“What does it matter? I’m mobile.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t, matter that is. I don’t have anything to say. No interview.” But it might have already been too late as the goon was filming away, the tiny red light glowing steadily on the shoulder cam.
“But I’ve already started the series.”
“Your problem, not mine.” She turned on the stocky cameraman.
“Don’t film me,” she said. “Did you hear me? I’m serious. Turn the camera off!”
“This is a public park,” Whitney reminded her, as if she were playing by some kind of legal rules.
“Turn it off!”
“Are you afraid to talk to me, Ms. Kramer?” Whitney persisted.
“No.”
“Do you prefer to be called Ms. Kramer or Mrs. Kittle? You’re still legally married to Trent Kittle, right?”
“Leave him out of this,” she said, horrified that Trent’s name had come up. Oh, God, what if this aired? What if he saw the program? She knew that Whitney Stone was already airing segments about Allie. God, what a mess! What if Whitney edited her pieces to make it look like Cassie was somehow a part of Allie’s disappearance? That Trent was? She told herself not to panic, but she felt a wave start to envelop her as the camera kept rolling, catching her doe-in-the-headlights look while Whitney twisted the truth.
“But you are still married to him,” Whitney pressed.
“I don’t want to talk about—”
“And it’s been reported that he was with your sister, Allie Kramer, as well, that his relationship with her is the reason you two separated.”
“There was no relationship between Trent and Allie,” she shot back before biting her tongue. There was an almost imperceptible smile on the reporter’s lips. This had to end.
“But he was seen at her apartment. Alone. During the time she was broken up with Brandon McNary.”
“As I said, I have nothing to say to you.”
“Your marriage failed because of your sister and then she goes missing.”
“For the love of God . . .” Cassie tried to step away.
“Isn’t it true that your sister, your baby sister, was having an affair with your husband?”
“No!” The word felt like acid on her tongue. Whitney Stone was voicing her own darkest fears that Trent, like everyone else in America, had fallen in love with Allie Kramer. She needed to stop talking and end this interview, but the hook had been set and Cassie’s temper, always a problem, took over. “I warned you not to—”
“Warned me not to what?” Whitney asked innocently.
Don’t let her bully you into a confrontation, not more than it is, and do NOT give her what she wants. She’s looking to fan the fires, and she’ll twist your words to make it look like you made Allie disappear in some kind of jealous rage, that maybe you even killed her. She will edit this interview and turn it all back on you. On Allie. On Trent.
“I’m just trying to help,” Whitney wheedled.
This was about ratings and scandal and promoting Whitney Stone’s career!
Cassie withdrew her own phone and hit the camera app. “Then you won’t mind me filming you, like you’re filming me.” She depressed the button to start recording the entire interview, turning the phone’s camera toward the reporter.
“What’re you doing?”
“Just ensuring that your reporting is accurate,” she said, rotating slightly to show the intimidating cameraman before returning to Whitney Stone. “I asked you not to film, and you ignored me. I told you I know nothing more about Allie Kramer’s disappearance, but you kept at me. So I repeat: I don’t have anything to say to you.”
For a moment Whitney looked stunned, but the reporter quickly got hold of her unspooling composure. “Your sister disappeared under suspicious circumstances. You and your family must be devastated.”
“Any questions you have about my sister’s disappearance should be directed to the Portland Police Department. Detective Nash is investigating the case. Now, we’re done.” She moved around the reporter and, with her phone still aimed at Whitney Stone, opened the door of her car.