Chapter 4
When Cal walked through The Register's glass doors and into the newsroom, his eyes focused on Guy. Cal's curmudgeon editor stood on the other side of his desk, testing the length of his phone chord as he leaned out his door and snapped for a pen and pad from his assistant. Guy scratched down information that the caller relayed to him before hanging up the phone. He ran his hands through the thinning unkempt hair on his 62-year-old dome, as he exhaled a big breath. Then he spotted Cal.
"Get in here, Cal. You've got work to do!" he bellowed.
Cal then realized he was still standing outside the newsroom. He quickly moved toward his editor as he watched the veteran newsman come to life.
"Coming, boss!"
Cal's desk was on the second row of four in The Register's cramped newsroom. He sat behind Edith Caraway, the chipper receptionist who didn't try to hide her vintage era with the bouffant hairstyle she sported. Next to her was Earl Munroe, the middle-aged obituary and typesetter extraordinaire. Earl enjoyed sharing his mock obituaries almost as much as Edith enjoyed hearing them. Both had worked at the paper for more than 20 years and neither seemed to aspire to anything more.
Directly next to Cal's desk was copy editor and sole page designer, Terry Alford, armed with every technological advancement known to a modern newsroom. When he wasn't designing pages he spent most of his time flaunting his software and hardware superiority over the plebe reporters. His high-powered Mac desktop versus the reporters' aging Dell laptops was like comparing a Bazooka to a pea shooter - at least in his mind. He often exploded into diatribes about his virtual world conquests that would make Charlie Sheen blush. This usually produced exaggerated eye rolls and snickers from anyone unlucky enough to be caught in one of his technological barrages.
Behind Cal's desk was Kelly's workstation, the almighty photo department, and a spot for Sammy Mendoza, Kelly's 26-year-old cousin assigned to cover society functions who spent most of his time basking in nepotism. Sammy wasn't interested in small talk unless it included the latest gossip on who was running around on whom or who had purchased the latest top-of-the-line luxury automobile.
That left Guy and his secretary, Mindy Nicholson. Mindy didn't belong in this position. She was sharp, savvy and ambitious. But those things don't matter much when you decide to marry a sheep farmer. She would do anything for Guy and was exactly what he needed to maintain his sanity when something went awry.
Guy managed to cordon himself off from everyone else, if ever so slightly, with four-foot bluish-gray cubicle walls that were well past their prime. Mostly, it made Guy look silly as he tried to maintain some semblance of past newsroom glory as the editor of the Salt Lake City Tribune. But he pretended not to care that it looked just like you would imagine a small town newspaper in the middle-of-nowhere Idaho would look like.
Cal's desk, a relic rivaling Edith, was awash in papers. If Cal had 30 seconds to locate a meaningful piece of information on his desk or he would be typing in obituaries for a week, Earl would have been assured a week of vacation.
Normally on a Monday morning, only Edith and Earl would be at their posts, but today, there wasn't an empty seat - not even Sammy's.
Cal dumped his laptop bag on his desk and headed for Guy's space.
"So, what's the scoop, boss?"
"That's why I hire reporters, Cal," Guy growled. "They're supposed to bring me the scoop."
Cal sucked in a short breath. He was unsure of how to respond to Guy's thinly veiled accusation. But he didn't have a chance to say anything as Guy began barking instructions.
"Go to the sheriff's office and see if Jones will give you anything. Then report back to me and we'll figure out where to go next."
"You got it."
"And, Cal, be careful, you hear me? I want Kelly with you at all times to get some good art. We need a good dominant photo for Wednesday's paper. Even if it's Jones looking forlorn, I want something."
"Will do, boss."
Kelly was already gathering her camera bag and notepad before Cal turned around and headed for his desk. She was waiting for Cal by the glass doorway as he scooped up his belongings.
Just as Cal was about to pass Edith near the front of the newsroom, she hung up the phone and began shaking.
"Cal, don't go anywhere," she said. "I think you're going to want to hear this."
Then she turned toward the back of the newsroom and utilized her Edithcom.
"Guy, there's been another murder!"