off camera, presumably at his producer. “I can’t believe it. She’s so young…how…”
    Black looked the picture of sorrow now. “It’s a terrible tragedy. I can hardly believe it’s true, either. I spoke to her parents early this morning, and understandably, they’re taking this extremely hard. I want to encourage the press to leave them alone, give them some time to grieve in peace. That’s why I’m bringing this up now. I’m making a plea for privacy for the family.”
    Larry King shook his head and said, “What happened to her, Nick? Are you at liberty to tell us anything more?”
    “She was found murdered,” Black said. King’s sharp intake of breath was caught on air. “I don’t know all the details. I was on my way up here already. I’m leaving that to the police. I understand the Canton County sheriff is handling the investigation. I know Sheriff Charles Ramsay personally, and I have every confidence he’ll find Sylvie’s killer.”
    “Thanks for nothing, Black.” I was so angry, my voice shook. “You’ve just sent every frickin’ camera crew in the country down here.”
    Dottie said, “Why’d he announce it on the air? He ought to know better than that.”
    “He probably did it to get publicity for this new book, and if he did, he’s gonna regret it. I’m gonna make sure he doesn’t talk about it on any more television shows or at book signings, unless he wants me riding his back night and day until this case is over.”

LIFE WITH FATHER
     
    The mother was in excruciating pain, but she pulled the child by the hand across the upstairs landing. The embalmer had beaten her again with the strop because she’d objected to the child going down into the cellar, where the corpses were. She had been terrified, but the child had come upstairs from the cellar for dinner, all covered in blood and stinking of embalming fluid. The father kept the child in the cellar all day now, away from her. He called the child Brat now, all the time, and the child refused to talk and had eyes that were empty and haunted. She had to escape, had to get the child away. She packed one suitcase for their things, and as soon as the child was sent upstairs to be readied for dinner, she got the suitcase and pulled Brat along the upstairs hall. The embalmer had kept Brat down there until five-thirty, and she didn’t have much time to flee. They had to get out now. She held her side where he must have cracked her ribs when he kicked her two nights ago. It hurt to walk, even to talk.
    She whispered to the child, “Hurry, hurry, before he comes…”
    But he was standing at the bottom of the staircase, waiting. She screamed in utter horror, and the child awakened from a stupor because screaming was against the rules. She ran for the back stairs, dragging the child with her, but the father took the steps three at a time and caught her by her long blond hair before she could slam the door. He jerked the child from her hand and flung the child against the wall. Breath knocked out, the child slid limply to the floor and watched the parents fight. The mother went wild then and attacked the man with all her remaining strength. She clawed at his face and eyes and screamed until she couldn’t scream anymore, and he hit her hard with his fist and knocked her to the floor. He grabbed her up like a rag doll and forced her back against the wall. He held her off the floor, his fingers clutching her throat harder and harder. The child struggled up and screamed for