Bury! The Lead

by Shelley Dawn Siddall

  Yours truly,

  Stumped You, Didn’t I?

  Crystal laughed. She rode her bike numerous times down Maple Street and recently saw the city workers lay black tubes across the road. She stopped and asked what they were for and they were happy to explain.

  Dear Stumped,

  Yes, you read that correctly. I addressed you as stumped because you don’t know the source of the sound, but I do.

  The next time you drive down Maple, drive slowly. You will see what looks like two wires stretched across the road. They are actually tubes, used to measure the speed of vehicles.

  The City of Harrogate Traffic Department are conducting a series of tests to see if the traffic volume warrants an expansion of Maple Street.

  You can go City Hall and they can give you a copy of the minutes where they discussed this proposal and testing. And how do I know this? Easy; your wife was right. I know the answer to everything.

  That last sentence may or may not be true.

  Sincerely,

  CeeCee.

  Crystal tapped her teeth. What if someone did write to ‘CeeCee’s Common Sense’? If CeeCee continued to answer Betty’s backlog of letters; wouldn’t the new correspondents get discouraged?

  “Do you think I should ask Matt if I should write an extra column to finish off the letters to Betty?”

  The cat stared at her and didn’t say a word.

  “You’re probably right; I’ll wait and see if I get any mail addressed to me.”

  ***

  In his apartment Scott Avery was busy trying to decide which was his better side. He stood in front of his medicine cabinet, with the mirrors that fanned out and looked from his right side to his left side.

  His right cheek had a dimple, but his left didn’t. But, his right eyebrow had a section where the hair was sparse. Actually, there was a small white scar that snaked through his eyebrow. Even though it was years ago that he had slipped and banged his head on the counter; it still seemed to glare out at him.

  It was a constant reminder of the poverty he was raised in. The veneer on the edge of the counter was broken as were so many things in his childhood home. And he hadn’t slipped, he had been thrown. The jagged edge left a jagged scar.

  Scott didn’t want to think about such things. They were in the past. He had bigger things to think about; namely a looming deadline.

  He put on some jazz, poured himself some wine and returned to the mirror. He was supposed to have an in depth article about the Filipowitz’s by tomorrow; Marjorie would shoot him if he didn’t turn it in well before the paper went to bed.

  Where was he going to get, at a bare minimum, fifteen hundred words? The couple was totally uncooperative. Did that Crystal chick get anything out of them; after all they looked pretty cozy in the coffee shop. How should he approach her? What could he promise her?

  Scott smiled again in the mirror. The scar made him look debonair and a little sexy. It was settled. He would say his right side was his good side when the Toronto Star asked him for a cover shot for the article they would run on him as their new top reporter.

  At present, nobody at the Toronto Star knew who he was; but they would soon enough. He could just feel it.

  In the meantime he would promise Crystal a by-line on the follow-up piece.

  Of course he wouldn’t deliver.

  ***

  “You don’t know me, but I saw your kennel mentioned…

  “Where are you calling from dear?”

  “Canada. I saw your name and address in a book I got from the library called ‘How To Care For Your Scottish Fold’.

  “Oh dear, that book was published many years ago. I don’t run a kennel anymore.”

  Crystal stuck out her lower lip and exhaled noisily.

  “Sorry to have bothered you,” she said.

  “No problem. What part of Canada are you calling from?”

  “British Columbia.”

  “Well I do have some contacts there. I have a friend in Patterson Lake whose daughter runs a kennel. Are you anywhere near there? I’m afraid I’m not very good at Canadian geography.”

  “I am really close to there! Thank you. I’d love the name of your friend’s daughter.”

  “I’m sure I have her phone number around here somewhere, give me a minute; just checking my address book.”

  Crystal winked at the cat on the wall. This was turning out quite nicely. How she was going to get to Patterson Lake, she didn’t know, but she’d deal with that later. The friendly woman came back on the line and gave Crystal the information she needed.

  “Before we go dear, can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Sure!”

  “Why in particular do you want a Scottish Fold cat? They can have health problems because of their genetics; things like arthritis and bone deformities.”

  “Yes, I was reading about that in the book. It’s called osteo something.”

  “Osteochondrodystrophy.”

  “Right. Something I’ll have to watch out for; for sure. When I was young, a friend of my grandparents had a Scottish Fold. Every time I’d visit my grandparents, this friend would come over with their cat. I’d play with Thomas; that was his name, for hours. Well, maybe not hours; I remember having naps and the cat all cuddled up with me. That little orange cat was just so affectionate. When my grandparents died suddenly in a car accident, I think I cried more for the cat then my grandparents.”

  “Thomas was in the car with your grandparents?”

  “No; I’m sorry I didn’t explain that very well. My grandparents lived a few provinces away; so I wasn’t going to see Thomas anymore because we wouldn’t be travelling to Ontario anymore.”

  “Oh I see. Sorry to hear about your grandparents. I do hope my friend’s daughter has a nice little kitten for you. Bye now.”

  “Bye and thanks for all your help!”

  Crystal was pretty pleased with herself. She had finally started the process of getting a little pet. She put her hands on her hips and walked around her dining room table, over to the recliner and around her bed. She made the circuit again and this time checked the little seedlings she had started. Nope. Nothing had decided to poke their nose up out of the dirt.

  A wiggle of worry furrowed her brow.

  “I’m going to have to kitten proof my home!”

  Chapter Ten

  Something was wrong with Marjorie. She just wasn’t as chatty as she was yesterday. Crystal had dropped off her knapsack and started making the coffee right away. She wanted to show Marjorie that she wasn’t expecting any favors.

  “Good morning Marjorie, how are you today?”

  Marjorie said a terse fine and went on with her work.

  Crystal bit her lip. Maybe she crossed a line when she made the coffee? Maybe only full-time employees of the Harrogate News were allowed to make the coffee? A familiar feeling came over her. She felt like a shadow staring out at the office.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here. I can’t do this,’ she thought. She hadn’t unpacked her knapsack yet. She could just bolt.

  Crystal’s mind kept churning out justifications for her to leave. ‘Yesterday was a fluke. Marjorie was probably angry because I intruded on their tight knit team and asked her a million questions. Or she talked to Scott about the scene in the restaurant and is mad at me. It stands to reason she’d be loyal to Scott despite her sarcastic teasing toward him.’

  Another little voice began speaking in her mind. ‘You promised Matt; you promised Rosa and Peter.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Only one hour and fifty minutes to go.’

  “Hon, how come you haven’t unpacked your things?”

  Startled, Crystal rolled back in her chair and smacked the wall.

  Marjorie laughed. “You seem a bit pre-occupied this morning; boyfriend troubles?”

  “No, not at all. I, um, I thought you were mad at me because I made the coffee; so I was thinking over the reasons I should stay.”

  “Well you do what you want hon
, if you stay or if you go it don’t make no difference to me. Mind you, I do enjoy your company. But, that could change in a minute after I taste the coffee.”

  Crystal’s face fell.

  “You are a nervous one, aren’t you. I’m just joking. Look, do you know anything about word count and inches in a newspaper?”

  “No?”

  “It wasn’t a question, hon. Now when I type up the columns, they average about 40 words per inch. Did Matt tell you how long your column is supposed to be?”

  Crystal relaxed. “No, I haven’t got the foggiest. Am I supposed to be counting my words?

  “The machine does that…see down here on the screen. Anyhow, your word count is limited by the number of inches you're allowed for your column. Betty’s column slowly grew in popularity so, she was given more inches, hence more words. Make sense?”

  “Yup.” Crystal heard the coffee maker sound. “What do you take in your coffee Marjorie?” she said as she poured out two mugs.”

  “Black,” Marjorie said, “Just like my heart.”

  Crystal raised her eyebrows.

  “According to my Sister not only is my heart black, but it’s very existence is suspect. But that’s none of your beeswax. Let’s get back to word count. Your first ‘column’ word count came in at 1128 and the second at 1276. If I let it stand, you would have taken up 28 inches and about 32 inches of space respectively.”

  “Okay.”

  “Betty, on her best days, only wrote about 800 word columns, when she wasn’t prattling on about fences or her political views. She was allotted twenty inches of newspaper space. So if I had cut your columns up and rearranged them; I could have made three weeks worth of advice of about 800 words each. Unfortunately, your answer to ‘Conscience-Stricken Consumer’ asked her to read the letter above. You can’t write things like that hon, because when I lay-out everything on the page, the letter might be beside it or might not be included until next week.”

  The young woman she was instructing closed one eye and twisted her mouth to one side as she tried to process everything.

  “There is so much I don’t know!” she said.

  There was a thump on the opposite side of the room as Scott dropped his briefcase on his desk.

  “You can say that again! New girl…Crystal…bring a chair over here. We’ve got work to do.”

  Marjorie waved goodbye. “We might talk about this later; otherwise, it’s been nice knowing you.”

  Crystal rolled her chair over to the side of Scott’s desk.

  “I just want to apologize for yesterday; I think we got off on the wrong foot…” she started to say.

  “Of course we did,” Scott said matter-of-factly. “You’re just a temporary employee, writing plebeian drivel and interfering with the subjects of my story.”

  “And now we continue to be on the wrong foot. Perhaps I should just go back over there. I have more plebeian drivel to write.”

  Scott leaned forward and gave Crystal a patronizing smirk.

  “You are going to be gone in less than a month, while I will continue to write front page articles. And why is that? It’s because I already have a career in journalism. You have a career in what? Being the City Editor’s girlfriend's daughter? Sure nepotism got you this primo position of writing an advice column; but other than that, you’re basically a waste of space here at the newspaper.”

  Crystal got up and started rolling her chair across the room.

  “Thanks for the pep talk. I found it most encouraging.” She looked over at Marjorie who just shrugged.

  Scott raised his voice. “There is a bigger story at stake here; something else you know nothing about. Now get back over here. I need to try and salvage something from your interview with the Filipowitz’s.” He opened his briefcase and started laying out his notes and pens and pencils. He looked very important.

  “I doubt if you have anything worthwhile but I’ll see what I can drag out of your memory.”

  Crystal looked at Marjorie again, who had a neutral expression on her face.

  “Look Scott, I really like Peter and Rosa. I could help you with a nice article about them,” Crystal said as she walked back over to his desk and towered over him.

  He craned his neck up. “Who are Peter and Rosa?”

  “The couple who lost their child in the hit and run. The couple who were so devastated that yesterday, when they came to see you, was the first time they were able to get out of bed to leave their house because they were so exhausted by depression,” she said softly.

  Scott nodded and started scribbling. “I can work with this.” He read aloud as he wrote, “Not only did the parents not walk their daughter home from school, but after her death unbelievably continued in the same fashion. Yes; they continue to neglect their other children by not walking them to and from school. In fact, this reporter has it on good authority that they sleep in every day and are so lazy that they let their other young children fend for themselves. It was only on orders from this reporter that they deigned to come in for an interview; an interview that was adversarial at best. When this reporter warned the couple about the depression that is overtaking their other wee children they stormed out of the office. After searching for some time, this reporter found them enjoying a coffee date and laughing as though nothing was wrong. One wonders what further tragedies await Peter and Rosa Filipowitz as they fail to care for their remaining children.”

  During Scott’s recitation of his article, Crystal was paralysed by indignation. When he looked up at her and smiled, she was finally able to speak.

  “You cannot write that!” She reached for the yellow legal pad Scott had written on and instead of trying to stop her; he just opened his arms and rolled his chair away from his desk.

  “Go ahead. Rip it up,” he said. “I have all the ideas in my head and I’ll just write it again. You see, I’m a professional journalist. I have that ability.”

  “I’m serious. You cannot write that crap about these people. It’s not true. Even if it was, it would devastate them. They would think I had a hand in writing this because I had coffee with them.”

  Scott leaned forward. “So you don’t want a byline on this article?”

  Across the room Marjorie snickered.

  Crystal stepped back; looked at Marjorie and then back at Scott. Was he conning her? Crystal decided that he was.

  She lowered her voice and said flatly,“You don’t intend to write that; you were trying to make me mad so I would defend Peter and Rosa and thereby give you more information.”

  Marjorie laughed out loud. “Way to go! She’s got you pegged, Scotty-boy!”

  A smile fractured Scott’s face. He ripped up the sheet of paper and said, “Sit down, Crystal and let’s write a nice piece about the Filipowitz’s.”

  They worked together. Crystal begrudgingly admired Scott’s ability to craft a story quickly. His typing skill was also impressive. After they finished the piece, Crystal rolled her chair back to her side of the room and opened the five or six letters that had come in the mail that day. She refused to read even the first line, however, as she wanted to understand what Marjorie had been talking about earlier.

  “Excuse me Marjorie, but can we return to the conversation we were having earlier about word count and column inches?”

  “Hon, I fixed it. While you and Scott were over there doing real reporting stuff; I made the executive decision to expand the advice column for a few weeks.”

  “You can do that?”

  “You would be surprised at what I can do around here. I just wrote that the letters to Betty will be answered in the new column, ‘CeeCee’s Common Sense’; an expanded version until the backlog is cleared.”

  “Cool. So then I need to write how many words?”

  “Let’s wait and see. We’re a small paper; some weeks are pretty slow in the news department so we might need…”

  “A bit extra fluff!” Scott said.

  Marjorie put her hand in her chin.
“You know Crystal, this column might just take off. You’ve got a different voice than Betty; it might sit well with the younger generation. I think, just to be on the safe side, you should continue to stockpile some answers. But, it’s your life. What do you want to do?”

  “I really want to phone the Filipowitz’s and let them know about the article coming out in the paper tomorrow. I think they’re going to be really pleased!”

  “That’s nice. You can use the phone is Ben’s office. He’s out drumming up sales.”

  The office was messy. Piles upon piles of notes, yellow legal pads, and yellow sticky notes littered the desktop so Crystal pushed some aside to find the phone.

  “Now if I were a phonebook where would I be?”

  She opened a desk drawer and found pencils, pens, erasers and paperclips plus a nameplate that said simply ‘Ben Franzen’. The next drawer she opened was deeper and as she dug around something clunked.

  It was a mickey of vodka; unopened. Crystal shut the drawer fast.

  “Wait, it’s just booze. There could be a phonebook in there yet.” She continued to search and finally found what she was looking for in an even deeper bottom drawer.

  “Hi, is this Rosa?”

  Rosa’s voice was clipped. “I’m sorry, I have no interest in talking to reporters ever again.”

  “Wait, this is Crystal; we met the other day.”

  “Oh hi Crystal! How are you?” Rosa said warmly. “I mentioned to Jennifer that we met you.”

  “Sweet! Say hi to her for me. The reason I phoned, well, you’re not going to believe it, but Scott and I wrote that nice pleasant article about your family and it will come out in the paper tomorrow!”

  Rosa did not say anything, so Crystal kept talking enthusiastically.

  “I made sure it was a good article; just like you wanted. And as you said at lunch, maybe the driver of the car will feel remorse when they read the article. Wouldn’t it be nice if they came forward and offered a public apology?”

  “So you are a reporter,” Rosa declared firmly.

  “What? Oh no; I wanted to…”

  Rosa was so enraged she could barely choke out the words. “You said you wrote an article with that…that Scott Avery today.”