Rene Gutteridge - Listen

Grayson pulled a folder off his desk. “The woman from last night, the deacon’s wife, she’s not pressing charges. Says it was an accident.”

“So I guess she’s going to live.”

“Fractured skull but the bleeding has stopped and the doctors said she’ll make a full recovery. So the case is closed. I don’t know if the neighbors are going to press charges about the cat. I need you to write up your part of the report. Murray will fill in the rest. Now, go on. Get out of here.”

Frank stood slowly. His knees hurt today.

“By the way, I told Gavin to report if you go anywhere near Angela.”

“Is that really necessary?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Frank went to the door. The day hadn’t started and already he was exhausted. “Captain?”

“Yeah?”

“What about this Web site?”

“What Web site?”

“The one where all this information is coming from. It’s got this ominous message on it about our town, and now apparently we’ve got someone recording private conversations and posting them there. Look what it’s already caused.”

The captain sighed. “There’s always going to be things to get mad about. Any guy that would throw a remote control at his wife doesn’t need a Web site to set him off. It could’ve been anything.”

“It’s stirring up trouble in our community.”

Grayson nodded, but his focus had turned to a file on his desk.

“Aren’t you curious how this person’s doing it?”

“Doing what?”

“Listening to people’s conversations?”

Grayson lifted his hands as if he were at a loss for words. His focus went back to the file he was trying to read.

“I think we should investigate it.”

“Come on. We can’t get involved in this.”

“The Shaws aren’t the first. There are days’ worth of conversations on there now. Some of the conversations are mundane and meaningless. Others have more of a…”

“A what?”

“There are words. There are words on there that are going to change people’s lives.”

“Just let it drop. If it becomes a big deal, then it becomes a big deal. Marlo doesn’t need anything else to worry about right now.”

Frank tried to walk out but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. “I think that it’s in the best interest of the town to find out at least how the Shaws’ conversation was recorded.”

“Frank,” the captain said in a heavy tone, “we’ve got two detectives working all of our departments. Our budget was slashed last year. We don’t have the resources for…” His tired expression grew stern. “This is about a man assaulting his wife with a remote control. Whatever caused him to go off isn’t our problem.”

“But if we could just check their house for bugs-”

“You mean bring the state in on this? You know we don’t have the resources for that, and the last thing we want is the state involved in our town.” Grayson gave him a hard look. “Now leave this alone. That’s an order.”

“This is great stuff,” Edgar said, skimming the notes Damien had handed him. Edgar sipped scalding black coffee, blowing the steam off the top. “Yeah, I like this. I like the direction this is going.” He tapped the paper. “And this Web site. That’s intriguing.”

“The Web site? Well, yes, I suppose it is. But I’d like to focus on the Shaws and their-”

“Oh yes, definitely. Did they or did they not hang the cat? But this Web site. Where did it come from? Who’s doing it?”

Damien feigned interest by nodding and rubbing his chin, but that wasn’t the story he wanted to cover. He had plans to interview Darla Shaw, then Tim, the neighbors… try to figure out how a deacon of the church could end up nearly killing his wife with a remote.

“You say here that it all started with a conversation that was posted on this Web site, right?” Edgar asked.

“I guess, but-”

“So the conversation was about their neighbors across the street, good friends?”

“Yes.”

“Then these neighbors find their cat hanging from a tree.”

“Yes.”

“And by evening, the deacon has almost killed his wife.”

“I called the hospital and talked to my cousin so I could get some info. Turns out she’s going to be fine and she’s not planning on pressing charges.”

Edgar looked delighted. “Even better. Everyone’s fascinated with the wife who’d stay with the abuser. Oprah makes a killing off stories like this. And now it’s our turn.” He stood and grabbed the coffeepot in the corner of his office, pouring himself another cup. “This Web site, though. I want you to do some digging. Let’s follow it regularly in the paper.”

“Sir, with all due respect, do you think that’s a good idea? What good could come of drawing people’s attention to gossip?”

Edgar held the coffee near his lips but didn’t drink. “So you’re back to editorial opinion pieces now? If you want to be an investigative reporter, you’ve got to stop thinking about people’s feelings. And your own opinion, for that matter. I want facts. They’re not called cold and hard for nothing.”

Thirty more minutes of office time and then Kay had a showing. Probably the only showing of the day. The economy wasn’t bad in Marlo, but it was all about perception. Nobody wanted to make any big financial moves, including buying a house they couldn’t afford. But truth was, when it came to Marlo, nobody could afford what they were living in. Or driving. Or vacationing to.

She decided to check on some properties that went up for sale yesterday. But before her hands hit the keyboard, an unfamiliar female voice floated down the hall, asking where Kay’s office was. Soon, Shannon, Zoey’s mom, stood in the doorway.

“Look at you, all professional and snazzy.” She sauntered in wearing really expensive jeans and a cozy sweater. Long earrings stretched her lobes down, and a small Gucci purse dangled off one shoulder.

Kay stood because that was the professional thing to do. Normally she might extend a hand to shake, but moms didn’t shake hands. They just gave one another the once-over and an either approving or disapproving look.

Shannon’s finger traced the air. “Girl, you are rocking it in that pink number.”

“Oh, uh, thank you. How are you?”

“Sit; sit.” Shannon flopped herself into the single chair on the other side of Kay’s desk. She kicked her feet up. Ugg boots. Of course.

“So what’s up?” Kay asked.

“I had to come talk to you. So we’re at Kelly’s last night, right? Doing the whole scrapbooking thing for the girls. By the way, cuuute picture of Jenna in her cheer outfit. Anyway, guess who stops by? Jill! Exactly. Uninvited as usual. Well, she’s a mess.”

“A mess?”

“First of all, she should not be wearing those awful Juicy outfits. Really. She looks ridiculous. Especially when she’s got mascara running down her face.”

“What was wrong?”

“It took us fifteen minutes to get her calmed down to even tell us. According to her-and this, mind you, is according to her-Mike is the one having an affair. At least she’s suspecting it. I don’t know why she’s devastated. I mean, she’s divorcing the guy. Cut your losses. Move on. She claims that she’s upset for Natalie’s sake, but come on. The woman is a total codependent. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s written all over her.”

Shannon twirled the hair from her ponytail around her index finger, snapping her gum and seemingly sizing Kay up for a moment.

“So, what happened?”

Shannon sighed. “The same thing that always happens. We listen to her drone on and on about her problems. We tell her it’s going to be okay. And we push her out the front door so she can go hit the liquor shop before it closes.”