Free The Reporter by Kelly Lange Page B

hat, Meg kept her gaze fixed squarely on the girl, focusing on her, concentrating on her soul. If she
     could stay centered, she could keep the unearthly spirits from permeating Gia’s being, but she could feel the antithetic tugging
     of the child’s father, a menacing, potent pull from hell.
    After a few minutes, the girl bounded into the house, then reappeared with her dog on a leash. Then mother and daughter came
     down the steps and onto the sand. Meg followed their progress, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses, her attention riveted
     on the child’s blazing aura, which she could see emanating from her in an increasingly vivid flare as she came closer.
    Do
not inhabit this young soul; do not consume this child’s essence,
Meg chanted silently as they passed by, the youngster looking over at her curiously now, her spirited Irish setter tugging
     her forward.
    “Come on, darling,” she could hear the mother urging. “You mustn’t stare at people; it isn’t nice,” and she nudged her lovingly
     along on their walk toward the surf.
    Meg felt the familiar pain swelling in her chest and the fever rising in her head, her blood pounding as she repeated her
     invocation, half aloud now. “Gia must not die for my sins.”

16
    Y ou’re covering the auction tomorrow, Maxi,” Pete Capra said again.
    “Come on, Pete,” Maxi appealed. “You know this one’s too close to home for me.”
    “That’s exactly why I want you on it—you know what every piece is, where he got it, and why; you can bring behind-the-scenes
     stories to an otherwise boring furniture sale.”
    Maxi looked at him as if she didn’t believe what she’d just heard him say. “You really have no heart, do you, Pete?” she said
     softly.
    “Oh, stop it, Maxi—you were over the guy long before you divorced him. What’s the big deal?”
    Maxi could only shake her head. “Pete,” she said, “there’ll be movie stars there, there’ll be celebrities, people from Jack’s
     world. Put Jensen on it. He’s the entertainment reporter.”
    “This isn’t
entertainment,
Maxi. This is
crime.”
    It was Friday afternoon. The newsroom was buzzing with preparation for the early news block, and Maxi sat at her computer
     in her glass-walled office, writing a story for the Six O’clock News. Pete Capra had barged in and was looming over her desk,
     waving some wire copy, bent on assigning her tocover the auction of the late actor Jack Nathanson’s effects at Sotheby’s in Beverly Hills the next day. Her ex-husband’s
     effects.
    “The only crime at the auction tomorrow will be Sotheby’s charging big money for Jack’s bad-taste stuff,” she told her boss
     now, trying to lighten the mood, trying to get herself off the assignment. “People love to see big-time celebrities wasting
     their money—it’s an Eric Jensen story.”
    “You know Jensen’s a fucking prima donna—he won’t work on weekends. It’s in his contract.”
    “Well, it’s in
my
contract too, boss. Check it out!”
    “I know, I know, but you never give me any of that shit. Whatever has to be done, you do it.”
    “Not this time. Put one of the general-assignment reporters on it.”
    “Maxi, I want
you
on it.”
    “Why,
Pete?”
    Capra threw his head back in exasperation. “Because of the big picture. This is a
murder
story. A big, fat, high-profile, star-studded, scandal-ridden, loud, screeching, L.A. murder case. The
world
is interested in it. And a lot of the players will show up at that auction. Who knows what you’ll see, what you’ll hear,
     what you’ll learn? Nobody on staff would be able to look at that scene tomorrow and see it with your insights. Just forget
     he was your fucking husband for a day, okay?”
    “Pete?”
    “What!”
    “Why are you so cranky?”
    Pete looked down, but not before Maxi saw his rumpled Italian face redden. “Because… I gave up smoking,” he said in a small
     voice.
    “Oh,
no!
Again?”
    “Kris is on my back. And my