Free Twenty-Five Years Ago Today by Stacy Juba Page A

visited Diana at the bar. Even
though it was a college hangout, I'd never been there. Vince went
ballistic, roughed me up, gave me a black eye. His friends were
obnoxious, too, but he was the ringleader." Jared's hand shot out
again, as if punctuating the observation.
    "Tell me about you and Diana," Kris said.
"Were you surprised she broke up with you?"
    "Very. I thought things were going great, but
around Christmas, Diana said she couldn't get close to anyone. It
hit me hard."
    "Did you know her friends?"
    "She didn't have many. I met Diana's mother a
few times, and her sister and brother-in-law. Diana had a nephew
she adored, about two-years-old. She'd read him stories."
    Kris couldn't picture Eric Soares as an
innocent child curled up on his aunt's lap. She cleared her head
with a shake. "How would you describe Diana?"
    "Quiet, except when it came to art," Jared
said. "We met during an art show held at Fremont State. We went out
a few times and gradually she trusted me with her artwork. Her
paintings were dark for someone so young. I remember she was
working on sketches about a terrified young girl turning into a
tree. She did one painting of dead people ferried across the River
Styx. Greek myth, you know? A beaten three-headed dog guarded the
entrance."
    "Did Diana talk about selling her art?" Kris
asked.
    "She painted more for herself than an
audience. Diana would get absorbed, distant. She told me that she
lived for the moments when she could tune out the world. That
discipline and drive -- that need, I suppose -- are what my wife
lacks. The difference between a professional and an amateur. Diana
didn't use her skills to attain success, as much as I urged her.
She said marketing her work would take time away from
painting."
    He touched a round glass paperweight bursting
with rainbow streaks of color. "I hate to see talent wasted. It's
such a shame not to make the most of a God-given talent."
    "I'm sure Diana appreciated your
encouragement."
    Jared tented his slender fingers. "I think
she did. I hope so. What newspaper do you work for, Kris?"
    "The Fremont Daily News ."
    "If you want to solve Diana's murder, let me
give you advice. Do what the police didn't. Find the person who
stalked Diana."

     
     

Chapter 8
     
    25 Years Ago Today
    Buyer resistance brings a 10 cent reduction
in five-pound bags of sugar in Fremont area stores.
     
    D ex assigned Kris a
profile on a local yo-yo expert. She eagerly accepted, but as she
Googled information on yo-yo tricks, her thoughts soon drifted to
her secret investigative story. Jared Peyton had seemed sincere.
Was he for real, or just a good actor?
    Kris pondered the question while she ate
dinner alone in the lounge. Jacqueline strode in with a glass bowl
and slid it into the microwave. She lurked beside the counter,
dressed in a gray wool suit with square buttons. Silence
overpowered the dull hum of the microwave. Kris waited for a dig
about taking a break, and mentally prepared a retort. Maybe
something like "Who’s going to write my obituary, Jacqueline, if I
drop dead of starvation?"
    "I started as an editorial assistant,"
Jacqueline said, her clear musical voice loud in the quiet. "Right
out of college."
    Kris glanced around to make sure no one else
had entered the room. She balled up her napkin. Wow, small talk.
May as well go with it. "How long did you do that?"
    "A couple months. Then I got a reporting
job."
    "Where?"
    The microwave dinged. Jacqueline stirred her
chicken and rice on the counter, a diet portion that wouldn’t have
satisfied Chipmunk even after a full can of Fancy Feast. She would
bring dinner to her desk, Kris knew. Jacqueline never sat in the
lounge with the underlings. "It was at a -"
    "Jacqueline!" They both looked up as Walter
Barnes, the stout balding publisher, breezed into the room. Kris
had heard him arguing with Dex last week. She couldn't decide
whether it was the daily deadlines or the mix of creative
personalities, but she'd witnessed lots of