Death on Daytime: A Tess Darling Mystery (The Tess Darling Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

Sandy. “After all, it was her role on
Live With
that had prompted the unwelcome attention: It appears some deranged fan was pestering her – had been for some time.”
    Tess felt Fergie stiffen beside her. “He’d been following her, yer say?”
    “Yes,” snapped Sandy. “Probably.”
    Tess rubbed her forehead. “What the hell does
that
mean?”
    “It means Jeenie couldn’t be sure. This fan – this stalker – whoever he was – hadn’t approached her directly. He could have been shadowing her for weeks, but all Jeenie could be sure of was the letters.”
    “He was writing to her?”
    “Threatening her – sexually – nasty stuff, you know—”
    “Shit.” Tess took this in. “You told her to keep the letters? As evidence?”
    Sandy nodded, a fraction too fast. “Unfortunately, Jeenie was… so distraught, yes? She burnt the lot – destroyed each one as it came – didn’t want the police involved,” she said rapidly. “Ironic, considering the whole
world
is now involved – thanks to you.”
    “Me?”
    “Finding her body, live on air.” Sandy rocked. “Your stunt has been rolling news on Sky all morning – God knows how many hits we’ve clocked up on Youtube. Tomorrow there won’t be a single newspaper that doesn’t lead with Jeenie’s death – and follow up with a shot of you stumbling over the body.”
    “Hang on Sandy—”
    “I don’t need to wait for the overnights to know
Live With
has just achieved its highest ratings in years.” The baggy skin under Sandy’s chin was starting to pulse. “This is my chance to save the show – and you’re going to help me.”
    “I am?”
    “You’re going to cover the story for me,” she nodded. “I want you filing regular reports – here on the sofa – for as long as the police investigation runs.”
    “Are you nuts? I produce a gardening slot, Sandy, I film
plants
dying, not people.”
    “You dug the wretched body up, didn’t you? You filmed
that
damned effectively.”
    “But –”
    “I don’t expect you to crack the case, for God’s sake, you’re
not
your father’s daughter.” It was a low shot – and it hit.
    “When were
you
speaking to my Dad?”
    “Oh, Darcus and I go back years,” said Sandy. “
Serious
journalism bonds you – you seek each other out – swap stories, you know?” She breathed on Tess. “He tells me the one time he put you to work on a documentary, you sabotaged the whole production. He warned me then never to place any trust in you.”
    Tess felt herself burn red – and hated herself for it. Almost as much as she was starting to hate Sandy Plimpton. “If you can’t trust me,” she said. “Why the crap turn me into a
reporter
?”
    Her boss dismissed the question with a wave. “Let’s just say I
believe
in you.”
    “You
believe
I’ll bring in the viewers – as soon as they figure out who my father is—”
    “Agreed then?” said Sandy. “I’ll provide the serious analysis. You supply gory details for our female viewers, and a pair of legs to hold the men. I’m slotting your first report on to next Monday’s show.”
    “And if I say no?”
    “You’re fired. Along with your
Pardon My Garden
team. The whole screwy lot of them.”
    “You wouldn’t!”
    “I would,” she smiled. “And as for your oversized cameraman…”
    “Miller?” said Tess. “You leave him out of it!”
    “Oh, I intend to,” she said. “Once I’ve blackballed Miller round every production company in Soho, he’ll never pick up a camera again. The choice is yours, Tess: Let everyone down again?” She gave a hard laugh. “Or prove Daddy dear wrong?”

CHAPTER THREE
    T ess hadn’t always been a scowling trollop in a Puffa coat. The privately-educated child of a ‘serious’ celebrity, she’d grown up in a house where
The Guardian
was good, ITV was evil and being intellectually mediocre was akin to crapping in the orange bowl. ‘Don’t be so stupid’ was pretty much the response she got for