Sweet Anger(44)
He almost forgot all his problems when he looked up to see Hunter McKee standing on the other side of his desk in the newsroom. “Hiya, McKee.”
“Are you busy?”
The irony of that struck Pinkie as funny. He laughed as he ground out his cigarette. “Why don’t you wait in my office?” He hitched his head in the direction of the cubicle as the speaker on the radio panel squawked and a scratchy voice said, “Pinkie, have you been trying to get us?”
“Hell, yes, I have,” he yelled into the microphone as he grabbed it up.
Hunter jumped to his feet when Pinkie bustled into the office five minutes later, a batch of script sheets clutched in his beefy hand. “What can I do for you, McKee?” he said as he began thumbing through the scripts and slashing them with a red ink pen. “Wish somebody would teach reporters to write the English language.”
“I guess I’ve caught you at a bad time.”
“Naw, naw. Today’s calm, believe it or not. What did you want to see me about?”
“I think you know.”
Pinkie’s hands stilled and he looked at Hunter from beneath his jutting brows. He studied the man across the desk from him. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well. Even behind his eyeglasses, his eyes looked tired. The vertical lines running down either side of his mouth didn’t look like laugh lines anymore but tracks of unhappiness.
“Yeah, I think I do,” Pinkie said slowly. Then he yelled, “Not now!” to someone brave or stupid enough to come barging in without knocking.
“I missed seeing her reports on the news,” Hunter said uneasily. “I went by her condo last week, but she wasn’t home. It looked like she hadn’t been for a long while. Earlier today I called here. I was told she didn’t work here anymore.”
“That’s right, she doesn’t. But that’s temporary. I hope.”
“Is she sick?”
“No. She was suspended for three months.”
Pinkie could tell he was relieved that she wasn’t ill, but distressed over the suspension. “Why was she suspended?” A level stare was his only answer. Hunter lunged to his feet. “Dammit, I told them that what she said didn’t matter. She wrote me a note of apology. That was enough.”
He turned his back on the desk and stared out over the bustling newsroom. He didn’t even see it. When he spun back around, his jaw was as rigid as granite. “I want to see her. Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
In a heartbeat Hunter covered the space that separated him from the desk. Placing his hands on the cluttered surface, he leaned over it. “I want to see her,” he enunciated clearly. “Tell me where she is.”
This guy has it bad, Pinkie thought. “I don’t know where she is,” he repeated calmly. “I tried to reach her the morning after the incident, but she’d already had her telephone disconnected. That afternoon a messenger sent me an envelope with the key to her condo and instructions on when to water her plants. That’s all. She said she would be in touch.”
“That was three weeks ago! And she hasn’t been in touch?”
“No.”
“Something could have happened to her.”
“I don’t think so. She went somewhere to be alone. To sort things out.”
“What things?”
“Maybe you could tell me.”
A spasm of emotion tugged at one corner of Hunter’s lips, otherwise he gave nothing away. “If you hear from her, will you let me know?”
“Why?”
“I told you. I want to see her.”
“Why?”
“None of your goddamn business,” Hunter shouted.
Pinkie smiled as he came out of his chair and picked up the scripts. “I’ve got a news show to get on the air in exactly fifty-three minutes, Mr. McKee. I can’t afford to spend any more of my valuable time on your personal problems.” he stalked to the door of the office. “But keep in touch.” He sailed through the door, cursing deadlines and shouting orders.
Chapter Eight
BRECKENRIDGE WAS AS PICTURESQUE IN THE SUMMER AS IT was in winter. Patches of unmelted snow showed up like white blossoms on the mountains. The majestic peaks still wore their sparkling caps. The season had little to do with the ski resort’s charm. Its one main street was lined with shops and boutiques stocked with tempting merchandise year-round. The century-old buildings, many with gingerbread trim, looked just as quaint against a panorama of bright blue Colorado sky as they did with snow sifting around them.
Kari had been coming to Breckenridge to ski since she was in junior high school. But she’d never made the trip during the summer. She liked it this way, without hungry skiers queuing for valuable tables in restaurants, without the muddy slush, without the traffic jams at the one traffic light in town.