Page 136 of Hello, Summer
“You’re kicking me out of a funeral reception?”
“That story of yours in this week’s paper was offensive and libelous,” he said, his face stern. “I knew your grandfather, and he never would have printed something like that.”
She felt her cheeks burn. With her left hand, she pried his fingers off her arm. “My grandfather was in the news business, and he taught my sister and me that we publish the news—whatever it is, without fear or favor.”
“Sarah Conley?” G’mama held out a plate with a slice of cake and an egg salad sandwich. “I thought you might like something to eat.” She gave McFall a cool glance. “Is there a problem here?”
“He’s kicking me out,” Conley said. “Mr. McFall thinks my story was offensive. And libelous.”
“George, is that true?” G’mama asked.
“Hello, Lorraine,” McFall said, his tone instantly becoming conciliatory. “I pointed out to your granddaughter that it’s incredibly poor taste for her to be here after that old stuff she dredged up about Symmes last week. Vanessa objects to her presence.”
“Is that so?” Lorraine asked. “Does she object to my presence hereas well? I’m the president of the Presbyterian church altar guild. I helped organize this function today, you know.”
“And I’m sure the family appreciates your efforts,” McFall said, furiously backpedaling. “But they don’t appreciate that scurrilous garbage you people printed. Really, Lorraine, Woodrow Conley would never have published something like that.”
G’mama’s eyes flickered around the room. “I can assure you that my husband absolutely would have published that story. As theBeacon’s current publisher, I’m incredibly proud of the work both my granddaughters have done this past week. And, George, in case you’re not up on libel law, let me remind you that truth is a defense to libel. Can you quote me a single sentence in Conley’s story that was inaccurate?”
“Not inaccurate,” the funeral director sputtered. “Just trashy. And inflammatory. Symmes Robinette was a war hero. He spent most of his life as an elected official, serving the people of this community. Good God, the man is dead. He can’t even defend himself.”
“Our story made prominent mention of Symmes’s achievements,” Lorraine said. “But we both know he was no saint, and he most certainly wasn’t selfless. Conley has researched his financial disclosure statements, which show that Symmes Robinette managed to line his own pockets quite nicely while he was in office.”
“A funeral reception is not the place to have a discussion like this,” McFall insisted.
“I agree,” Lorraine said, her chin tilted at a dangerous angle. “So you can tell Vanessa and Charlie that theBeaconstands by Conley, and we stand by her reporting. And we don’t intend to back away from this story.”
She tucked her hand under her granddaughter’s arm. “It’s awfully close in here, isn’t it? Could you walk me outside for some fresh air?”
They found a shaded bench in the church courtyard.
“Thanks for the show of support back there,” Conley told her grandmother after they’d seated themselves and she’d eaten the tiny sandwich in one bite. “You rock, by the way.”
“I meant every word I said,” G’mama said.
“I’m afraid things are about to get ugly,” Conley said apologetically.
“They already have,” Lorraine said. “Vivienne Tompkins and Dana Goodman deliberately turned their backs and walked away from me in the church kitchen a little while ago. I’ve known them both since your mother was in preschool with their daughters.”
“They snubbed you? Because of my story? I’m sorry, G’mama.”
“Don’t be,” Lorraine said. “We were never really that close. Forget about them. Have there been any new developments in your story?”
“I saw the sheriff before I walked over here. He confirmed that the wreck happened because Robinette’s car struck that deer. But the medical examiner also says Robinette was already dead before he hit it.”
“How bizarre.”
“He told me—completely off the record, by the way—that Robinette had a toxic combination of fentanyl and alcohol in his system.”
“Is that a pain medication he was taking for the cancer?”
“I assume so. Which explains why the sheriff asked Skelly to hand over a list of all Symmes’s medications. And Vanessa’s.”
“Oh my.”
“Doesn’t necessarily mean there was any foul play,” Conley said. She explained what her oncologist nurse friend had told her about the increased levels of fentanyl a long-term cancer patient could tolerate. “So that could explain his cause of death. But it still doesn’t really explain what Robinette was doing that far from home that late at night. And what or who he was drinking with.”
“With whom he was drinking,” G’mama said, automatically correcting her grammar. “I assume you have a theory?” She broke off a morsel of cake and nibbled it.
