The Preditorial Page

by Lee, Amanda M.

  Fish furrowed his brow. “What would you say?”

  “Oh, he’s pissed.”

  Fish sighed. “Like he’s going to call-me-and-bitch pissed or like he’s going to be mean-to-you-in-public pissed?”

  I considered the question for a moment. “Probably both.”

  “Great.”

  “Hey, we’re the only ones that are going to have the story.”

  “What do you have?” Fish was annoyed, but a scoop is a scoop.

  I told him what Dr. Riley had told me and took a step back to wait for my accolades. They weren’t immediately forthcoming.

  “That’s not a lot.”

  “That’s more than anyone else.”

  “It’s just one source.”

  “I got some neighbor reactions, too,.” I added. Well, Eliot had managed to get me some neighbor reactions, but I didn’t mention that. I was still a little peeved that I had needed him to flirt with an ice princess to get what I wanted.

  “It’s better than nothing,” Fish agreed. “It would be better if we knew who she was.”

  “They don’t even know who she is yet,” I pointed out.

  “Write it up,” Fish said. “I’ll change around the front page and give you the top slot. We don’t have art, so you can’t have the centerpiece.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “We can run a headshot of Riley with it if we need art.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “When are you going to realize that every idea I have is a good one?” I teased.

  Fish rolled his eyes. “When you have more than one a week.”

  I’m fairly certain the banter had turned to insult, but I decided to ignore it. “We’ll know more at the news conference tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” Fish agreed. “Oh, wait, I have another story for you tomorrow.”

  “No, I have this story,” I countered. Fish assignments were always a mixed bag. With my luck, he would try to send me to the performing arts center to do a story on the senior pageant show again. That had been a particularly brutal punishment assigned to me the last time an elected official came in to complain about my attitude. Let’s just say I’m “punished” on a semi-regular basis these days because the politicians in this county have absolutely no sense of humor.

  “The news conference probably won’t be until the afternoon,” Fish answered firmly. “You’ll probably be able to swing both.”

  “And if they’re at the same time?” I was trying to keep the tinny tone often associated with whining out of my voice. Fish hates it when I whine.

  “Then I’ll send someone else to the sheriff’s department,” Fish replied succinctly.

  “This is my story.” So much for not whining.

  “And it will remain your story,” Fish said. “You still have to go to another assignment tomorrow.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I need you to go down to the city.”

  “Detroit? You know I hate Detroit.”

  “What do you like?”

  “I like this story.” I smiled, hoping to force him into seeing my obvious wisdom. “So why don’t you leave me on this story?”

  “You like stories that you sniff out,” Fish countered. “You can’t always have your way, though.”

  Since when? And who decided on that cockamamie rule? I decided to try a different tactic. “It’s always more cohesive when a reporter follows a story from its beginning to its ending.”

  “That’s very pragmatic of you,” Fish said, his eyes never leaving his computer screen and the story he was editing.

  “Thank you.” Hah! I win again.

  “You’re still going to Detroit.”

  Crap. “Fine. When and where?”

  “The news conference starts at 9 a.m.”

  Blech. “Where?”

  “Old Tiger Stadium.”

  Well, that was weird. “I thought they tore that thing down?” I’m not a big baseball fan. Eliot and I had gone to a couple of games this past summer, but they were at the newer Comerica Park. At least they had good beer and hot dogs. It’s still a boring sport.

  “It’s only been partially torn down, and that project is on hold. That’s why you’re going down there.”

  “What are they doing? Some feel good inner-city camp or something?” I’m being punished. I could feel it.

  “They’re filming a movie.”

  Well, that was slightly more interesting. “On what?”

  Fish finally turned to me incredulously. “What kind of movie do you think they’d be filming in an abandoned ballpark?”

  I don’t like being talked down to -- although sometimes I earn it. Okay, I earn it almost every time. “A football movie?”

  “You’re not funny.”

  I sighed resolutely. “So they’re filming a baseball movie in Tiger Stadium. And why do I have to go?”

  “Because I want you to.”

  There was definitely more to this story. “And why do you want me to?”

  Fish rolled his eyes tiredly. “Because I don’t want Crumb to do it.”

  And there it is. Caleb Crumb, the paper’s “religion” editor. He’s really just a 65-year-old features writer with this bumbling persona that pretty much eliminates him from any hard news scenario that the county can cook up.

  He was given the religion beat a few years ago to keep him out of everyone’s way. I think the straw that broke the camel’s back -- or Fish’s back, really -- was when Crumb came back from a city council meeting without a story. When questioned about the turn of events, his response had been pretty blasé: “City Hall burned down, so the meeting was cancelled.”

  The fact that he didn’t have any information about the city administration building burning down wasn’t lost on anyone in the room -- except for Crumb.

  After that, he took over the county fair and pageant beat. That ended pretty quickly, though, when the big editor became aware of the fact that Crumb was bilking these fairs out of enough food goods to fill his trunk. It was exacerbated by the fact that he also asked every pageant winner he interviewed her measurements. Yeah, mothers today don’t find creepy old men asking their daughters how big their bras are very entertaining. Go figure.

  Since then, he’d been allowed to do whatever he wanted at area churches because he had too many years in to just eliminate his position and he refused every effort to entice him to retire.

  His only other love -- besides every Catholic Church in the county (apparently other religions don’t exist in Crumb’s world) -- was the Detroit Tigers. Maybe I wasn’t the one being punished after all.

  “So this is a dig at Caleb?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a dig … .”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Your story,” Fish replied forcefully.

  “Fine,” I sighed. “Is anyone good going to be at this news conference?”

  “Good?” Fish lifted an eyebrow.

  “Like a hot movie star.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Did you even look at the news release?”

  “Yup,” Fish smiled. “Caleb handed it to me, I looked at it, and then I told him you would be covering it.”

  I frowned. “You told him I would be covering it? You just did that so I would be mean to him.”

  “Why would you be mean to him?” Fish asked, his faux innocence not exactly what I would call convincing.

  “Because that’s what I do.”

  “Well, do what you have to do.”

  I’m not really a mean person. Okay, I am. Crumb really rubs me the wrong way, though -- and not like the office tool, Duncan, does. This was a whole other level of annoying. “He always pretends he doesn’t remember my name.”

  “He’s probably not pretending.”

  “He calls me Ariel most of the time. Sometimes he calls me Andrea.”

  “He probably thinks that’s your name.”

  “It’s funny. When he has a computer problem he can remember it.
”

  “Maybe he has dementia.” Fish was focused on his computer screen again. I could tell I was starting to irritate him.

  I decided to try to get out of the assignment one more time. “Can’t you send Erin?” Erin was a features reporter who loved pop culture -- just like I did. I just didn’t love it more than a big story.

  “Erin doesn’t feel comfortable driving in the city,” Fish replied absently.

  “Maybe I don’t feel comfortable driving in the city,” I suggested.

  “You’re fine.”

  “Why isn’t Erin fine?”

  “Because she’s genuinely nervous and you’re just trying to bully me into letting you out of this.”

  Was that so wrong? “That’s an ugly thing to say.”

  “Go write your story and go home.”

  “This sucks.”

  “Life sucks.”

  “You suck.” I regretted the words the minute they were out of my mouth. “I mean you rule.”

  “I’m going to rule you right into obits for a month if you don’t get away from my desk.”

  I moved away from his desk, resigned to tomorrow’s slate of events. He really does suck -- and tomorrow was going to totally bite.

  Four

  By the time Eliot picked me up, I had worked myself into a righteous snit. “You won’t believe what I have to do tomorrow!”

  Eliot was used to my outbursts, so he didn’t react the way I had envisioned. “Me?”

  “I’m doing you tonight.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy,” I smiled at him. “We’re talking about me, though.”

  “Aren’t we always talking about you?”

  I considered his question. “Okay, let’s talk about you.”

  Eliot raised his eyebrows as our eyes met. “Don’t you want to ask what I have to do tomorrow?”

  Eliot shook with silent laughter at the sight of my serious face. “Okay, what do you have to do tomorrow that’s apparently going to end the world as we know it?”

  “I have to get up at the ass crack of dawn and drive down to Detroit,” I announced dramatically.

  Eliot didn’t look moved by my plight. “Why?”

  “Apparently they’re filming a movie at old Tiger Stadium and I have to cover the news conference.”

  “What about the news conference on the body?”

  “That’s what I asked!”

  “Take it down a notch.”

  I glared at Eliot. I never understood why he didn’t take my life upheavals seriously.

  “I’m sorry,” Eliot blew out a sigh. “Why do you have to do this most terrible of tasks when you would rather be knee deep in another murder story?”

  “Because Fish doesn’t want Caleb Crumb to get a story that he wants, so he gave it to me.”

  “Caleb Crumb? Have I met him?”

  “No.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s the religion editor,” I replied glumly.

  “Wait, is he that weird little guy that dresses in a winter coat in the middle of summer?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. He’s a freak.”

  “And what’s his deal?”

  “He’s incompetent.”

  “Doesn’t that apply to half of your staff?”

  My mouth dropped open in mock protest. “No, only a quarter of them.”

  “Ah.”

  “I don’t think you’re really feeling my pain.”

  Eliot pulled into my driveway and killed the engine of his truck. “If you’re asking me if I’d rather have you covering a movie news conference instead of getting involved in another murder story then I’m going to vote for the movie.”

  That was disheartening.

  Eliot smiled kindly, reaching his arm over and brushing a stray strand of blond hair from my face. “You get too involved in these murder stories.”

  “I don’t get involved.”

  Eliot raised his eyebrows again.

  “I don’t get involved on purpose.”

  “And yet, somehow you always manage to piss someone off and make yourself a target.”

  “That happened once.”

  Elliot raised his eyebrows a third time, clearly challenging the truthfulness of my statement.

  “That happened twice.”

  “That’s happened more times than my poor heart can take,” Eliot admitted. “Trouble always manages to find you.”

  “I have no idea why it keeps happening,” I said. “I guess I just piss people off.”

  “There’s that,” Eliot agreed. “You’re also are a little too good at your job.”

  I think that was a compliment.

  “It would gut me if something happened to you,” Eliot said, his voice low and serious.

  “Nothing is going to happen to me,” I protested.

  “Not while I’m around,” Eliot agreed, opening his door and climbing out of the truck.

  “I managed to survive before you showed up on the scene,” I reminded him when we were both on the ground and moving toward the house.

  “Barely.”

  “Are you trying to start a fight?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “Not unless we can have a really vigorous make-up session in the next two hours,” Eliot answered.

  I grabbed his hand to still him. “You know I’m going to be fine, right?”

  Eliot’s brown eyes met my blue eyes soberly. “I know that I’ll do anything in my power to keep you safe.”

  “You can’t always be there,” I reminded him. “At a certain point, you’re going to have to trust me to do my job.”

  “I do trust you to do your job.”

  “You’re going to have to trust me to stay safe,” I repeated.

  “I do trust you to do your job.” He smiled to alleviate the heavy moment.

  I sighed, moving toward him and wrapping my arms around his waist reassuringly. “I’m a big girl.”

  “You’re a big girl with a big mouth,” Eliot reminded me.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said again.

  “You better be,” Eliot said. “There won’t be enough body bags in this county if something happens to you.”

  Something told me he was only half joking.

  TWO HOURS later, we were curled up on the couch watching Criminal Minds and simply relishing a few quiet minutes together. They’d been non-existent -- at least in this house -- since Lexie had moved in over the summer.

  “This is heaven.”

  Eliot, his arm slung around my shoulders, smiled down at me. “So I’ve been told.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You mean that being able to sit on your couch in your house without Lexie babbling on about some yoga nonsense, or whatever loser guy she happens to be dating at the present moment, is a nice change of pace?”

  “Pretty much,” I agreed. “Lexie doesn’t babble, though.”

  Eliot frowned. “I’m not going to fight with you about Lexie. She’s not here. I’m not going to let her become a thing.”

  “I’m not making her a thing.”

  “You always make her a thing.”

  Eliot wasn’t a fan of my superhero complex where my cousin was concerned. Lexie is a pain -- I can admit that. But she is still family. And, when she finds herself in a sticky situation I can’t help but swoop in and save her. Eliot is a fan of the tough love approach. He wants Lexie to fail on her own -- and then pick herself back up on her own. I haven’t quite gotten there yet. I decided to change the subject.

  “So, did you find out anything from your sources?”

  The corners of Eliot’s mouth turned down. “I did. I thought you were off the story, though? Aren’t you a movie reporter now?”

  “Odds are that the sheriff’s department news conference will be in the afternoon,” I replied, avoiding his steady gaze. “I’ll probably be covering both stories.”

  “Of course you will.” Eliot’s arm tightened around my shoulders protectively.

/>   “I thought you didn’t want to fight?”

  “I’m not fighting.”

  “You’re hiding something from me.”

  “I am not.”

  “You are.”

  Eliot sighed. “I don’t know why I even try.”

  “Me either.” I watched him expectantly.

  “I did find out a little something,” Eliot hedged.

  I waited, but he didn’t volunteer any additional information. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  Eliot smirked. “What are you willing to do for the information?” He was definitely feeling playful -- which I wasn’t discouraging.

  “I already told you sex is on the menu,” I reminded him. “What else do you want?”

  I didn’t like the look on his face. It was far too gleeful. “We’ll get to that in a few minutes,” he replied slyly, his eyes suddenly predatory.

  “You better have something good,” I grumbled.

  “What would you say if I told you this wasn’t the first body found in an area river in the past few weeks?”

  Huh. “I would say that Jake’s been keeping a really big secret and I’m going to totally nail him for it.”

  “Not if the other body was found on the Oakland side of the county line,” Eliot said, “in a different river.”

  That was interesting. “When?”

  “About two weeks ago.”

  I furrowed my brow. “I don’t remember hearing anything about a body being found in another river.”

  “Do you pay attention to all the news coming out of Oakland County?”

  He had a point. “What do you know about that victim?”

  “Young woman in her 20s. She was found nude and stabbed multiple times.”

  “Just like this victim.”

  “Yup.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “I agree.”

  “That means ... .”

  “That means that there could be a serial killer in this area,” Eliot finished, his tone grim.

  Well, now I definitely couldn’t be pulled off this story. One look at Eliot told me he had come to the same conclusion.

  “It’s going to be fine,” I reassured him.

  “I know.”

  “I promise.”

  Eliot didn’t call me on the fact that I had just made I promise I couldn’t possibly keep. Instead, he pulled me down on top of him, shifting us both so we were flat on the couch. “Let’s not talk about that until tomorrow,” he suggested, pressing his lips to mine.