“Well get it and get out of here.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” Scott started to regain his composure. “What do you think you’re doing interviewing my subjects?”
“I’m not interviewing anybody,” Crystal said, “I’m friends with their daughter. We’re having coffee.”
“Sure you are.” Scott crossed his arms. “I don’t care if you are the City Editor’s girlfriend’s daughter, you can’t just randomly go for coffee whenever you feel like it. You better get back to work, girlie. I can talk to Ben and get you fired just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Yeah? Well I can talk to Matt when he comes over for supper.”
The waitress hustled over with Scott’s sandwich. She had no idea what was going on but the little man, despite his brashness, was a regular customer; she wanted to get her regular tip.
Scott looked at Crystal like she was a piece of dirt. “Lame,” he said and walked out.
“Sorry about that,” Crystal said to the couple. “I just got angry and decided to go on the offensive. Kind of a knee jerk reaction.” She sighed. “I can’t believe how he treated you.”
“You haven’t even heard the worst part.”
“There’s more?”
“Oh yes. He told us confidentially that he had the inside track from the police and that the driver involved…”
Crystal interrupted. “Involved? That’s a word that bends reality. How about the driver who ran down and killed your daughter!” She looked at the Filipowitz’s and apologized again. “I am so sorry; I did not mean to put it so bluntly. I should just shut up.”
“No Crystal; it’s funny, but your anger validates mine. You’ll understand in a minute when Peter tells you the rest of the story.”
“Scott told us that the woman who was driving the car had been prescribed a new medication and had a bad reaction. She was practically comatose when they found her and had to be rushed to a healthcare facility to recover. Apparently this woman was, again quoting Scott, ‘absolutely horror-stricken’ that she had killed a child. So Scott asked us…” Peter couldn’t continue. He looked at his wife and she picked up the narrative.
“So Scott asked us to sign a get well card for her and wish her a speedy recovery.”
Crystal briefly had a moment of doubt. Could this really have happened to the driver?
“Nope. I’m not buying it. Not one single word. If this woman was truly horror-stricken; if she was any kind of decent human being she would have reached out to you by now. It’s been nearly three weeks!”
“It’s been exactly three weeks. Lisa died May 2nd.”
Peter hugged his wife and continued with Crystal’s line of reasoning. “That’s what we thought too; if it was true that she was sick, she would have recovered by now. Or at least her family or the police would have reached out to us. Now you understand why we stomped out of the interview.”
Crystal squinted her eyes. This story definitely wasn’t adding up. In fact, Scott’s whole approach during the interview was suspect. Crystal sat and considered the facts like dominoes. One, Scott lied to the Filipowitz’s and attacked them verbally. Two, when they were off balance he played the second domino; he implied they were at fault and three, he had provided a somewhat palatable medical excuse for the driver. Was Scott trying to exonerate the driver or was he even in league with her somehow? Crystal felt sure the dominos would all fall over if she could only get some evidence.
“Can I ask you one ugly question?”
Peter and Rosa exchanged glances. “Okay,” Rosa said slowly.
“Do you know what kind of car it was? The reason I ask, well, I’m not a reporter; I know nothing about journalism but I do know the smell of B.S. I have a little job at the newspaper writing an advice column for the next month; maybe I can investigate Scott Avery and his agenda from the inside?”
“That would be awesome; but do you think it would be dangerous?” Rosa asked.
“Nah,” Crystal said with a bravado she didn’t feel.
“It was a big black Mercedes-Benz. I didn’t even see the driver; I was so focused on my baby girl.”
The married couple and the young woman were quiet for a moment as they dabbed at their eyes.
“I’m so proud of you guys that you were able to get out of the house today and I’m so sorry for what happened with Scott.”
“Crystal we are just so happy to have met you. Jennifer said she met a young woman she enjoyed talking to; apparently you guys share something in common? She didn’t say what.”
“Oh, we were just joking around about something silly; I’ve forgotten what it was. And, I’ve forgotten that I have a job. I guess I better get back to work.”
“How do we get in touch with you?”
“I’m in the book; Crystal Cinnamon Schmidt.”
Rosa giggled. “Wow. That must have been a mouthful when you were a little girl!”
Crystal laughed. “It was; and I had a lisp too.”
Rosa’s countenance clouded. “I’m sorry; that must have been difficult. Were you teased?”
“Beyond belief. But Mom and Dad helped me; they were my own personal speech therapists. Now that Dad’s gone, Mom continues to help me with decision-making and, you know, battling inertia.”
“Oh we know.” Rosa got up and hugged Crystal. “But this is a good start in the battle against inertia. We’re in the book too, Crystal. Give us a call anytime!”
***
“Well look what the cat dragged in,” Marjorie said when Crystal returned to her desk. “I hear you were stealing Scott’s thunder and interviewing the parents yourself.”
“Oh he is so full of beans.” Crystal was more determined than ever to bring the killer of Lisa Filipowitz to justice. She just didn’t know what her next move should be.
“The little Napoleon ate his sandwich then headed out again. He got a hot tip about a new laundromat opening in town.”
Crystal frowned. “That’s a hot tip? Hasn’t it been open for some time? I remember reading something about zoning laws, blah blah blah, in the paper a while ago.”
“Let me lay it out for you then. The reason it’s a hot tip is because the wife of the couple running the laundromat is in town today for the official grand opening and she is a hot young thing.”
“Oh.”
“And she’s married to an old wrinkled thing.”
“Scott would really go after a married woman?”
“Hasn’t stopped him before.”
“Gah.” Crystal stuck out her tongue. “His sliminess knows no boundaries. How do you work with him everyday?”
“Not my circus; not my monkeys.”
Crystal thought about Marjorie’s attitude. It had been Crystal’s attitude for far too long.
Well, no longer.
“Do we have any auto-mechanics that advertise with us?”
“Yes. But hon, I thought you didn’t know how to drive?”
“I don’t; but, um, a friend had their car damaged and I was wondering…”
“Sure, whatever. Just check the binder. Ben keeps all the contacts of advertisers in there; but not necessarily alphabetically. More like chronologically with a dash of randomness. Have fun but...”
“I know. Do it after this week’s column is done!”
Crystal needed at least three more entries before she surprised Marjorie with this week’s column and next weeks. She picked up another letter. It was hand-written in an elegant script but did not include a return address on the envelope. It read:
Dear Betty,
Have you ever planned a murder? I’m planning one. No; not really, but sometimes I think about how easy it would be. Boom. I could shoot her with one of my many rifles and say it was an accident. But that would be messy. I have a beautiful hand-knotted, handmade Persian rug in my personal study and I won’t want to destroy it with blood. Perhaps poison would be better.
Do you know any good poisons, Betty? Something untraceable perhaps?
>
Yours truly,
Pondering Poison.
“Nope,” Crystal said as she got an empty manila folder. She wrote across the folder ‘weird letters that won’t see the light of day’; stapled the letter to the envelope and slipped the whole works inside the file. Must be a prank. She grabbed another letter.
Dear Betty,
How long is a piece of string?
That is the kind of answer I keep getting from my co-workers. I ask them perfectly reasonable questions about how long a job might take, or how many times we have to do something before we see results, or how many people worked on a similar project last year.
It seems to be a running joke in the office now and I’m the brunt of it. I don’t understand their inability to answer a straightforward question.
All I’m asking is for them to quantify something and they come back with a joke.
Why do you think this is happening? Do you think I’m asking too much? Should I just be a good little worker bee and not ask questions? How would that work? Wouldn’t the whole project be in jeopardy if we don’t communicate about the details? How can I work if I don’t know what the plan is or how long it will take?
What do you think Betty?
Yours truly,
Needing MUCH more information.
Crystal was tired just reading the letter; she could well imagine what ‘Needing MUCH more information’s' co-workers were going through. She was tempted to answer, ‘how long is a piece of string’ but that would be mean. She licked her pencil and wrote:
Dear ‘Needing MUCH More Information’,
You sound frustrated.
I’m guessing your co-workers are as well as they continue to evade answering you.
I’m also guessing by your many written questions to my predecessor Betty, that you are one of those people in real life, who have a rapid fire method of asking questions.
You shoot off a question and barely wait for an answer before you fire out the next one. Could it be that you are new at your job and perhaps a little nervous?
Try limiting yourself to one question a day. And not a question that you can find the answer to if you really search through policies.
You know, I can hear you asking me “But what question should I use? There are so many, how can I limit myself?”
Here’s a question that almost guaranteed to get a real answer…how are you?
That’s right. Ask one co-worker and one co-worker only, how they are.
Then please come to a full stop. Do not ask any more questions!
Sometimes we need to just breathe and let things unfold without trying to push them forward.
Sometimes things turn out even better than we had planned.
And now I have a question for you.
You asked for advice; are you going to apply it?
Sincerely,
CeeCee.
The next envelope had happy faces and hearts scribbled on the outside in pink felt pen but the address was typed. Crystal frowned. Was this from a child or an adult? She opened the envelope and a small photograph of a cute little girl fell out. A short letter, written in pink felt pen accompanied the photograph. It read:
“Hi Grandma! Here is my school picture. Bye! Love Darcy.”
Crystal chuckled. She would have to give this to Marjorie to forward to Betty. Wait. Betty was a grandma and she had a whirlwind romance? How sad it my life, Crystal thought wryly. She opened the next envelope. The letter read:
Dear Betty,
How do I stop my wife from spending my money? I run a business and nearly everyday she reaches in the till and takes money out. And yes, I know it’s everyday because I’m there from seven in the morning to nine at night. Everyday. Yes, I work hard.
So I know that around seven every night, after she’s finished working for the day, she just takes the money and says the same thing, ‘it’s for groceries’. It isn’t much, maybe five or ten dollars, but how am I supposed to make a profit for me and my kids if she is constantly taking my money?
I’ve got four kids at home that I need to feed and clothe and put food on the table for! How do I make her understand this?
Yours truly,
Frustrated Entrepreneur.
Crystal got a spare sheet and paper and started writing down figures. She looked at her calculations and nodded.
Dear Frustrated Entrepreneur,
As a businessman, I’m sure you appreciate math. Let’s look at some calculations, shall we?
If you were not the owner of your business; but an employee, you would be entitled to an hourly wage of over four dollars; but for simplicity; let’s call it four dollars even.
Now you said you work a fourteen hour day. If you were a minimum wage employee; not the important owner, you would be entitled to $56.00 a day. Whew! Fifty-six bucks a day! That’s a lot of money; good thing you don’t have to pay yourself, eh?
And good thing you don’t have to pay your twelve hour employee. I mean, that would be forty-eight dollars and you can’t afford that! After all, you have four kids and a wife.
What was that last item?
A wife? Nope, a twelve hour employee who gets paid five to ten dollars a day, then goes grocery shopping, then feeds your four children and no doubt pays all the bills and does all the cleaning, laundry etc. Yes, ‘Frustrated Entrepreneur’ I’m correctly assuming she does all the work because by your own admission you’re not at home for at least fourteen hours.
Here’s a bit more math for you to ponder:
What would be the cost of a twelve hour employee for a month? At a bare minimum of only five days a week, I calculate $960.00.
What would be the cost of a nanny and housecleaner for a month? How about the cost of groceries for a month? What about electricity, heating costs, mortgage payments?
You see where I’m going with this?
Your wife takes at the most three hundred dollars of your money out of your till at your business.
So in summary, you work hard, you have a business, you have the money and all she does is work for you all day; and care for your children and your home?
Something doesn’t add up.
Do the math.
Sincerely,
CeeCee.
Crystal re-read her answer. It was a bit longer than usual, but she felt it was warranted. These people who expect others to do everything for them! She shook her head and wondered what her mom was making for dinner. She hoped it was lasagna; Crystal loved lasagna. Sure it took a long time, but it was worth it!
A curious thought struck her. I wonder what Mom spends on groceries a month?
Suddenly, Crystal could feel her face flush. Crystal spent exactly zero dollars a month on groceries because she had exactly zero income.
How had her mother put up with her all these years?
Chapter Seven
Scott did not return to work that afternoon. Crystal had typed up her two columns in peace and pleasantly surprised Marjorie.
“With this kind of work ethic; you might have a job here longer than a month.”
Crystal was shocked.
“But I was the one who said I’d try it for a month.”
“Oh no hon, when Matt popped in here Sunday morning, I was here tidying up a few things and told him about our abdicating Betty. In a flash he said he was going to offer the job to Joanne’s daughter on a trial basis for one month.”
Crystal was crestfallen. Her clever negotiation was nothing of the sort. Matt and probably her mom, were already one step ahead of her.
“Now you look like you just lost your best friend. So you’re not in control; big hairy deal, you’re here aren’t you? Working at a job. That’s a far sight better than what you’ve been doing for the last six years; sitting on your duff feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Oh my word! Does everybody know my business?”
Marjorie laughed. “Only those of us who unabashedly eavesdrop.”
Crystal grabbed the binder with the list of
advertisers and started flipping through the pages.
“Um, hon?”
“Yes?”
“You might want to know that Betty used to do her column in about thirty minutes. You’ve been here all day. I don’t think you’re going to get paid for the hours you put in, but hang on now, don’t get all weepy on me!”
Crystal was feeling like a complete failure and it showed.
“Your column is better. There. I give out one compliment a month and that was yours. Another thing; you don’t have a bucket of common sense award on next week’s column. I like that quirky little feature.”
Crystal smiled through her tears. “That’s two compliments. I guess I’m good for two months. Let me see what I can find. How long are you here for?”
“You’ve got one more hour. Hop to it.”
Crystal quickly scanned the pages of the binder, found an entry for ‘Barry’s Motors’; and wrote down the address on a slip of paper. She tucked the paper into her back pocket then began opening the remaining envelopes. She then quickly read the opening lines.
“Ah ha!” she shouted when she hit on a particularly irrational query.
Dear Betty,
Why is my mom so annoying? She is like the complaining queen! She’s always telling me to clean my room; pick up my baby brother from soccer; set the table, do the laundry. I mean really! I’m sixteen years old! I have my learner’s license so like I’m halfway to being an adult!
I told her I’m moving out because I can’t handle all her orders. I asked her to loan me the money for rent and you know what she did? She just laughed and said that whole ‘I’m a single mother working two jobs’ thing she always says.
How do I get her to show me more respect? She even told me I can’t take the car to Patterson Lake this summer for the music festival. Is that fair?
Yours truly,
Sour Sixteen!
With an eye on the clock, Crystal dashed off a reply:
This week’s Bucket of Common Sense Award goes to ‘Sour Sixteen’. My dear ‘Sour Sixteen’; from your exalted position high atop your mountain of entitlement I wonder if you can see what goes on in the real world? You know, the real world way below your feet? Common Sense approaching in three, two, one…
Bury! The Lead Page 5