And Death Goes To . . .. Laura Bradford
Cassie, and made her way up the spiral staircase to the platform at the top, her face a mixture of stunned surprise and little-girl joy.
I knew, on some level, I was supposed to feel bad—disappointed that it wasn’t me standing on that platform, staring down at the Golden Storyboard like it was the Holy Grail. But I didn’t. I was actually happy for the diminutive brunette I’d met a half dozen times over the past few years—a quiet, unassuming woman who’d likely dreamed of this moment as often as I had.
The applause continued as a smaller red curtain, positioned behind the platform, opened to reveal the screen tasked with sharing Deidre’s campaign with the audience. But just as the shot of the man and his little boy—decked out in Cardinals gear—appeared on the screen, I darted my attention back to Deidre, my confusion mingling with hers a split second before the platform she was standing on gave way, and she, and the stage lights above her, fell to the ground with a deafening thud.
~Chapter Three~
I tried to focus on the Yay-Us party JoAnna had graciously orchestrated for Sam and me at the agency immediately following the awards show, but it was hard. I understood her rationale in going ahead with the soirée despite the horror we’d all witnessed, but still, every time I tried to lose myself in conversation with one of my friends, I heard the sound of Deidre’s body hitting the stage and the delayed, yet no less bloodcurdling screams that had followed.
I knew I wasn’t the only one who kept traveling back to that horrific moment, but I also knew everyone—myself, included—was trying really hard to keep things light for Sam. After all, winning an industry award at any age was exciting, but to win one as a newly turned sixteen-year-old was something else entirely. Yet the fact that Grandpa Stu had disengaged himself from Ms. Rapple’s flappy (ewww) arms and was heading in my direction with worried eyes, was a pretty good indication my efforts at being upbeat and cheerful were falling short.
“Have I told you how much you look like your grandmother this evening?” Grandpa Stu pulled me in for a sidearm hug and a kiss on my temple. “With your hair all curled and framing your face the way it is, it’s like I’m thirty all over again, too.”
I captured his hand in mine and held it close to my cheek, the rasp in his voice a tribute to the love he’d shared with my grandmother—a love that had spawned my mom and, eventually, my brother, my sister, and me. “I miss her, too, Grandpa Stu.”
“I know you do.” He gestured toward the table of treats JoAnna had erected against the back wall in the conference room and, at my nod, tugged me over to the plate of Napoleons I was sure he’d already sampled a few times over the past hour or so. “So you doing okay, Sugar Lump?”
I took the dessert plate he held out to me and tried to focus on the plethora of options JoAnna had obviously been slaving over in the hours leading up to the award show—cookies, brownies, individual tarts, cupcakes, and the aforementioned Napoleons. My eyes knew everything looked amazing. Heck, even my hands were itching to start piling one of everything onto my plate. But my stomach was a different story. Instead of the feed-me rumbles that usually accompanied any and all sugar-related visuals, there were warning gurgles. And considering the fact my agency’s bathroom was a one-staller, I didn’t want to chance a line should I ignore the warning and end up paying the price.
“Actually, as good as everything looks, I’m not terribly hungry. I-I guess I’m still full from dinner.”
“Full?” Grandpa Stu eyed me closely. “I saw your plate when that fella from the hotel took it away. You ate no more than half your steak and no more than a quarter of your potatoes.”
“I ate my chocolate cake!”
“You ate some of your chocolate cake—not all of it.”
“I was excited for Sam.” I looked from my grandfather, to my empty plate, and back again before returning it to the pile. “And… I was busy talking to Andy.”
“He ate his food,” Grandpa Stu pointed out.
“I don’t know, Grandpa, I can’t explain it.” I fussed with the container of plastic forks and when they were neat and orderly, I dropped my hand to my side. “It was a big night, you know? I guess I was just busy soaking everything up.”
He polished off his umpteenth Napoleon of the night, tossed the plate into the trash can in the far corner, and then motioned for me to follow him down the hallway and into my office. Once inside, he flipped on the overhead light and pushed the door closed enough to give us privacy but not enough to be rude to my guests. “Talk to me, Sugar Lump.”
“Grandpa, I can’t be in here. JoAnna went to a lot of trouble to put this shindig together for me and Sam. In fact, that’s the only reason we’re even still doing this—because of Sam.”
“And Sam is loving every minute of it.” Grandpa Stu made his way around my desk and dropped into my chair with an audible oomph. “I’m mighty proud of that young man, Sugar Lump.”
It felt good to smile if even for just a few moments, so I gave into it as I wandered over to my draft table, my eyes barely registering the pitch it housed for yet another client I was trying to woo over to Tobias Advertising Agency. “I have no doubt it will be the first in a long line of awards for our Sam. He’s incredibly talented. Tonight just proved I’m not the only one who sees it.”
I turned at the sound of my desk drawer opening and then closing. “Do you need something, Grandpa?”
“Nope. Just fiddling with things the way you’ve been fiddling with things all night.”
I made my way back to my desk and sat down on the chair normally reserved for clients. “I haven’t been fiddling with things.”
My grandfather’s left eyebrow rose halfway up his forehead. “Oh? You tellin’ me JoAnna didn’t have to shoo you away from the candy jar on her desk within just a few minutes of you getting here?”
“She’s always shooing me from that jar.”
“Because you’re getting into it, not playing with it.”
I started to deny the accusation but when I realized I was obsessively running my finger across a faint scratch on the top of my desk, I pulled my hand back, shoved it under my thigh, and said nothing.
“And when Carter was using his finger to re-curl that one strand of hair next to your ear”—he pointed to the left side of my face—“you kept messing with that folding chair out in the reception area so much Sam actually wedged a coaster under it so you’d quit making that sound.”
“The legs were uneven.”
“It’s a folding chair, Sugar Lump. No one expects it to be premium seating.”
To argue would be futile. My grandfather was right. I’d been fidgeting pretty much non-stop since I got in the car with Andy for the ten-plus mile drive from the award show venue. “I still can’t believe what happened to Deidre.”
“I know. I’ve thought about it a time or two myself since we’ve been here. And I’ve said a few prayers for that young woman and her family. But playing with jars and chairs isn’t going to change anything. And this was a very big night for Sam and for you. Don’t let things that are out of your control taint that. Although, truth be told, I think it’s your name that shoulda been called for that fancy gold storyboard thingy.”
“Thank God it wasn’t.” Andy peeked around my office door. “Mind if I crash?”
My chair (or what was normally my chair) squeaked under the decreasing weight of my grandfather’s body as he pushed back from the desk and stood, the smile I’d loved my whole life on full display. “Not at all, young man. Especially since the sight of you in that doorway managed to get this one”—he pointed at me—“to smile for the first time since this party started.”
“I’ve smiled!”
“Not like that, you haven’t.” Grandpa Stu came out from behind