POLICE BLOTTER WEEK MAY 11
FRIDAY, MAY 8 DOMESTIC DISTURBANCE. Approximately 7:00 a.m. Neighbors on Sycamore Lane reported screaming, cursing, and loud arguments coming from home next door. Officers responding to call were told by male, early forties, answering door that they were not source of noise. Officer observed bright red burn marks on man’s face and noticed smoke and smell of fire coming from residence, entered home. Found woman in kitchen, sitting at table drinking Miller Lite beer and holding ice bag to eye. Woman advised boyfriend grew angry after she burned grits for third day in a row. Man claimed woman threw pot of burned grits at his face, then tossed burning pan into trash, catching it on fire, at which point man made obscene remarks about woman’s cooking, weight, and mother. Both victims declined medical treatment. Both declined to press assault charges. Officer advised marital counseling and instant grits.
SUNDAY, MAY 10 POSSIBLE BREAKING AND ENTERING. Resident of house on Hibiscus Way reported hearing suspicious noises coming from roof at 2:00 a.m., requested armed patrol response. Upon arrival, officer walked around house with flashlight, noted upstairs bedroom window ajar. Officer entered residence, checked bedroom, found partially undressed sixteen-year-old female entertaining seventeen-year-old male. Advised male to leave house immediately, as female’s father was downstairs searching for shotgun. Advised daughter that parents have excellent hearing.
MONDAY, MAY 11 DISTURBING THE PEACE, PUBLIC DRUNKENESS, INDECENT EXPOSURE. Officer dispatched to Jiffy Stop Convenience Store where they encountered boisterous, possibly inebriated sixty-year-old male suspect, loudly cursing store management and throwing discarded beer bottles at side of building. Suspect claimed beer he’d purchased and consumed at store was “poisoned,” causing him to become inebriated. Demanded refund, and when management refused, entered store and urinated on beer display. Allegedly poisoned beer impounded for chemical analysis. Suspect transported to Silver Bay jail for observation.
Grayson looked up from the copy she’d just edited and gave her sister a grudging nod. “You’re really good at this, you know?”
“What? Picking up police reports?” Conley lounged on the chair in Grayson’s office, waiting for the hastily called staff meeting to start.
She’d dressed up in anticipation of a long day, wearing slim-cut black slacks, a pale gray silk short-sleeved silk top, and black ballet flats.
“You know what I mean. The light touch. This is the kind of thing our readers can’t get anyplace else. It’s hyper-local, it’s witty, and they’ll eat it up.”
“Wow. Thanks, I guess,” Conley said, unused to any kind of praise from her big sister. “What’s the plan for the funeral today? I should tell you the Atlanta bureau is sending an NBC crew down to cover it, and I’ve been feeding them color.”
“Let’s wait for the others,” Grayson said, glancing at her watch. It was just after nine.
Lillian King breezed into the office ten minutes later.
“You’re fifteen minutes late,” Grayson pointed out.
Lillian plopped a box of doughnuts on top of her desk. “I stopped at Sweet ’n’ Tasty and got us breakfast. A dozen doughnuts means I’m only three minutes late, and you know that’s five minutes early on LKT. Anyway, it’s Saturday, and I hope you know I’m putting in for overtime for all this work I’m doing on my day off.”
Conley looked up from the emails she was reading on her phone. “LKT?”
“Lillian King Time,” Grayson said.
Michael Torpy walked in and helped himself to a pink-frosted doughnut with sprinkles. With one bite, he demolished half the pastry. “What’s up, boss? We talking funeral?”
“We are,” Grayson said.
“Good deal,” Mike said, spraying sprinkles down the front of his rumpled white dress shirt and skinny black silk tie. He’d slicked down his unruly red hair with gel and worn black jeans for the day’s occasion. “Hey, the reason I’m late is I just came by the church. You won’t believe it. There are two different TV trucks setting up camp. People are already lining up outside waiting to get in like it’s a Taylor Swift concert. You know, if old people went to Taylor Swift concerts.”
“This is a Taylor Swift concert for these people,” Conley said. “Did you shoot some photos?”
Michael held up the Nikon 35mm camera. “I got two old ladies in folding lawn chairs. They’re both wearing TEAM VANESSA T-shirts, and then I shot the Boy Scouts practicing their honor guard march over in the courthouse square, and some dudes circling the square in a pickup with a huge spray-painted CHARLIE FOR CONGRESS flag whipping in the wind.”
“Sounds good,” Grayson said. “Okay, now we’re just missing Rowena.”
“Noooo,” Conley and Michael said.
“I know she’s a pain in the ass, but we seriously need her institutional memory today,” Grayson said. “She knows everybody who’s anybody. I want her up front in the church, right behind the family’s pew.”
“If I know Rowena, she’ll shove her way into the family pew,” Conley muttered.
They heard the front door open and then the tapping of their star columnist’s cane.
“Yoo-hoo!” a quavery voice called. “Where is everybody?”
Michael went into the outer office and rolled in another chair. “We’re back here in Grayson’s office, Rowena.”
Rowena Meigs was styled for a state funeral. Her hair had been curled and teased and sprayed into a towering blue-white bouffant. Her face was powdered and rouged, and her eyelids were weighted down to half-mast by glued-on false eyelashes. She wore an age-rusted black silk moiré cocktail suit whose rhinestone jacket buttons strained to contain her generous bust. The skirt was so tight they could hear the rustle of the girdle and black pantyhose she wore underneath with each mincing step she took. Even her cane was wrapped in black grosgrain ribbon for the occasion.
“Sit here, Rowena,” Michael said, taking her arm.
“Thank you, darlin’,” she said, handing him her outsize pocketbook, which was suspiciously squirming.
Tuffy popped his head out and bared his teeth at the hapless young reporter. Tuffy’s topknot was fastened with a black grosgrain bow.
“Uh, Rowena, you’re not thinking of taking that dog to the funeral, are you?” Grayson asked.
“I certainly am,” Rowena said, bristling. “Most people find the presence of a dog very comforting in a time of stress.”
The editor shrugged and went back to her battle plan.“Okay,” Grayson said. “The team’s all here, so let’s get started. Rowena, I was just telling the others I want you to sit up front, as close to the family pew as you can get.”
“Of course.”
“Are you invited to Vanessa’s dinner tonight?”
“I certainly am,” she said, stroking the thick, triple strand of pearls around her neck.
“We won’t have time for you to type up your column in time for the special edition. Do you think you could just call into the office and dictate it to Lillian?”
“Say what?” Lillian said sharply.
“I’m paying you time and a half,” Grayson said.
“Double. And I wanna get reimbursed for these doughnuts,” Lillian said. “I’m not made of money, you know.”
“Mike is going to take the good camera with the zoom lens, and he’ll shoot outside the church. And after, at the reception at the Baptist church,” Grayson said. “We’ll need shots of Vanessa with the governor, that kind of stuff. And of course Charlie. Be great if we could get a shot of Vanessa and Charlie together.”
“Not gonna happen,” Conley predicted.
“You think Toddie and her kids will show?” Grayson asked.
“If they do, Vanessa’s head will explode.”
“Then let’s hope it happens. Exploding heads make for great front pages,” Grayson said. “Either way, I’m thinking we put out another digital special edition. Not tonight, because I think that’d really be pushing it, but in the morning.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Mike said, pumping his fist. He blushed. “Oops. Sorry, Rowena. My bad.”
“Conley, you’ll be roving,” Grayson continued. “We’ve gotta keep it low-key, but if you see a good photo op, shoot Mike a text. Or if you can be discreet, shoot it with your phone. I want you concentrating on the human-interest angle—family angst, all that. Mike, the political angle is yours. See if you can get the governor to talk about when he’ll schedule the special election to fill Symmes’s seat in the House. It’s a long shot, but maybe he’ll weigh in on the Vanessa-Charlie controversy.”
“What about me?” Lillian demanded. “What am I gonna do while I sit around here waiting to get dictated to over the phone?”
“I want you to call or email every business that was a new advertiser this week. Tell ’em we’re putting out another digital special edition in the morning, and this is their chance to get in with a special rate.”
The office manager sighed heavily. “Gonna be a long day.”
“Okay, team, that’s our game plan,” Grayson said. “You guys already kicked ass once this week, and I know we can do it again. Right?”
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” Michael said. “Whoops. Sorry again, Rowena.”
The elderly columnist was busy feeding a doughnut to Tuffy. “That’s all right,” she said serenely. She looked over at Conley. “Isn’t it nice that the staff meeting is over so early? This way, you’ll still have time to go home and get dressed before the funeral.”
“I am dressed for the funeral, Rowena,” Conley said.
“Oh,” Rowena said, stroking her pearls again. “Oh my.”