Front Page Love

by Paige Lee Elliston

  That weekend—five days after she’d gone to Tozek’s pond with Danny—Julie sat outside her kitchen in a lawn chair, drinking iced tea and listening halfheartedly to a news show on her transistor radio. The crunch of tires on the stones in her driveway pulled her to her feet just as the gleaming snout of Ken’s cruiser eased behind the house. She was genuinely pleased to see him. When she’d played her answering machine tape back the day before, there had been a “just wanted to say hi” call from him. She hadn’t returned the call yet.

  Ken stopped behind the house and shut off his engine but kept his radio operating. “On duty,” he smiled as Julie approached the car. “I don’t want to miss a call.”

  Julie stood at the driver’s window. “Good to see you, Ken.”

  “Good to see you too. You busy?”

  Julie smiled. “Not at the moment. What brings you by when you’re on duty?”

  The smile left his face. “Actually,” he said, “I’m here on business tonight. Both yours and mine. Can you get in the car for a minute? I really don’t want to leave my radio.”

  Intrigued, Julie walked around the car to the passenger side. Ken leaned across the bench seat and shoved the door open. Julie settled in and met Ken’s eyes. “What’s up?”

  “I think . . .” He hesitated. “I think I have a story for you. A big one. But I don’t want to put you on the spot. And I certainly don’t want to louse up what’s becoming a great relationship.”

  “It has been good,” Julie agreed carefully. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about—the story for me, I mean.”

  “Do you want to hear about it? It’d have to be totally confidential for a short time, but there’s no one in the world I’d rather see write the story when it breaks. Like I said, it’s a big one.”

  “Of course I’m interested. It’s my job to be interested. But if there’s a confidentiality issue, maybe this isn’t something I should be involved in.”

  “It is an issue, but just for a little while longer. Everything is pretty much in place. A few days and the whole mess can go public. Can you trust me on that?”

  “If you can trust me to keep whatever this is quiet until you give me the go-ahead. I admit I’m interested—intrigued may be a better word.”

  “OK,” Ken said. He reached under the seat of his car and pulled out an eight-by-ten-inch manila envelope. “My PI skills are apparently still in good shape,” he said, “and so is the little Nikon I used back then. Take a look.” He handed the envelope to Julie.

  She opened the clasp and withdrew several black-and-white photographs. The first one showed Chief of Police Ross Craig standing next to a pair of bikers. The cyclists were Hell’s Angels types, hairy, dirty, their bare arms covered with tattoos. One of them was holding a paper-wrapped package about the size of a brick, obviously handing it to the chief.

  The second photo was a grainy night shot of Ross Craig entering the back door of the Bulldogger and carrying a large briefcase. Rick Castle held the door open from the inside.

  Julie flipped through the rest of the pictures. They were more of the same: Craig with the bikers, Castle and Craig together behind the Bulldogger, Craig’s personal car—a new Buick—with Castle removing a package from its open trunk.

  “You’ve been busy, Ken,” Julie said.

  “Those packages contain methamphetamines. Craig is crooked, and I can prove it.”

  “How? These photos are good, but I don’t know that alone they can establish that something illegal’s going on. Or can they? You’re the expert here.”

  “You’re right,” Ken said. “Taken alone, the pictures don’t tell the whole story. But what happened last night does. Craig dropped one of the packages on the pavement behind the Bulldogger, and it wasn’t wrapped well. Some of the powder was left on the pavement. I have that on film that I haven’t developed yet. I used a Chem-Kit and tested the powder I scraped up later. It was positive for meth. I called in a Montana state trooper friend, and he tested it too, with the same result.”

  “Whew. Sounds like you’ve got it covered. What’s going to happen next?”

  “Surveillance until the next delivery. Then, we grab Craig, Castle, and a few others from inside the bar—the bartender for one, and some of the losers who hang there for questioning.”

  “Whew,” Julie repeated. “Look—I promised confidentiality, but there’s something else you should know.” She took a breath. “Nancy—my boss at the News-Express—has been looking at Ross Craig for a couple of months. I don’t know what she has, but I think you need to talk to her.”

  “I’ll certainly do that. There’s no such thing as a case that’s too strong.”

  “There’s one other thing,” Julie continued. “Craig pulled me over a few months ago on a phony broken taillight bit. He warned me away from the Bulldogger and from Rick Castle. I didn’t do anything about it then . . .”

  “Why didn’t you come to me about it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I figured it was just better to lay low. I knew Nancy was looking at him—and I figured it was just Craig showing me how big and tough he was. Now, with what you’ve found out, it’s all different.”

  “Yeah. It sure is.” He thought for a moment. “Would you testify about what happened that day?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  Ken nodded. “A trial could get messy. I’m sure Craig and Castle will get some heavy legal representation to try to beat this thing. They’ll try to make you look like a miffed reporter out to get a sensational story.”

  “I guess I wouldn’t be much of a journalist—or much of a person, for that matter—if I let some lawyer scare me off.” She thought for a moment. “But I need your permission to discuss what you’ve told me and shown me with Nancy Lewis.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that, unless . . .”

  A hiss of static from the cruiser’s radio was followed by a voice stating something Julie couldn’t understand. Ken grabbed the microphone from the dashboard.

  “Dispatch. Four-ten.”

  Julie was able to pick up the words “in progress” among the number codes from the dispatcher, but that was all.

  “Ten-four,” Ken said. He turned to her. “Gotta run, Julie. Will you be up at 11:30 or so? I’ll be off at 11:00, and we need to talk a little more.”

  “I’ll be up. See you then,” Julie said as she opened her door hurriedly and stepped out of the car.

  Ken didn’t waste any time responding to the radio call. His tires hurled cinders and dirt as he sped down the driveway, and they screeched over the howl of his engine when he reached the road. In a moment, his siren began whooping.

  When the night was quiet again, Julie went into her kitchen and took her place at the table.

  He knows how important this story could be to the News-Express. It would go statewide and quite possibly hit the nationals. It’d be the biggest feature since Nancy came on board—and the most important story I’ve ever written. Ken took a big chance on me. If I run my mouth off too soon, he’ll be certain to lose a job he loves. Handing over investigations of pending cases to reporters isn’t something cops do if they want to keep working in law enforcement.

  She got up and walked to the counter. Preparing a pot of coffee had as much to do with keeping her hands busy as actually wanting a cup.

  Would I risk my job to help Ken Townsend? The coffee was perking, but Julie was too lost in her internal monologue to pay any attention to it. Probably not, unless . . . unless what? How do I feel about Ken? He’s important to me—perhaps much more important than he realizes. He’s good to me. He cares about me, and I think he could love me.

  Is Danny on my mind too much for me to really think straight about Ken? I’ve known Danny for more than three years and Ken for a few months. But—so what? I’ve known Louie Sciortino at Louie’s Market longer than I’ve known Danny, and I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with Louie. Julie couldn’t help smiling at that thought.

  Butc
her Leaves Wife of 40 Years

  For Wimpy, Indecisive Reporter

  Her laugh brought her back to her kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee and took it outside and turned her lawn chair to face directly west. The sun was setting with a wave of such vivid color across the horizon that the sight pushed Danny, Ken, and the Craig story out of her mind. The colors were so rich and opulent that she could almost taste them.

  The respite was a welcome one, but it was too short to offer Julie any real relief. The men in her life again took over her thoughts as she sat in the burgeoning darkness with her cup of coffee cooling and forgotten in her hand.

  Almost a week had passed since the day at the pond. Danny hadn’t called or come to see her. Wasn’t that a perfect indication of his feelings toward her? Didn’t that tell her that she was better off without him? And wasn’t it true that she’d had more than a passing interest in Ken since the day she met him?

  Still . . . I really laid into Danny last week. Maybe he’s feeling that I’ve completely shut the door on him, on anything that could happen between us. She shook her head slightly, ruefully. The eternal question all modern women seem to end up facing at one time or another: should I call him, talk with him, see what can be salvaged? Maybe so, she admitted to herself. After a moment, she added the thought, Not maybe so—definitely so. But not this minute, not right now. Soon, but not right now.

  Julie carried her coffee inside and dumped it in the sink. She wandered to her living room and clicked on her old TV set. As usual, there was nothing worth watching—or at least nothing that caught her attention enough to pull her out of her brooding. She turned the set off and stretched out on the couch to stare up at the ceiling.

  “Julie?” a voice suddenly called from outside the kitchen door. “Julie? You here?”

  She straightened quickly and swung her feet to the floor. “Come on in, Ken—I’m in the living room.” She ran her hands through her hair, which seemed to have formed into a sort of flying wedge on the right side. She sighed.

  Ken came into the room. He’d changed out of his uniform and looked good in jeans, a polo shirt, and western boots.

  “I must’ve dozed off,” Julie said a bit groggily. “What time is it?”

  “Twenty after eleven.” He looked closely at her. “What happened to your hair?” It was easy enough to see that he was trying to swallow a smile.

  Julie leaped up from the couch and dashed up the stairs to the bathroom. “You’re never supposed to say ‘What happened to your hair?’ to a woman!” she called over her shoulder.

  “I didn’t mean that it was unattractive,” Ken called up the steps. “I just . . .”

  She kicked the bathroom door shut as she dragged her brush through her hair and giggled at her image in the mirror. Even when he’s teasing me, this guy makes me laugh.

  When Julie came down the stairs, Ken was still standing, not pacing but obviously tense. Julie crossed the room to the couch and sat. “Sit, Ken—you’re nervous enough to make me nervous.”

  “Yeah. I know it.” He walked to the love seat adjacent to the couch and dropped into it. In a moment, he was on his feet again, and looked as if he were about to fly apart.

  “What is it? Was that call you got a bad one? I’ve never seen you so—”

  “No—it sounded like trouble from the dispatcher, but when I got there it was a couple of kids throwing off leftover firecrackers from the Fourth of July. It was called in to the PD as gunfire.”

  “OK, then,” Julie said. “We need to talk about what we discussed earlier.”

  Ken started pacing the floor. “Everything’s in place. The day after tomorrow Craig is supposed to bring in another haul. We’ve had an undercover sliding in and out of the Bulldogger, and he’s sure of it. Craig and Castle and those other punks are going down.” He stopped in front of Julie and met her eyes. “I know I’m like a kid on Christmas Eve, but I want this very badly. There’s something about a dirty cop that makes me sick.”

  “Of course you want it, Ken—so do I. Sit down, OK? Tell me how you managed to put this thing together.”

  Ken sat on the edge of the love seat. “I figured out early that there was something wrong about Craig. I saw his Blazer behind the Bulldogger a few times while I was on patrol. He just bought a new Bass-Buster fishing boat that he’s been keeping under a cover behind his garage. I checked with the dealer. He paid cash. That’s kind of hard to do on a cop’s pay in Coldwater—even on a chief’s pay. Plus, he’s driving that new Buick—says it’s his wife’s—even though he has use of the cruiser assigned to him. I suppose it’s remotely possible that he saved up the money or inherited it or something, but I can’t buy that at all.”

  Ken’s gaze fixed on Julie as he spoke. “I started to follow Craig during some of my off hours. I’m very good as a tail—good enough so that even a longtime cop wouldn’t be aware that he was being followed. I saw Craig meet with the bikers a couple of times, and I got the pictures I showed you. The big thing, of course, is actually catching these guys in the act, and we’ll do that.”

  Ken smiled. “In fact, we’ll be doing it on camera. A trooper is going to be in that warehouse that backs up to the rear of the Bulldogger with a video setup.”

  “I’ve got to be there, Ken—with the video guy.”

  Again, Ken smiled. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that. It’s safe—I wouldn’t even talk to you about it if it weren’t. I talked to the team, and they agree that having a press person there to observe and to write the story would lock the whole thing up perfectly. So—you’re on the team.”

  Julie’s mind raced. “I’ve got to talk to Nancy first thing tomorrow. I can’t just go ahead with this without informing her. But Ken—this is a terrific opportunity for me and for the News-Express. Thanks.”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t have it any other way—especially after Craig’s attempt to intimidate you. This could be very big for me too, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ken broke eye contact and suddenly seemed to find the floor directly in front of him very interesting. “I can’t say any more at this point about that,” he said.

  “OK, that’s fine.” She stood. “It’s kind of late for coffee, but I have iced tea and diet soda. Can I get you anything?”

  Ken glanced at his watch. “No thanks—I’m on days starting tomorrow, and 5:30 comes awfully early. Walk me out to my car?”

  It was a starlit night with a three-quarter moon. Ken took Julie’s hand as they walked to the cruiser. His palm felt good against hers. A coyote yelped off to the east somewhere, but beyond that, the night was silent—and, of course, hot.

  Rather than opening his door, Ken leaned against it, still holding Julie’s hand. “Well . . .” he said. “Good night, Julie.” He didn’t release her hand.

  “’Night, Ken,” Julie said quietly.

  Then, they were kissing—not hungrily and not quickly, but almost in slow motion. They each stepped forward half a step, and Ken put his arm around Julie’s shoulders as her free hand found the back of his neck and her fingers moved through his hair. It was a warm and gentle kiss, close and sweet and innocent.

  They separated as slowly as they’d come together. There was no embarrassment and no self-consciousness to the moment. It was their first kiss together and seemed to Julie to be a culmination of the good times, the long talks, the mutual trust they’d shared. Ken released her hand, touched her face with his fingertips for the briefest of moments, and opened his door. The huge engine muttered to life, and the cruiser backed away from Julie.

  “You should’ve told me about Craig stopping you, Julie,” Nancy Lewis said. Her desk, as usual, was bare except for her prized Mt. Blanc fountain pen and a fresh legal pad.

  “I know you’re right,” Julie said. “But that was the same day you told me Craig and Castle were off limits to me. I documented the whole traffic stop because I knew that I’d need to tell you about it eventually. I guess . . . well, I guess I thought it was a bi
g-frog, small-pond thing. Craig showing me what a macho supercop he was. As a journalist, I should’ve known better.” After a couple of seconds she added, “But there was no way in the world I could prove that it actually happened. My word against the chief of police.”

  Nancy’s telephone buzzed. She punched a button and said, “Please, Elisha—no calls until Julie and I are finished. Thanks.” She replaced the receiver.

  “Valid point,” Nancy allowed. “Officer Townsend called me late last night—very late—and we talked about what’s happening,” she said. “I’ll admit that I might have thought he was a disgruntled new-hire, a guy who didn’t like his boss. Then he told me about the pictures and the involvement of the troopers and the takedown scheduled for tomorrow night.” She leaned back in her chair. “Incidentally, Officer Townsend didn’t mention Craig stopping you. Even so, Townsend’s information filled in some holes in what I’ve developed through my sources over the last couple of months. It’s abundantly clear that Ross Craig is selling drugs he buys from that motorcycle gang through Rick Castle and the Bulldogger.”

  “Being caught in the act will put the lid on the whole affair,” Julie pointed out. “That’s why it’s important that I be there, Nancy—in the warehouse with the video guy.”

  Nancy sighed. “These things can fall apart in a big hurry. We’re not dealing with nice people here. I don’t know . . .”

  Julie leaned forward toward Nancy. “Thanks to you, we have terrific Internet access. Lexis-Nexis, all that. When the system was first up, I ran your name. Several years ago, when you were still a reporter, you went undercover and bought an African lion from a bunch of un-nice people who were importing protected animals illegally and—”

  Nancy laughed heartily, and her face colored the slightest bit. “I haven’t thought about that story in years,” she said. “The paper I was writing for had me accompany the lion back to Africa, where he was set free. Great story,” she mused.