Chapter 12
Guy drummed his fingers on his desk and contemplated what to do next. Three suspicious deaths in one day. That's the reason he left The Tribune seven years ago. He didn't want to bellow at reporters any more for getting scooped by Channel 4. He didn't want to teeter on the verge of a heart attack each day as he feared he might lose his job for some green reporter slipping a libelous comment into a 1A story. He didn't want to be hated by everyone who worked under him.
So he quit.
Yes, Statenville afforded Guy the opportunity to live out his days as a newspaperman in peace. Rotary Club dinners. Garden Club grip-and-grins. Mayoral elections. Anything beat daily crime and corruption.
But that was before Guy knew Statenville had a hallowed secret. He didn't actually know what it was - and he was paid handsomely not to search for it. Guy had a gentleman's agreement with the man he surmised was the mastermind. Every month Guy found a brown paper bag on his back porch full of $20 bills - 100 of them, to be exact. He knew because he counted it every time. Of course, Guy didn't have to go along when he was first approached. But the way the proposition was presented, Guy figured he had no choice. It was either take the money and pretend like this really was a sleepy little town or move to some other place and hope its secret was less toxic. The first option seemed the best, especially since he hadn't exactly amassed a sufficient nest egg for retirement. Besides, could this secret really be that big of a deal? Guy rationalized it away and didn't dwell on it much, especially since nothing worth digging into had ever come across his desk.
When certain whispers wafted Guy's way - the kind he begged for in Salt Lake - he acted hard of hearing. Some of the townspeople suspected he knew the secret, which is why they respected him all the more. He was becoming one of them, complicit in his silence. And for that, he was treated as one of their own.
But today, reality rocked Guy's fantasy. The truth was dying to get out. Literally.
Were these deaths tied to Statenville's dark secret? Perhaps. But would he reveal it, once the truth was known for certain? He didn't know for how much longer he could suppress his editor instincts, even if it meant giving up the cash - or something far worse.
His phone rang.
"This is Guy."
"Hey, Guy. Just wanted to find out how you're going to handle the big story this week," came the voice on the other end.
"With care and sensitivity."
"OK, just checking because I've seen two of your reporters out snooping around like they work for The New York Times. You keep an eye on them, you understand?"
"Don't worry. I've got them under control."
Guy lied and hung up. He knew that if he tried to sideline Cal and Kelly on this story, he might have a fight on his hands with his reporters. He would have to figure out something to appease everyone.
Guy then smiled as a good thought registered in his mind. This might be easier than I thought. Cal was diligent but he had never covered a story like this. And Kelly? Her uncle could handle her.
Of course, that is if they didn't find any damning evidence. One phone call could mitigate the situation, but not control it entirely.
He drummed his fingers on the desk again, resisting the urge to do what was right by all journalism ethics.
***
Cal's iPhone buzzed, dancing on the console of Kelly's car.
"Hello, Boss?"
"Where are you?" demanded Guy.
"We're just leaving Statenville High. I went to talk with Coach Miller and get his reaction . . . see if he knew anything else about those kids."
"OK, well, get back here ASAP. We need to talk."
"Have you found out anything new?"
"Yeah, I have. I found out you've continued poking your nose in the wrong places today and nobody likes it."
"Just doing my job, boss."
"Your job is to write what I assign you. Now get back here so we can finish this conversation in person."
Click.
Cal knew Guy was cranky, but his boss's behavior was bordering on erratic and irrational.
"Does Guy seem a little off today?" Cal asked Kelly.
"When is he not a little off?"
"No, seriously. You don't find his behavior somewhat... strange, even for Guy?"
"Well, think about it, Cal. Guy moved here to get away from all this murder and mayhem. Now it's followed him to his own private Mayberry."
"True. But it seems like he's dealing with something else. I can't put my finger on it."
"Well, I wouldn't worry about it. To be honest, I can't believe more of the town isn't on edge and acting a little crazy after three teens die in a 24-hour period."
"I know, but something just doesn't seem right about him." Cal stared out the window at the distant mountains.
"You're thinking too much."
"Maybe I am, but he wants us back in the office ASAP."
Kelly laughed. "As soon as possible for me translates into after I've visited my cousin, the coroner."
"Ah, Kelly. I'm having more fun with you on this case today than I've had since I moved here."
She shot him a cautious look.
Cal shifted nervously in his seat.
"Cal, I swear if you're hitting on me during an investigative report of three murdered teens ..." Her voice trailed off.
Cal smiled and put his hands up as to say he was innocent. He then busied himself by silencing his phone, not wanting to be interrupted by Guy until they got back to the office.
***
The Ford F-250 continued to maintain a safe distance behind Kelly's car. The driver hit 1 on his cell phone's speed dial to file his report. "It appears they're headed back to the office," the driver said.
The man on the other end seemed pleased.
"Keep me posted if they make any unexpected stops. I don't want this turning into a big news story."