Rick Mofina - Whirlwind

“I have a follow on the mother who lost her baby boy in the storm.”

“I like that story. The picture you got before was great. Did we get a new photo?”

“Yes.”

“Write it up now, and starting tomorrow I want you to follow it through to the end, until this young mother finds her baby. What are the chances this baby was abducted?”

“That’s been raised, but nothing’s surfaced to warrant a criminal investigation.”

Chuck shook his head slowly. “Still a terrible story, because if he’s dead, sadly, we have another tragedy reflecting the toll exacted by the storm. If there’s a miracle and he’s found alive, we have a huge story of hope. And we all know that people prefer the latter.”

“I want your story in an hour,” Dorothea said, then left, walking the walk of someone defeated, for now.

Kate returned to her desk, her head spinning with wonder at what had transpired. Why had she been present for what was clearly a knock-down, drag-out battle between her two supervisors? Relieved by the outcome, she struggled to get back into her notes and the flow of the draft she had going on Jenna Cooper.

“Excuse me, Kate.” Tommy Koop stood at her desk.

“Yes?”

He lowered his voice. “I just heard that you’re not helping me with graphics, and that’s cool. I thought it was weird that you were. But anyway, the night crew is ordering pizza tonight-are you in?”

“That would be great, thanks.” She glanced around, thinking. “Tommy, wait. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What’s the deal between Dorothea and Chuck?”

“You don’t know?”

Kate shook her head.

Tommy leaned closer and almost whispered. “They hate each other. They fight a lot in front of everyone. Dorothea’s out to get Chuck’s job as bureau chief. By the way, Dorothea and Mandy Lee are BFFs and some of the reporters say that Dorothea’s trying to make sure Mandy gets the job so she can start building her empire here. They say she has her eye on Washington.”

Kate nodded slowly, all the pieces coming together.

“And something’s up with Chuck,” Tommy continued. “There’s a rumor that he’s got some kind of big personal crisis going on. No one really knows what it is, but Dorothea might be exploiting it to get his job.”

“Wow, quite a soap opera. I like Chuck… He’s a good editor.”

“Everybody likes him. I’ll come back to get your order and cash later.”

Now that she’d been enlightened, Kate turned back to her work, somewhat relieved to know that, like most newsrooms where she’d worked, this bureau was a viper pit.

She flipped slowly through her handwritten notes on Jenna Cooper and went back to Frank Rivera’s brochure, noticing the point she’d circled on the investigator’s checklist: “Always ask people close to a case what they think happened.”

Again, Kate went back to the asterisks in her notebook concerning the helpful mystery couple who had so far, to Kate’s knowledge, not been found. Helpful. Kate considered the word and her notes. The woman seemed infatuated with Caleb… Then they were just there in all the craziness…

Kate recalled a story she’d done in San Francisco about a newlywed couple who went hiking in the Rockies. The bride had fallen to her death. Kate had reached a retired Ranger who shared the investigator’s manual concerning fatal wilderness accidents: “First, always assume criminal intent,” it said, something that had stayed with Kate. Grizzled detectives often told her that things are not always what they seem to be at first. It turned out the groom had pushed his bride during an argument about her former lover.

Again, the words in Kate’s notebook almost cried out to her.

Infatuated with Caleb… Then they were just there…

Duncanville, Texas

Remy Toxton watched greater Dallas blurr by her window as Mason Varno guided their pickup along the Lyndon B. Johnson Freeway to the emergency shelter in Duncanville.

Far enough away, she thought.

It was at least twenty miles west of the flea market and a good place to get the baby’s condition checked. It was important to do this before Remy took the next step toward exchanging him for the rest of her money, and getting closer to her dream life with Mason.

She looked down at Caleb Cooper sleeping on her lap.

She had thought it all through this morning over the McDonald’s breakfast Mason went out to get for them. A hospital or clinic might ask more questions and have security cameras, whereas a temporary shelter might be less formal and more understanding if tornado survivors didn’t have all the answers.

I just wish to hell that stupid mother in the news would shut up about looking for her baby. She wasn’t fit to care for this baby. I’m taking him to a better place.

They were ready to do this, she thought.

Mason had shaved his stubble, put on a new Cowboys’ ball cap, and a long-sleeved shirt to cover his tattoos.

Remy’s spiked red hair was now cropped short and dyed dark brown. She wore black-framed, knockoff Prada glasses, which she got at the flea market. She also wore a plain cotton top that covered her tattoo. They didn’t look anything like the couple who’d helped that stupid mother.

After making a series of merges, exits and turns, they’d reached the recreation center that served as the area’s emergency shelter.

“All set, babe?” Remy asked.

Mason nodded.

They entered the center with Mason carrying Caleb, looking every bit like young parents as they stopped at the first table, where three women were assisting people.

One of them was wearing a sweatshirt emblazoned with the words World’s Greatest Grandma. She smiled over bifocals at Remy and Mason. “How can we help you folks?”

“We’d like to get medical attention for our baby,” Remy started. “His head got hurt in the storm.” Mason held Caleb so the woman could see the little bandage. “We just want to be sure he’s okay,” Remy said.

“Oh my, yes. Can’t take chances with little babies.” The woman pointed with a pen. “Go to the medical unit down there. See the sign?”

Remy and Mason nodded their thanks.

“Are you sure that’s all you need?”

“Well,” Remy said, thinking, “we may need some clothes for him, and we lost his car seat. But that’s asking too much.”

“Not at all, honey. We’ve got donations of children’s clothes and items over there. Take what you need. We’ve also got groceries and hot food down that way. If you need a place to sleep, let us know. We’ve got volunteers from everywhere to help. Red Cross, Salvation Army, churches, community groups. If you’re missing or looking for anybody, we’ve got people set up with Missing Person Emergency Search System down there to help you. If you’re property owners that were hit, you’ll need a permit to get into your home and see the damage so you can start insurance claims and apply for aid. We’ve got people who can help you with the process.”

“Thank you,” Mason said, “but we were traveling through from out of town and just wanted to get the baby checked.”

“Sure. Mary Jo?” The woman turned to a teenage girl with a T-shirt that read I’m Here to Help. “Mary Jo, can you please take these nice folks and their little angel over to medical?”

“For sure. Follow me.”

Mary Jo’s ponytail swayed in cheery contrast to the air of a recreation center filled with tornado victims as she led them to the medical unit. The six treatment stations had makeshift examination rooms with curtained walls. Each one was in use. Remy and Mason sat among the people in the two dozen folding chairs that constituted the waiting area. They were greeted by a woman in her twenties wearing a T-shirt and jeans and carrying clipboards.