Okay, it’s only one more day until this book launches. And … well, I’ve been busy with life and other things.
Be that as it may, here’s one last excerpt from Fatal Connections. I hope you enjoy it! 🙂
Feel free to check out the previous chapter.
Nick said he wanted to write about the murders, but he wanted to do a genuinely investigative piece this time. I tried to make sure he stayed off any chemical aids and he returned the favor. At this point, I had a mere handful of close friends, and Nick was the closest I’d come to finding a kindred spirit outside the Corps.
According to Nick, the Harcourts’ publicist, Marge Calhoun, was the font of all the intel that she felt was fit to print. Getting past her shield and beneath the shiny surfaces of the couple and their two grown children (one boy, one girl—only the fractional kid missing) was a task that went beyond the purpose of Nick’s article, which was allegedly to give people hope.
Now, that in itself I found hilarious. In a culture that values good looks over depth, I find our obsession with celebrity a bit much.
Plus this search for the perfect lifestyle? Seriously? Like everyone can just pick up and traipse around the world without a care. Sure.
Before I rang off my call with Nick, he gave me the contact info for Marge Calhoun. I wondered if she would answer a phone call or email me a press release.
Back at my home office, a home-delivered Washington Post awaited me on the doormat. Like no other millennial’s within a hundred miles? I wondered about that. But what can I say? I like newspapers.
I rubbed my eyes and settled in before my laptop, my coffee mug off to the side. It was looking like a six-cup day. I usually limit myself to no more than five cups of coffee. A six-cup day could easily change to seven or more.
I mentally reviewed the timing again. Marian Harcourt had called me at about ten of five. I reached the house a little after six. That didn’t give the killer (or killers) a lot of time to act. Could the Harcourts have been dead before I got the phone call? That still tugged at my consciousness.
I needed time to figure it out. If that hadn’t been Marian Harcourt on the phone, the caller should have started a YouTube channel doing impressions.
My work for the Harcourts had led me to search various social media, since that’s where they’d lived. I’d focused on their potential employee’s background. Nothing had raised red flags. Further delving revealed no criminal record. Not even a speeding ticket.
The job candidate’s name was Blair Fenton. I wondered then and now whether he was from a prominent family in Silver Spring, which has a Fenton Street and more than a few historic connections to the Blair family. Or maybe it was just a weird coincidence.
I scanned my report, looking for holes. Seemed solid, but … I didn’t want to assume I’d done the perfect job.
And then there was Marge Calhoun, PR pro. The Harcourts had hired me directly. She might not even know I existed. I needed to call her.
I punched in the number and got voice mail. I pictured her spinning a story to the cops. Or reporters.
I began writing an email and stopped. Shook my head like a dog shaking off water.
I switched to a search engine and got her address. No warnings. I’m coming to see you, Ms. Calhoun.
You also have time to pre-order it from any retailer listed here! 🙂
Are we ready to go then? 🙂
How exciting! 🙂