Bury! The Lead

by Shelley Dawn Siddall

  Marjorie continued to hold her beret in her hand and sat on the edge of Scott’s desk. She wanted to see how this was going to play out.

  Scott was furious. “You went to Winston’s office? Who said you could? Who gave you permission?

  “I gave myself permission. I went to Winston’s office to get a corporate sponsor for my participashun…participy-shun; gosh that’s a hard word to say. Both of them were there, just drinking away in his office. So what do you think of that, you pocket-sized reporter?”

  Ben had come out of his office when he heard raised voices and stood by Matt. “Is she drunk?”

  “Apparently she spent the afternoon drinking with the Fieldings,” Matt acknowledged.

  Ben was impressed. “No kidding! I sure hope she got the recording.”

  “Recording?”

  Ben said, “I’ll tell you later.”

  Scott had come around from his desk and despite Crystal reeking of booze, he attempted to face her nose to nose. What he lacked in physical intimidation, he more than made up for in his booming voice.

  “If the Fieldings want to drink all afternoon and all night and all the next day; they can! How dare you harass one of the paper’s biggest advertising clients!” He stood staring up into Crystal’s nostrils. There was no response. Staying upright was her priority at the moment. She did not want to move her head any more than she had to. Scott backed up and said with a scowl, “And what’s this pocket-sized business?”

  Crystal decided that sitting down might be the best move. She sat on Marjorie’s lap.

  “I don’t care how long it takes; I’m going to get that women off the road! Did you know the whole thing was a scam? Oh, thanks for the chair Margie.”

  Crystal felt a little more secure sitting on a chair with Marjorie standing beside her. Ben and Matt had taken a few steps forward as well.

  “Hail, hail the gang’s all here! Just like the gang Gloria hired to go be cheerleaders. She bought them for a song!” Crystal looked confused and whispered to Marjorie. “I don’t know what the name of the song was.”

  Marjorie whispered back, “It doesn’t matter. Just keep going.”

  Scott pursed his lips. His booming voice was not working so he tried cold logic. “Do you know the difference between slander and libel because you soon will as I tell the Fieldings about this conversation and they sue you for your outrageous fabrications!”

  Crystal looked at the cuff of her white shirt and couldn’t figure out what Scott was talking about but had to make her point. “She has been on the same dose of Ativan for years; no medication mixy-up. Um, mix up. What she did mix up was a whiskey soda and knocked it back and took a bottle of vodka for the road. She was plastered Scotty-boy; pure and simple.”

  “As usual, with your not so common sense, you are off in some fantasy land imagining things. Well wake up Crystal; here in the new world we need proof before we destroy someone’s reputation!”

  “I will get the proof! I am going to track down every one of those women in the court room and get them to sign a statement saying how much money old Winston gave them.” She whispered to Marjorie again, “Actually Gloria looks a lot older than Winston. Do you think it’s the booze?”

  Scott looked over at Ben and Matt. “Can you believe this?” he said pointing to Crystal. “She has no proof; she’s made a story out of thin air. I’m going home.” He picked up his briefcase and started to walk to the front door.

  “Hold up a minute Scott,” Ben said to him. His boss then tapped Crystal on the shoulder, to get her attention as she appeared to be falling asleep. “Crystal, you said you had something for me?”

  Crystal looked up at him and smiled. “Well I’m not going to kiss you no matter how good looking you are!”

  Ben prompted her, “You have something small for me? Perhaps in your pocket?”

  “Okay,” she said, “but just a little one.” Crystal pretended to put her hand in her pocket and then blew Ben a kiss. Then something clicked inside her.

  “Proof?” she hollered at Scott, “You mean like this?” and held up the Dictaphone.

  “That belongs to me! Not only are you a slanderer, but you’re a thief!” He tried to grab the recording device, but Marjorie put her hand out and stopped him.

  “Actually,” Marjorie said pleasantly, “That is office equipment and as an employee of the Harrogate News she is entitled to use it!”

  Scott looked to Ben for support; however Ben gave him an icy stare.

  “We are going to listen to Crystal’s proof. Her job and your job will depend on what I hear on that tape.”

  Scott completely forgot about his hair-do and began running his hands through his hair. He became quite literally deflated.

  Crystal started giggling. “Awe, you’re little nest fell apart.”

  Marjorie nudged her. “Play the tape.”

  Crystal sat up proudly. She had done it! She was an undercover operative and had gotten the goods! She pressed play on the Dictaphone.

  Nothing happened.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  There was nothing on the tape; absolutely nothing. Crystal smacked her forehead with her other hand and instantly regretted that maneuver.

  “Well I don’t care if I don’t have proof right now; I’m going to get it no matter how long it takes!”

  “That’s a noble sentiment, Crystal,” Marjorie said, taking the Dictaphone from her, “but how about if we rewind the tape first?”

  As the tape began to play, the effect on each listener was different; except for Crystal; she had her arms crossed and eyes closed.

  Marjorie started grinning and looked at Scott and began applauding but as the tape continued, she looked confused.

  Scott was angry and looked it.

  Ben and Matt both had looks of intense concentration and walked even closer to Scott’s desk in order to hear every word.

  Marjorie clicked off the Dictaphone. “Why are you talking about lead poisoning? What has that got to do with anything?”

  Crystal was going to stand up; but thought better of it. She looked at Matt. “File, bottom drawer of my desk.”

  He retrieved the file on which Crystal had scrawled, ‘weird letters that won’t see the light of day’ and brought it to her.

  “Read the two letters I put in there; and while you’re reading, you need to be aware that Winston had a beautiful, hand knotted Persian rug in his office. I think that’s not a cowinky-dink do you?”

  Matt finished reading. “This is heavy.” He showed the letters to Ben and then Marjorie who quickly read the letters from ‘Pondering Poison’ then turned the Dictaphone back on.

  After listening to a few more minutes of conversation; she stopped the recorder. “I guess I am one of those common little people; I have milked a cow before, and I have read the Farmer’s almanac. But I do have more than one pair of underwear.”

  For some unknown reason, Crystal found this worthy of a cheer. “Way to go Margie!” she hollered.

  The sneer on Scott’s face increased.

  Marjorie pressed play again.

  “Yes darling; we have that Scott fellow in our pocket; bought and paid for,” cut through Scott’s arrogance like a knife. He dropped his mouth open and immediately looked at Ben.

  Ben ignored him and kept listening. When the recording ended, Ben asked Crystal, “Is that the end of it?”

  She was unsure of what he was expecting so she spread out her hands and said, “Tada!”

  “Good work Crystal; Matt and I have to talk. Marjorie; I’ll take that.”

  She handed him the Dictaphone. “What about this one?” she said, pointing at Scott.

  Ben’s disgust was evident in both his expression and tone of voice. “Scott Avery, my number one reporter, paid to bury a story. I wonder, Scott, do you think you should remain in my employ?”

  Scott tried to finesse his way out of the jam he was in. “Of course they were referring to me as their reporter as I interviewed them; and they
‘paid me’ by paying me a compliment.”

  “Oh you snake!” Crystal sneered, “They bought and paid you just like they did with those women from the treatment center. How much did you get Scott?”

  “Yeah Scott; was it worth your career?” Matt asked. He was still in a state of shock by what he heard but had a growing sense of pride at how well Crystal did in her undercover role. Joanne was going to be as well, once she got over her dismay that her daughter showed up at work drunker than a skunk.

  Marjorie took off her red poncho and hung it and her matching beret on the coat rack. She knew she’d be staying late to type up the Fielding recording verbatim. “I think an even more important question might be, how many times have you done this in the past, Scotty?”

  Crystal leaned forward and waggled her index finger. “Oh, good question! What kind of fiction have you been writing?”

  Ben stuck out his hand, palm up. “Key,” was all he said to Scott.

  Scott handed over the key to the Harrogate News and left quietly.

  Crystal was disappointed. “I was hoping he was going to rant and rave or leave in a huff. He did not even huff and puff and blow this place down.”

  Ben looked at Crystal with a weird grin on his face. “You are surprising. Don’t come into work tomorrow until you’ve written at least two thousand words at home and your headache is gone. Matt; after you take her home, can you come on back to my office? We’ve got a story to shape and some resumés to read through.”

  As Matt led Crystal outside, she continued to ask, “Headache? What headache? I don’t have a headache? Do you have a headache?”

  ***

  The next morning, Crystal did indeed have a headache; a real whopper.

  Her mom had stayed home from work and was just sprinkling cinnamon on a mug of coffee when Crystal walked in the kitchen door holding her head with one hand. Joanne held out the coffee to her daughter.

  “Mom, thank you. I will never drink again.”

  “Honey; this is your first hangover. The Fieldings must have been making doubles or even triples. I’ve seen you after you’ve had a couple glasses of wine the night before, and you have never looked like this.”

  “I have never felt like this before in my life. Are you sure my eyes are not melting?”

  Joanne gently laughed. “Matt filled me in last night on how you spent your afternoon. I suspected something was up when your bike was in the back of his truck.” She took a sip of her own coffee. “And I definitely knew something was up when you saw me and waved like a crazy women and told me you were so happy I came for a visit. You then invited me in and introduced me to your cat; Duffy MacDufferson.”

  “Oh my god. I don’t even remember.”

  “So today, as soon as you feel a little bit better; we are going to work on your story.”

  Crystal groaned. “Mom, all my brain cells are out shopping. I can’t…even…think.”

  “You managed to get your clothes on. That’s a good start.”

  “Not really; these are from yesterday.”

  “Ah.”

  Joanne sat quietly watching her daughter drink her coffee. “It’s funny CeeCee, but this is the first time we have gone through this. I was so worried when you were ten…”

  “I had a drinking problem when I was ten? I don’t remember.”

  “No; I was just worried that when you hit your teens you would start sneaking out at night and going to parties and coming home drunk. But you didn’t.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “CeeCee; don’t be such an Eeyore. You did it; you got Gloria to confess on tape. Of course, it’s going to be a bit of a long haul to see any judicial action. I imagine you’ll have to get statements from each of those girls the Fieldings paid and give them to the judge along with a transcript of…”

  “Mom; please. What is that scraping noise?”

  “I don’t hear any scraping.”

  “At the door. Something’s scraping.”

  Joanne opened the kitchen door and found a little orange tabby staring up at her. She picked the cat up and put it in Crystal’s arms.

  “Duffy!” Crystal said and started crying as she buried her face in its fur.

  “We don’t know whose cat this is; we’ll have to put signs up, but for now, this can be Duffy.”

  When she finished her second cup of coffee, Crystal was feeling better. Her mother had offered to dig out their old typewriter, but Crystal vetoed that idea.

  “I think my ears might fall off if I start clacking away; I’ll just write it longhand and type it up at work on the nice, quiet word processor.”

  Duffy was extremely pleased at this decision. He had the greatest time jumping on Crystal’s pencil as she wrote. She in turn, started laughing. About a third of the way into her story she told her mom, “You know, laughter really is the best medicine. This little ball of fluff is helping to distract me from the horror and deception I’m writing about.”

  “Crystal; you seem to be on the mend. I’m going to go drive around the neighborhood and see if any signs are posted about a lost cat. If not, I’ll go pick up a litterbox and cat food. Do you want me to make you some breakfast before I go?”

  Crystal shook her head and immediately regretted it.

  “I’m good.”

  After her mom left, Crystal laid her pencil down and had a serious talk with the little tabby that was sitting on the kitchen table beside her.

  “Okay buddy, this is the way things are going to work. This will be your pencil; you can use it to write anything you want.” Crystal took another pencil from the junk drawer. “And this is my pencil, understand?”

  Duffy immediately pounced on the new pencil.

  Crystal picked up the discarded pencil and started writing about her experiences. Every so often, she stopped and re-read what she had written.

  It had been one remarkable week for the young woman.

  “Did I really go this far out of my comfort zone?” she asked Duffy. “How did I do this? Me; the girl who couldn’t even complete a job application because she felt queasy? The girl, who in any crowd, felt like she was in a glass elevator, cut off from everyone and yet, being judged by everyone?”

  Duffy mewed in response.

  “Exactly,” said Crystal and went back to writing.

  When her mom returned, she found Crystal, her head in her arms, sleeping on the table with the cat curled up in her long blonde hair.

  “Well Duffy, I guess you're Crystal’s cat for the time being; no one has reported a missing cat. Let’s give you some food.”

  Half-asleep Crystal advised, “I think I could eat.” She lifted up her head then peeled the piece of foolscap off the side of her face. “I think I have a good story here; but I know when I give it to Marjorie it’s going to be covered in red chicken scratch when I get it back. Mom, do you mind if I turn on the radio? I’ve gotten used to it playing in the morning.”

  “Sure, CeeCee.”

  As Crystal wrote she heard the news intro: “And at the top of the hour, Harrogatians, we have some starling news. In what appears to be a murder-suicide, the bodies of Winston and Gloria Fielding were found this morning by their executive assistant, Byron Hansen, when he reported for work. To repeat, the philanthropist, Winston Fielding and his wife, Gloria were found deceased, apparent victims of a murder-suicide pact. More details as they become available…”

  Joanne started to say, “Isn’t that…?” but Crystal interrupted.

  “Mom, I have to make a phone call!” Crystal started digging in her jeans pockets and pulled out a business card. She called the number.

  “Hello?” a male voice said shakily.

  “Mrs. Prescott bakes dinosaurs in her pies,” Crystal stated as her mom started chuckling. Crystal covered the receiver and told her mom to shush.

  “Oh Crystal, it’s you! Did you hear what happened?” Byron whispered.

  “Yes, it’s horrible. That’s why I’m phoning; how are you Byron?” />
  “Terrible; just terrible. I found them you know. And Crystal; there was a letter addressed to you.”

  “What?”

  “Yes; I have it. I had to phone the police; but in view of your confidential work, I thought you should have the letter before they did.”

  “Good thinking Byron. Give me a minute.” Crystal laid the receiver on the little table and tried to gather her thoughts. Why would the Fieldings have written her? And which Fielding did the shooting? She picked the phone back up.

  “Can you read the letter to me Byron?”

  “I guess but should I whisper? I just don’t want anyone to overhear; you would not believe how many people are here right now.”

  “Just talk how you are talking to me now. In my experience the minute you start to whisper, people’s ears perk up.”

  Byron unfolded the letter and read:

  “Dear Crystal or should I say CeeCee of CeeCee’s Common Sense? As you probably know by now, I have decided to go ahead with lead poisoning; the quicker method as you so logically pointed out yesterday.

  You may wonder why I have decided to choose this option. It’s because you did not answer my letters. Just kidding.

  It’s because Gloria keeps drinking. I have tried everything Crystal; everything. She has gone to so many spas and even a ‘drying out’ farm down in the States. She’s hopeless and more than that, a liability. Imagine when you write your story what the stockholders are going to say.

  Oh yes Crystal; I know the sound of a Dictaphone clicking off. I thought I might wait until the truth was in print and Gloria and I would simply share the shame of it all; but someone would be going to jail. That I couldn’t live with…as you’ve probably seen. I wonder if Scott will cover the story?

  But the real ice breaker was Gloria’s announcement this morning. Oh no; nothing like the previous days where she expressed absolutely no remorse whatsoever for killing that child; you'd think she, of all people, would understand the heartbreak of losing a child. Our little daughter Helen died twenty-six years ago today. This morning Gloria made a simple statement; fairly mundane.