Rosemary Herbert - Front Page Teaser

Opening one of her sandwiches, Liz took out two carrot sticks she’d seen the sandwich maker pack in the waxed paper. Stepping out of her car, she gave them to a girl who was making a snowman with her friends.

“We’ve got two noses!” the girl crowed, brandishing the carrot sticks to prove her point.

Minutes later, Tom pulled his van up beside the Tracer and led Liz to the back doors. Opening them with a flourish, he took out a hard plastic bucket, turned it upside down to make a step, and led Liz into the van. She saw he’d removed a seat, bundled his wallpapering equipment on the remaining bench seat, lined the compartment with a brightly striped Mexican blanket, and set up two more overturned plastic buckets with a board across them as a mini-table. The Beatles tune “Paperback Writer” was playing on his radio.

“You provide the picnic, I provide the picnic spot,” he smiled.

Sitting beside Tom with her legs bent to one side, Liz fell into him as she tried to give him a hug. A few minutes of snuggling ensued before the two, with much steamier windows surrounding them, sat up, unwrapped their sandwiches, and poured out coffee.

“I’ve seen all kinds of things written or drawn on walls underneath wallpaper,” Tom began. “Lots of dates with names of wallpapering crews—some cute messages, too. I remember one where some girl wrote, ‘Finally, I’m getting new wallpaper for my room.’ It’s common to see kids’ names and ages in kids’ rooms. Less often, I see a drawing obviously done by a kid. But until I saw the drawing in Veronica’s room, I’ve never seen anything upsetting on a stripped wall.”

“What is in the drawing?”

“It’s a drawing of a girl with long hair and her father, flying a kite. I know that, because it says ‘DADDY’ under the man. But—I almost hate to tell you this—the man has a big penis sticking out from his front.”

“Are you sure?”

“I took a picture, so you can see it for yourself.”

“Can you draw it for me?”

“I tried to copy it.” Tom took a much-folded piece of paper from his pocket and spread it out on the makeshift table.

“Oh, Tom! I’ll have to see the photo to be sure, but I think the thing you think looks like a penis is actually a picture of Erik’s tie.”

“What makes you think that? Why would it be so huge, and why would it stick out like that?”

“I’ve just come from Erik’s office. He has a family portrait taped up, drawn some years ago by Veronica. I couldn’t help noticing Veronica drew her dad wearing a huge purple tie. She drew her mother holding an oversized pocketbook, too.” Liz scrutinized Tom’s drawing. “See the kite in this drawing? Maybe she’s remembering an outing with her dad on a windy day. The tie blew around in the wind.”

Tom looked doubtful. “For Veronica’s sake, I hope that’s true. But I wouldn’t count on it. What kind of guy takes his kid out kite flying dressed in a business suit?”

“I don’t know,” Liz admitted. “But I do know it’s all too easy to vilify the husband when a wife goes missing.”

“I think you’d better not get too attached to this family, Liz. You might be disappointed in them.”

Liz poured more coffee and opened the bakery box. As she placed the gingerbread man and woman on napkins, she noticed how huge the raisin buttons were in proportion to their icing outfits. But she didn’t point this out to Tom. Finishing off the cookies, the two sat side-by-side in silence. Inside the steamy vehicle, the homey blend of gingerbread and coffee fragrances made a sharp contrast with their worries about the Johansson family.

After the gingerbread was consumed, Tom took Liz’s hand and led her back to her car. As he gave her a hug, Liz realized he was never the first to end an embrace. When they broke apart, he added his drawing to a plastic bag containing the point-and-shoot camera and handed the bag to Liz. Taking it, Liz gave Tom a kiss and made sure she was the last to end it before getting into her car.

Thankful the snowfall was less intense, Liz wound her car through deep snow to the well-plowed Massachusetts Turnpike. Her route from Newton to Boston took her past her own little house. The winds of the snowstorm had formed drifts around it. They had also given the billboard—which read, “Maksoud Motors: We always go the extra mile!”—a frosty whitewash. Liz remembered Tom would be changing the billboard’s advertisement soon, since Old Man Maksoud had hired the space for end-of-year car sales only. It was only a few days until January 1st.

As was usual during a daytime snowstorm, the Banner ’s parking lot was a mess. It was nearly impossible for a plow to work there with so many employees’ cars to maneuver around. Snow spilled into Liz’s boots as she walked from her car to the building. Inside, she shook off her coat and went straight to the photo department. René’s broad smile told her he’d snapped Kinnaird and was eager for the front-page placement of that photo.

“The doctor says he’ll call you around 4:40,” René said taking the point-and-shoot camera Liz handed him. “These things are a bitch to take apart,” he said, “but I’ll do my best. I’m on overtime in ten minutes. Will I be able to claim the overtime, or am I doing you a favor?”

“Um hm,” Liz said, looking into the plastic bag the camera had been in. She saw it contained Tom’s drawing and an airmail letter addressed to Ellen Johansson, postmarked from Heathrow Airport, London, December 18.

“What do you mean by ‘um hm’, Liz? Which is it, pictures for a story that will run or another of your speculative ventures?”

“It’ll run,” Liz said, listening to the radio that was always turned on in the photo department.

“ World reporter Mick Lichen and Erik Johansson of Newton were both arrested after allegedly assaulting one another at the latter’s home today,” the announcer said. “According to jogger Sy Eliot, who witnessed the incident, Johansson shook a ladder Lichen was standing on when he discovered the reporter peeking into his daughter’s bedroom. The reporter fell to the ground, breaking his left leg in the process. But that didn’t stop Lichen from striking out at Johansson. According to Eliot, Lichen wrapped his arms around Johansson’s leg, causing him to fall to the ground. Erik Johansson is the husband of Ellen Johansson, the librarian who went missing from her Newton home December 18. The incident raises the question of how far a reporter may go to get his story. Even before he dragged Johansson to the ground, was Mick Lichen a law-breaking trespasser and voyeur, or was he a professional going the extra mile to get a job done? For analysis, tune in tonight at ten to WLTR’s Letter of the Law program.”

Certain the World would report on what Lichen saw, Liz knew she had two stories on her hands, and it wasn’t even an official day at work for her. Looking at the clock, she decided to postpone conferring with Dermott McCann. If she told him about the blood types and the drawing on Veronica’s wall, he would surely put another reporter on one of the stories. She wanted them both. Not only that, but she was the only one who had a hope of speaking with Veronica herself to find out about the kite-flying episode. With the news meeting that would decide what stories would be given precedence in the paper just two and a half hours away, Liz decided to take a chance on covering both. Heading down the ink-stained hallway to her car, she phoned Olga Swenson and told her she wanted to see her in advance of reporting some important news. Naturally agitated after learning of her son-in-law’s arrest, the older woman nonetheless consented to see Liz at her Wellesley home and gave her driving directions to the place.