Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry - Mary Higgins Clark Page 0,1

mother and father had given it to her after they retired and moved to Florida. Spacious, with two bedrooms and a decent-size kitchen, it was the envy of her friends, many of whom were crammed into tiny one-bedrooms and studios.

After dropping her bags in her bedroom, she checked her watch. 11:30 p.m. in New York; 8:30 p.m. in California. She decided it would be a good time to call Ted. He answered on the first ring.

“Well hello, stranger.” His tone was deep and loving, giving Gina a rush of warmth. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“It’s killing me that I’m stuck in LA for a week.”

They chatted for a few minutes. He finished by saying, “I know you just got in and you’re probably exhausted. I have a bunch of meetings planned. I’ll call you when things calm down.”

“It’s a deal,” she said.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

As she hung up the phone, Gina realized that Ted’s unexpected trip to California was a mixed blessing. On the one hand she wanted to see him. On the other it was a relief to not have to have a conversation she was not ready for.

Stepping out of the shower at five-thirty in the morning, Gina was pleasantly surprised at how she felt so good. She had slept for almost eight hours on the plane and another four after arriving home. She wasn’t feeling any of the dreaded jet lag most people experience after a long west to east flight.

She was eager to get back to work. After graduating from Boston College with a major in Journalism, she had been thrilled to land a job as a desk assistant at a suburban newspaper on Long Island. Budget cutbacks had forced the paper to let many of their senior writers go. Within a year she was writing feature stories.

Her articles on business and finance caught the eye of the editor of Your Money. She happily made the switch to the brash new upstart and had loved every minute of her seven years there. But the declining interest in print publications and slowing advertising revenue had taken their toll. In the three years since Your Money had folded, she had been a freelancer.

While part of her enjoyed the freedom to pursue the stories that interested her, another part missed the steady paycheck and health care that came along with being an employee. She was free to choose what she wanted to write about, but at the end of the day somebody had to buy her story.

Empire Review had been a lifesaver. While visiting her parents in Florida, friends of theirs told Gina about being horrified that their eighteen-year-old grandson had been branded during a hazing ritual at his college fraternity. Using a hot iron, Greek letters had been burned into the back of his upper thigh.

Complaints to the university’s administration were going unanswered. Big donors among the alumni had threatened to withhold contributions if there was a clampdown on the “Greek Life” community.

Empire Review had agreed to the story immediately. They gave her a hefty advance and a generous travel and expense budget. ER’s exposé caused a sensation. It was covered by the national evening news programs and even prompted a segment on 60 Minutes.

The success of the fraternity story had given her high visibility as an investigative journalist. She was inundated with “tips” emails from would-be whistle-blowers and people who claimed to have knowledge of major scandals. A few of them had resulted in stories she had pursued and published. The trick was distinguishing between providers of genuine leads versus crackpots, disgruntled former employees, and conspiracy theorists.

Gina glanced at her watch. She was scheduled to meet with the magazine’s editor in chief the next day. Charles Maynard typically began the conversation with “So Gina, what do we want to write about next?” She had a little over twenty-four hours to come up with a good answer.

She dressed quickly, choosing jeans and a warm turtleneck sweater. After touching up her makeup, she glanced at her full-length mirror. She looked like the early pictures of her mother, who had been homecoming queen at Michigan State. Wideset eyes, more green than hazel, and classic features. Auburn shoulder-length hair made her look even taller than her five foot, seven inch frame.

Satisfied with her appearance, she put a frozen bagel in the toaster and made a cup of coffee. When it was ready, she brought her plate and cup to the table by the living