Seven
For about two weeks the murder of Dennis Ridge was a national story. News outlets, both foreign and domestic, covered the story and countless guests, from retired investigators to book reviewers, were booked to talk about Dennis Ridge’s work and what role it might’ve played in his untimely end, if any. Theories ranging from probable, to impossible, to clinically insane, were spouted by men and women as if it was the gospel, and anchors spent time talking to authors in Dennis’s niche, and asking if fiction authors have a moral obligation to tone down the violent content in their stories. An author by the name of Cody Cassidy managed to make it through a seven and a half minute barrage of accusatory questions like ‘Do you think your book, in some way, contributed to how Dennis Ridge wrote fiction, and therefore to his death’, only for Cassidy to show up a week later and end the interview two minutes in with the words, “No wonder none of the fucking kids are reading anymore.”
Fans poured out their condolences on Dennis’s Facebook page, sharing pictures of themselves with Dennis at books signings and writing such praise as ‘Without you Dennis, I don’t know if I would’ve become a writer. It’s authors like you that keep me writing.’ In one such post a woman stated, ‘Your work affirms the value of life every bit as much as it entertains.’
Dennis’s mother and father, the largest beneficiaries of his success as an author and also of his death (since Dennis had no kids, the bulk of his ten million dollar fortune was bequeathed to his parents) appeared on as many talk shows and primetime news slots as possible, pleading to the American people to help find Dennis’s killer.
“Someone out there knows who this young woman is,” his mom had said one evening, holding up a blurry image of an African American female with a scarf on her head, strolling into the hotel with Dennis. “If you’re protecting her you are protecting a criminal and nothing more. It is shameful, anyone who would do such a thing.”
At that point Dennis’s mother was overcome with emotion and fell into the embrace of her husband. Their interviews resulted in hundreds of tips pouring into the national crime hotline, with mostly false claims spanning from the girl being an assassin sent on behalf of the Illuminati and the killer actually being Dennis’s down and out, disgruntled, long lost sister. One of the only tips that did pan out was of a claim that a truck driver had spotted the mystery girl walking along the interstate just hours after the incident was said to have occurred. Similar sightings seemed to back this claim all the way into New Mexico before the trail went cold.
Authors, news anchors, fans, and average citizens also debated the case in online forums, these discussions more constructive though still resulted in theories such as Dennis having a hit put on him by the Mexican mob. It was better than theories such as the illuminati, but less likely than the most common theory of Dennis picking up a prostitute and getting killed over a dispute over payment.
The picture of the girl with the scarf over her head was disseminated to every media outlet and social media website in hopes of finding someone who knew who the mystery girl was or where she was going to be. This, however, resulted in no usable leads and after two months jokes started to pop up on internet sites of Dennis Ridge having been murdered by a ghost. The picture of the girl existed in one black and white video from the hotel camera, the footage merely showing her enter the hotel with Dennis and leaving alone. Investigators estimated her height to be somewhere between five-seven and five-nine and her age between seventeen and forty. This obviously did little to narrow the search, and as the story of the girl faded, so did the story of Dennis Ridge’s murder.
Dennis Ridge had passed away with six books published and three more novels queued for publishing over the next year and a half. The sales of previous works skyrocketed, netting the late Dennis Ridge and the publishing company an estimated $125,000,000 in a three year span. He was immediately propelled into the ranks of the top ten most popular authors of the last twenty years, compared to the likes of Stephen King and J.K. Rowling by a wide range of book enthusiasts. The movie rights for two unpublished books, A Night of Dime’s Work, and Basher Town were purchased for a whopping $2,000,000 apiece. Dennis Ridge was indeed a martyr, and where his books were once shelved by customers, they were now purchased after a brief glance, and read in earnest. Glowing reviews came in by the dozens, one man stating Dennis Ridge’s uncanny attention to scene decoration coupled with an understanding of human behavior are without equal; he fuses elements in story as well as candy makers fuse sugar for treats, was a fan favorite.
And as Dennis’s legacy grew so did the mythology surrounding his life and untimely death. But cartels, mob bosses, disgruntled relatives, and countless other theories were discredited in large part by social media. Versha Mitchell, a multi-millionaire business woman running for Congress made a suggestion when asked on the two year anniversary of Dennis’s murder, about celebrity worship and its inherent dangers.
“Well…it’s hard to say,” Versha Mitchell stated, “whether the celebrity being worshipped or the person doing the worshipping is the one in more danger. Celebrities have influence.”
“Do you believe the late author Dennis Ridge was a victim of celebrity worship?” Charlie Rose had asked. “There are people that believe he was murdered by an obsessed fan.”
Versha Mitchell shook her head. “I consider that a possibility. But since you brought it up there is one thing I don’t believe law-enforcement has looked into in regards to this case, and that’s whether this woman is deceased. She couldn’t have had much money, she couldn’t have been that well connected. The obvious tends to stand unnoticed in the face of the majority.”
Charlie Rose nodded. “That is an interesting point, Mrs. Mitchell. The case of Mr. Ridge is indeed sad, both for the fans and the parents who still don’t have an answer for what happened to their son two years ago.”
“I couldn’t imagine.”
“How many kids do you have Ms. Mitchell?”
Versha’s expression brightened. “Three and a fourth one on the way.”
“And how old?”
“Seventeen, twelve, and three. Two girls, one boy.”
“And you still look amazing for a woman in her late thirties if you don’t mind me saying. You want to tell your supporters how you manage that?”
“Healthy eating, exercise, uh…having kids. Good kids keep you younger and I have the best. Hobbies to deal with stress.”
“Thank you for your time Mrs. Mitchell.”
“Thank you Charlie.”