Scoop

by Rene Gutteridge

  This morning, she detailed plans for an evangelistic outreach they were putsting together for the Christmas season. They would take fliers door to door in the surrounding neighborhoods, announcing crusade “their” would be held at a nearby park. People needed to bring blankets and lawn chairs, but hot cocoa, cider, and cookies would be provided. There would be live music, a message, and a skit.

  Ray looked around while Lydia droned on and on. Half the class was listening; the other half was observing their doughnuts or their coffee or both.

  Ray had hardly slept the night before. His date with Hayden and her sister after Trent bolted left him confused. How could he feel so at peace with a woman who continued to surprise him and put him on edge? She was never safe to be around. She continued to challenge his faith and the way he thought it was supposed to be done. The thing was, it wasn’t like Hayden was thinking about it or trying to evangelize him or even make a point. It was just who she was. She never thought about the implications or the fallout. There was something refreshing and terrifying about that. On one hand, Ray knew exactly where Hayden stood, and he didn’t have to worry about finding out about a hidden side to her. It was all out in the open. On the other hand, Ray knew that a certain part of him felt embarrassed to be around her, afraid of what she might say to him or to someone else. Yet he was certain he’d never met a nicer or more sincere person.

  These thoughts kept him tossing and turning all night. And now, during doughnut, coffee, and announcement time, they kept him fidgety. He stood to get a new stirrer and pour himself a little more coffee. Most at the singles group knew him as Ray, the soft-spoken newsreporter, though no one could ever remember what station he worked for. Probably because nobody ever watched his station.

  A few asked about the stitches across his forehead when he arrived and mentioned they’d heard something about a reporter getting attacked. But that was it.

  He felt compelled to speak up. Why? Why couldn’t he just sit here, uninvolved as usual?

  Just keep quiet about it, he told himself. There was no reason to say anything. Why would he say anything? What would compel him to—

  “I have a thought.”

  The entire room turned to look at him by the coffee and doughnut table, surprise on their faces. Lydia looked unsure as to what to do when someone interrupted her carefully planned speech. Her mouth hung open in midsentence.

  “I’m just asking a question here. But maybe we’re going about this wrong. I mean, we do these crusades, and we usually get about five homeless people and a few relatives.”

  “You have another idea?” asked Glen the class president.

  Ray shrugged. “It’s not so much an idea as a…a…” He set down his coffee. “Look, its like this. This girl at my work, she’s kind of—I don’t know—radical I guess you could say. She holds nothing back. She just says it how it is, and she’s compelled to tell everyone about her faith. In a way it’s kind of obnoxious and unnerving.” Ray laughed at some of his memories. “But at the same time, she’s turning people on their heads. They don’t know what to do with her, but they have to address her, you know? Or at least what she’s saying to them. With no problem, she just looks at you and speaks the truth.”

  Glen said, “Where, exactly, did she learn this technique?”

  Lydia said, “I bet she learned it from a Rick Warren book.”

  “It’s not from a book,” Ray said, but everyone started jumping in.

  “Well, if it’s not from Beth Moore, I’m just not sure that it’s right for me,” said Jenna. “I really connect with her teachings.”

  “Didn’t Max Lucado write a book about that?” someone else asked.

  “If you have to do it in forty days, I’m not in,” added another. “A week works better with my schedule.”

  Ray waved his hands for everyone to stop. “People, there’s not a manual for this. It’s just who she is. She believes so deeply in what she’s saying that she doesn’t think it’s strange to be saying it.”

  “Saying what?” Glen asked.

  Ray tried to get his thoughts together so he would sound like he was making sense. “It’s kind of hard to explain, but she’s always talking about God to anyone who will listen, and she’s always praying for people. She’s concerned for people, even those who aren’t concerned for her. She makes me feel…uncomfortable.”

  “Wait a minute,” Glen said. “That doesn’t sound like anything we’d be interested in. Remember, our whole objective is to connect to people. That’s why we go to their homes and leave door-hangers. We want them to understand were coming to them.”

  “And what exactly does she do once she’s offended them?” someone else asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ray said. “I don’t think she thinks about it.”

  “See, there’s the problem,” Glen said. “You can’t just go up to someone, with no idea about their past, and start preaching to them.”

  “She doesn’t really preach. It’s more like—”

  “At my work,” Liza, a loan officer, began, “we’re not allowed to have any religious symbols on our desk or our clothes. So I have to get really creative. One day I lined my sticky notes up in the form of a cross.” She snickered. “Nobody caught on! I was sure I would get caught, but my boss walked right up to my desk and didn’t even notice.”

  Glen said, “Look, Ray, if you make people feel uncomfortable, why would they want to come back? We have to show them how much we love and care for them, that we accept them, you know?”

  Ray sighed. Why couldn’t he explain this? It was like trying to capture the wind. Nobody got what he was trying to say.

  “She’s just made me think,” he finally said. “Maybe we need to think about getting out of our comfort zone a little, that’s all.”

  Glen smiled and started passing out fliers. “Exactly, Ray. That’s why we offer this crusade every year. We are getting out of our comfort zone. Everyone knows how uncomfortable it is to go into neighborhoods alone.”

  “That’s why we go in pairs,” said Liza.

  Ray grabbed a second doughnut and went back to his chair.

  Pulling into his apartment complex, Ray saw Roarke waiting on the stairs for him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you, dude,” he said, standing.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Not long. I knew you were at church.” He moved aside so Ray could climb the stairs and unlock his door.

  “Come on in,” he invited. “You want to order pizza?”

  “I’m not hungry,” Roarke said. “How was your date?”

  Ray joined him on the couch. “It was nothing like what I expected.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  Ray laughed. “It ended up being a good thing. I met her sister.”

  “Really? There are more Hazards out there?”

  “A lot more. Her sister’s name is Mack, and they’re like night and night.”

  “Huh.” Roarke chuckled. “So, do you have chemistry?”

  “I think so,” Ray said. “I think I really like her. She’s nothing like anyone I ever pictured myself with. But she challenges me, you know? Makes me reexamine everything I ever thought to be right and true.”

  “Plus, she’s hot.”

  “But not in a ‘this room’s stuffy’ sort of way.”

  Roarke laughed. “I wonder what got into Sam Friday night.”

  Ray shook his head, clamping his mouth shut. Then Ray noticed Roarke reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out four envelopes. “Here,” he said, handing them to Ray.

  “What are these?”

  “I found them. I think they’re from Mr. Green.”

  Ray looked at the unopened envelopes, then at Roarke. “Are these for real?”

  “Look authentic to me. They’re postmarked a few weeks apart from each other, sent to the station. First one about three months ago. There’s no address, but in the corner it says ‘P.G.’”

  “Where di
d you find these?”

  Roarke suddenly developed an interest in the television—which was off.

  “Roarke?”

  “In her condo,” he mumbled. “This morning.”

  “You went to her condo this morning?”

  “I was looking for her, okay? I’m worried. I think something has happened to her.”

  “You broke into her condo?”

  “I didn’t go crashing through the glass, if that’s what you mean. I picked the lock on her deck door. Nearly killed myself trying to get over the wall there. But anyway, there’s no sign of her. Her place looked like nobody had been there in days.”

  “Roarke, you can’t just go snooping around someone’s home!”

  “I wasn’t snooping. I came across those letters when I looked in her desk drawer.”

  “That’s snooping.”

  “Snooping is when you’re looking for something of someone’s that you know they shouldn’t have. I was looking for any evidence that Gilda might be okay.”

  Ray sighed and looked at the letters. “I don’t know if I should open these.”

  “So you’d rather stick with interviewing yourself about how you got beaten up by this man?”

  “I fell and hit my head.”

  “Whatever you say. It’s your decision. Do whatever you want with them.” Roarke rose from the couch and walked to the door. “Glad your date went well, man.”

  “Thanks.” Ray couldn’t tear his gaze from the envelopes.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweeps week, here we come,” Roarke said. “I have a good feeling this time.”

  Ray glanced at him. “You do?”

  “Yeah. Something tells me we’re going to be the station to watch.”

  Roarke left and Ray clutched the envelopes. Then he opened the first letter.

  Chapter 23

  Hugo came in early Monday to gear up for sweeps week without their top anchor. He listened to his voice mail, and one of the messages was from Julia Richter, who called to let Hugo know that she’d gotten her teeth replaced and should be ready to go tonight.

  But the rest of the voice mail messages, from viewers and station personnel alike, were about how much they liked Hayden Hazard. His e-mail in-box was full of the same. So what was he to do? Use Hayden all week? Part of the week? Bet his entire career that she didn’t just get lucky Friday night?

  His phone rang and he snatched it up to grab a break from the relentless thoughts that plowed through his mind. “Hello?”

  “Hugo, what are you doing at work?” asked Jane.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t normally go in until noon or one.”

  “It’s sweeps week, Jane. Everyone comes in early and works full days.”

  He could hear the huffiness in her voice. “Well, you were supposed to do laundry this morning. I called to tell you not to wash that green blouse, that I need to take it to the dry cleaner.”

  “I’ll do laundry later. You know how important sweeps week is.”

  “I know.” But her voice sounded distant.

  Hugo blew a huge sigh into the phone. He hoped it sounded like rushing wind in her ear.

  He glanced out his glass wall to make sure nobody lingered outside. “Jane, I don’t think our little arrangement is working out all that well. Sure, there’s a parent home for Kaylin at every waking moment, but what about us? We never see each other except on the weekends, when we’re exhausted. And you know what? I don’t like doing laundry. I hate doing laundry. When I have time off, you know what I want to do? Play golf! Or get a newspaper and read it on the couch. Not while I’m waiting for the dryer buzzer.”

  She gasped. “Hugo, what has gotten into you?”

  “I’m simply telling you that I’m forty-six years old and I want to feel like a man, like I have some control over my household and that I have a wife who understands why I need that.”

  “Seriously, Hugo,” she said, her tone low, “are you on something? Are you doing drugs?”

  “I’m not on drugs…” Hugo glanced at the pill bottle in his half-open desk drawer. “Listen to me, just for a minute. Really.”

  “Fine,” she said tardy.

  “What if you quit your job?”

  “What?”

  “Listen!” Hugo barked, then tried a calmer voice. “Just listen.”

  “My husbands gone mad,” he heard her whisper away from the phone, then she returned. “Fine, I’m listening.”

  “Jane, we’re running our household like a corporation. We clock in and out, and we’re so scheduled that we hardly resemble a family anymore. When was the last time we had a home-cooked meal?”

  “Saturday morning.”

  Hugo rolled his eyes. Why was he even trying to explain? He took a deep breath and tried again. “Jane, maybe we can trade in the Suburban for a car. There’s only three of us. We can make it on one income.”

  “How do you figure that?” she snapped. “We can barely pay our bills as it is.”

  “We just make cuts. We do without some things. We don’t have to go to Hawaii every year. Why not go to the Ozarks, or stay around the city and go to the movies? Get rid of the digital cable that we hardly ever watch. Share a cell—”

  “Hugo,” she said, concern in her tone, “are you having a midlife crisis?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “I’m not saying any of this is your fault.”

  “This is not my fault!”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “You just want me to quit my job and stay home and be your little housewife?”

  “I’ll quit my job then.”

  Hugo wasn’t even sure if he’d said that out loud, but judging by the deep breathing he heard on the other end of the phone, it must’ve made its way out of his mouth.

  “You’ll quit your job? Is that what you said?”

  Hugo wasn’t sure he meant that exactly. Maybe he knew he’d be fired, so he was just beating Chad to the punch. But then again, why not take a lesser job? Why not go back to being a regular old producer instead of the executive producer? All he did was worry, all of the time, about everything. Why not be a stay-at-home dad and cook breakfast every morning?

  “Hello?” Jane’s voice crackled through the phone.

  “I’m here.”

  “Is that what you said?”

  Hugo’s voice was soft. “Maybe we just need to rework some things, you know? Maybe I could take a less demanding job. Maybe you could work out of the house.”

  There was total silence on the phone now, and Hugo couldn’t even hear Jane breathing or whispering to co-workers.

  “Listen,” he finally said, “let’s just leave this up in the air right now. We can think about it, talk about it, maybe—”

  Click.

  Hugo held the receiver up against his ear, hoping she would come back, but the phone was still dead.

  Then he heard another click, and his office door opened. It was Ray Duffey.

  “I’ll get back to you,” Hugo said and hung up the phone. “Yes, Mr. Duffey?”

  Ray closed the door and looked like something was bothering him. “Can we talk?”

  Hugo gestured to the chair. “It’s sweeps week, so this had better be important.”

  “It is, sir.”

  “All right. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s about the water treatment plant explosion.”

  “What about it?”

  “You’ve got Jill covering the story, sir, and I think that’s a mistake.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t think she’s really getting to the bottom of it.”

  “She has two great eyewitness interviews. What’s not good about that?”

  “She had two other eyewitnesses. We don’t need anymore eyewitnesses. We need the truth.”

  Ray paused. “A source at the police department told me that Howard Crumm was suspected but never convicted of embezzlement.”

  “Who is Howard Crumm?”

 
“The director of the sewage plant.”

  “I’ve never heard of him. We didn’t get any interviews with him.”

  “That’s because he had his deputy director answer all the media questions. Nobody thought much about it. Everyone was focused on casualties. But I think Crumm didn’t want his name out there.”

  “When did you find this out?”

  Ray hesitated, wanting to tell him that he’d tried to give Jill the info and she wouldn’t take it. “After Jill ran her story. But if you give me the assignment, I’ll run with it. I think there’s a lot more to this story than meets the eye.”

  “So the director has a possible criminal history. What does that have to do with the explosion?” Hugo turned toward his computer, pretending to scan an important e-mail, but he couldn’t get Jane off his mind. She had never—not once—hung up on him.

  “Seemingly nothing, except…well, I’ve uncovered more evidence.”

  Hugo’s phone rang again and he snatched it up, praying it was Jane.

  “Hugo, it’s Captain Wynn.”

  “Captain, what can I do for you?” Hugo asked. He couldn’t ever remember the captain calling him before. Usually he dealt with the reporters.

  “It’s about Gilda Braun.”

  “What about her?”

  “She hasn’t turned up over the weekend, and I now believe there is foul play involved.”

  “What?” Hugo looked at Ray, who curiously listened. “Why do you say that?”

  “I sent some men over there this morning to see if she was home. Someone had picked the lock to her back door.”

  “Someone went into her home this weekend?”

  “It appears that way. The lock was intact Friday.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I think we need to open this up as a criminal investigation.”

  “Okay…” Hugo’s mind spun.

  “You should probably send a reporter out here.”