Chapter Twenty-seven

 

 

Monday, July 5

9:30 a.m.

 

There was an undeniable feeling of electricity in the conference room that morning as she walked in and sat down. Sunday’s paper looked great and Sam beamed like a proud new father.

“Good morning, Elise. Did you have a nice weekend?”

She grinned at her boss as he scooted a small white bag over to her.

“It was fine. But what’s this?”

“Breakfast on me,” he said. “I know how much you like chocolate, so I got you an East Coast favorite.”

She reached into the bag and pulled out an oddly decorated cookie. It reminded her of an Asian symbol she had learned about in high school.

“It’s called a black and white. You’ll love it.”

“Where’s mine?” Dean asked as he strode into the room.

“I got one for everybody, don’t worry.” Sam reached down under his chair and extracted a white bag just like the one in front of Elise.

“To what do we owe this fine honor?” the photographer asked as he pulled out his cookie and broke it in two.

“Sunday’s paper was dynamite, so I decided to splurge.” Sam reached under his chair once again when Michael and Karen entered the room.

Once everyone was settled and working on a cookie, Sam began the weekly meeting.

“I want to thank you all for a job well done on this weekend’s paper. The story on the protest at town hall was exceptional, Elise. The quotes you got were awesome. And those photos you got, Dean—they were the kind of eye-catching shots that make a front page hard to resist.”

Elise laughed out loud when she noticed Dean reach over his own shoulder and pat himself on the back. The pretend gun Sam shot in his direction was even funnier.

“The story on Scott Levine’s murder was also well done,” Sam continued, barely missing a beat after the amusing gesture exchange. “Great job finding out he’d consulted Madame Mariah prior to his death, as well.”

“I read that. What’s up there?” Dean raised an eyebrow in her direction as he simultaneously dunked a piece of cookie in his coffee mug.

“Madame Mariah called me at home Wednesday night and told me she had seen Scott Levine. She warned him he was in danger, but he thought she was joking.” Elise looked around the room at the faces of her coworkers. Everyone looked tired despite Sam’s effort to be upbeat. The constant commotion around town was wearing on them all. And the fact that news trucks from across the state were moving into Ocean Point wasn’t helping. “She’s genuinely concerned for her clients. Think about it . . . she didn’t have to admit to anyone she had seen him. No one would have ever known.”

“Do you think she’s gotten off the police department’s list of suspects?” Dean asked.

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “I know she’s been cooperative with the police so I imagine she’s almost off their list, but not necessarily off the list some people have made in their own minds.”

“Like Daniel Johnson?” Sam asked pointedly.

“It doesn’t help his case if suspicion is turned away from her. He’s been using the angle that she is somehow connected with these deaths to move his own agenda through the town council.”

She saw Sam nod in agreement then look down at the meeting notes sprawled on the paper in front of him.

“What did the mayor think of the picket the other day?” he asked her.

“He wasn’t available for comment. He took the day off to get his parents settled in his home.”

“Ever the saint,” Dean said sarcastically.

“That reminds me, Dean . . . I noticed a few weeks ago that you had taken a picture of Mayor Brown as he was leaving church one Sunday.” She looked across the table at the photographer who lounged in his seat, one foot on top of the table. “In your picture he was doing a weird wave. Like this.”

She held her bent pinky finger down with her thumb and waved her hand with the remaining three fingers extended, imitating what she had seen the mayor do the day before. “I saw him do that again yesterday on his way into church. Do you have any idea why he does that?”

“I asked him about that once and he looked at me like I was some sort of pagan.” Dean put his foot back down on the ground and crumbled his cookie bag into a ball. “He said that it means to keep holy the sabbath day.”

“What?” She stared at the photographer and waited.

“Evidently that’s the third commandment, and like I told you before—he’s a religious guru.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.” Dean threw the balled-up paper bag in the direction of the wastebasket. It missed.

“Nice to see your aim hasn’t improved any,” Elise teased in a nod to his lack of prowess at the dunking booth.

“Okay, kids, let’s get back to business,” Sam said. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed the white panel trucks with the satellite towers on top. You’d be blind if you didn’t notice them on the way in this morning. Our little town has caught the attention of the country it seems, attention that is going to get old very fast.” Sam took a quick sip of coffee and paused. “I know my knee-jerk reaction should be to push everyone harder so we don’t get shown up by outsiders. But in the same breath, this is our town and this isn’t just a story for us. I want to keep the momentum we have going.”

She was glad to hear him say that. She knew what a circus the press could cause and she didn’t want to make her mark in the journalism world that way. She wanted to make it with dignity and compassion. Fortunately, everyone on staff seemed to feel the same way.

“So, what do you have going on this week, Tom?”

The sports reporter snapped to attention and looked down at his notes.

“I’ve gotten word that a member of the Knicks is going to be on vacation here this week with his family. If my sources pan out and he doesn’t cancel with everything going on around here, I should have a pretty good story for next Sunday.”

“Do you care to elaborate as to who this player might be?” Dean asked.

“Let me get him first.”

“How about you, Karen?” Sam asked, turning his attention to the most difficult staff member.

“I’m wrapping up work on my profile for next Sunday. This one is going to be on a gentleman in town who has some great history to tell about the Ocean Point of yesteryear.”

Elise tried to listen politely to Karen, but it was becoming harder and harder to ignore Dean’s dramatic yawning from across the table.

“How about you, Dean?” Sam asked, firmly. His disapproving tone was a bad disguise for his obvious amusement over the photographer’s antics.

“I’m just doing the photojournalism thing this week. Lots of stand-alone pictures.”

“Elise?”

She sat forward in her chair and looked hopefully at her boss.

“I’ve been thinking about doing a second part to my fortune-teller story. I’m thinking a personal account version with me as the guinea pig could be pretty interesting.”

“Great idea. I’ve always wondered what those psychics really do, and interest is certainly at an all-time high right now.”

Pleased with Sam’s reaction to her story suggestion, she looked down at the next idea she wanted to present.

“But, Elise, please be careful.”

 

 

10:30 a.m.

 

“Hello, this is Elise Jenkins. May I please speak with Detective Burns?”

She played with the phone cord as she waited, aware of how anxious she was to hear his voice again. The connection she felt to him was so much stronger after their lunch together.

“Detective Burns here.”

“Hi, Mitch, it’s Elise. Just wanted to see if you’ve got any updates for me on the investigations that I can go on the record with.”

“Still ongoing of course. Nothing new at this point but I hope to have something for you very soon.”

“I’ll check back again with you tomorrow.” She was just about to say good-bye when she heard him speak.

“Wait! Are we still on for the fireworks on Wednesday night?” he asked.

The eagerness in his voice was hard to miss.

“Yes, we are. What time do they start?”

“Probably around nine thirty, but I thought maybe we could catch a bite to eat beforehand.”

The prospect of a date with the handsome detective brought an immediate smile to Elise’s lips. She knew that Wednesday couldn’t possibly come soon enough.

“Sounds good,” she said quietly, hoping that her coworkers weren’t eavesdropping. She twirled her pen between her fingers as she tried to think of more things to say to prolong their conversation. “I’m going to be up on the boardwalk tonight.”

“Why is that?” he asked quickly.

“I’m doing a personal account follow-up to my fortune-teller story. You know, having my reading done so I can write about the experience.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Elise,” the detective said, a note of worry evident in his voice.

She liked the idea that Mitch Burns was worried about her. If he didn’t care about her, he wouldn’t care what she did. But just the same she was surprised by his obvious concern.

“I don’t believe Madame Mariah has anything to do with the murders and I thought you didn’t either.”

“There must be some sort of connection even if she’s innocent,” he said.

“If you’re worried, why don’t you tag along?”

“I would if I could. I’m having dinner with my Aunt Betty tonight. She lives about twenty miles from here and I can’t disappoint her.”

“She’s the woman who took you in after your parents died, isn’t she? The one who makes the delicious pies?”

“Yup. That’s the one. My mouth is watering already.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” she said. “I better get going. We just got out of our weekly staff meeting and I have a list of stuff I need to get working on for next Sunday’s paper. Oh, that reminds me, I asked Dean about the mayor’s odd wave.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that Mayor Brown is reminding people to keep holy the sabbath day.”

“Are you serious?”

“That’s what he said,” Elise answered. She looked at the clock and reluctantly cut the conversation short. “I’ll see you Wednesday night, right?”

“You bet. I’ll pick you up at sixty thirty if that’s okay with you. We can grab a bite, ride a few rides on the pier, and then watch the fireworks together on the beach,” he said.

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then,” she said softly. “Good-bye, Mitch.”

“Bye, Elise. Please be extra careful tonight.”