3 Buried Leads (8 page)

After lunch, I went back to the office to write my story. I was still flustered by my lunch with Jake. I honestly didn’t know how to feel about the whole situation – so I decided to handle it the only way I knew how: Ignore it.

When I got to the office I saw that Marvin was in the middle aisle of the cubicles, gesturing wildly.

“What happened?”

Marvin looked up when I entered. “I was just telling them about my date last night.”

Marvin was far too excited. That always made me nervous. “What happened?” What? It makes me nervous, but it’s like a train wreck, you can’t not look.

“I took her dancing.”

“And she laughed because you have no rhythm?”

“No, worse,” Marvin said. “And I do too have rhythm.”

Is negative rhythm a thing?

“So what happened?” I dropped my notebook and purse on my desk and turned to him to give him my full attention.

“Well, we went out for a nice dinner,” Marvin began, rubbing his hands together. “She ordered surf and turf, so I knew I was going to get some.”

“What does surf and turf have to do with sex?”

Marvin looked at me incredulously. “You don’t order an expensive meal unless you’re willing to reciprocate.”

“So you’re buying sex? Like she’s a prostitute?”

Marvin glared at me. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“I’m sorry, continue. You bought her a sex meal and . . .”

“And afterwards, I wanted to go for a walk on the beach and she wanted to go dancing.”

“What beach?”

“The one along the canal in the Shores.”

“Isn’t that filthy and dirty and polluted with PCBs?”

“She doesn’t know that.”

Of course.

“So, anyway,” he continued. “I finally took her to this place down the road – the Boat Basin. It was supposed to be upscale. When we got there, though, they didn’t even have any name-brand amaretto.”

Marvin fancies himself a man’s man – a consummate
ladies man – and yet he drinks like a woman.

“So you started a scene?”

“I don’t cause scenes,” Marvin countered. “I just made my displeasure obvious.”

“So you made an ass of yourself,” I interjected.

Marvin pretended he hadn’t heard me. “So, after having a few drinks, we went out to dance.”

“What were you wearing?” I asked.

“What does that matter?”

“I’m just trying to paint a picture in my mind.”

“I was wearing my good suit.”

“The purple one?”
Marvin’s good suit was really a polyester nightmare that was an awful shade of eggplant. He’s the only one that didn’t seem to know that it was tacky.

“Yes.” Marvin was starting to get annoyed with my constant interruptions, so I shut my mouth. “Anyway, we went out on the dance floor and I decided to get fancy.”

Uh-oh.

“You know how the dancers on
Dancing With the Stars
twirl people around?”

I nodded, exchanging a quick look with another reporter. I could already tell where this story was going. It’s sad to think I was underplaying it in my mind.

“So, it was going well at first,” Marvin started reenacting his movements. “I was holding on to one of her hands and twirling her in towards me and then out towards the crowd. It was going well and she seemed to be having a good time. I guess I got a little overzealous, because I flipped her out a little too far and I lost my grip on her hand.”

I couldn’t mentally look.

“She kind of stumbled back and fell into the band,” Marvin said sheepishly. “It made a really loud noise and they had all these amps stacked up and she fell into them and the one on the top toppled over onto the ground.”

“Was everyone staring?” One of the other reporters asked the question, but I wanted to hear the answer.

“Yeah. The band stopped playing and everyone was looking at me so . . . I kind of panicked.”

“What do you mean, you panicked?”

“Well, everyone was staring at me. I could have walked over to her and helped her up, but then I figured everyone would know I was with her.”

Perish the thought.

“I looked around, and the door to leave was right across from me,” Marvin bit his lower lip.

“You didn’t?”

“I did. I just walked out the door.”

“And you left her there on the ground?”

“Yeah.”

“How did she get home?”

“I have no idea.”

“You didn’t even wait in the parking lot for her?” I was incredulous.

“No. I figured she would be mad.”

“Well, she’s definitely going to be mad now,” I offered.

“Do you think I should call her?”

“What would you say?”

“Well, I did buy her dinner, maybe she’s not too mad.”

“Oh, she’s mad,” I countered. “Unless you want to be castrated in your sleep, I’d probably let this one go.”

“I really thought she was the one,” Marvin lamented.

I didn’t tell him that most guys don’t abandon “the one” on the dirty floor of a dance club. I didn’t think it would be a productive argument. “Well, I’m sure there will be a new prospect relatively soon.” There always was.

“Yeah, but now I can’t go back to my favorite bar because she works there.” That’s what was really bothering him.

“Maybe you can get her fired,” I joked.

Marvin looked like he was contemplating the suggestion. “I am a good customer there.”

I left Marvin with his thoughts. I could only hope he wouldn’t go that far – but I’d known him long enough to realize that he might actually do it. Instead, I made my way over to Fred Fish’s desk to give him an update. I left out the part about Jake’s warnings and my suspicions. I didn’t think it was time to let Fish know I was getting ready to infuriate local law enforcement – again.

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I knew who it was before I even looked up. Duncan Marlow, aka the office tool. Great. He was the last person I wanted to talk to.

“I have the camera, Fred,” he proudly announced.

“Good,” Fish answered. He turned to me. “Duncan is going to be working on the Sarah Frank story with you from now on.”

Like hell.

“I don’t need help,” I said hurriedly.

“I don’t care what you think you need. We have a new point-of-view camera, and we’re looking for a story to test it out on. We think this will be a good one.”

Since newspapers are more about online than print these days, video had become a big deal lately. All the reporters at The Monitor were equipped with handheld cameras that we were supposed to use on every story. Most of us conveniently “forgot” them back at the office.

“What are we going to use a point-of-view camera for on a missing
persons case?” I was trying to find a tactful way out of this. Fish was clearly still mad at me and was punishing me by making me spend time with Duncan. There could be no other explanation.

“I figured I could retrace her last steps with the point of view camera to give our readers a real feeling of what she went through,” Duncan said.

“We don’t know what her last steps were,” I pointed out.

“Well, then maybe I can walk through the house with it.”

“We haven’t been in the house,” I countered.

“Well, I’m sure we can use it for something.”

“I don’t know what.” I was faking pragmatism, but I was internally seething. I was not spending time with Duncan if I could possibly help it.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something,” Fish waved off my protestations.

The only thing I could even think of was that the point-of-view camera would catch the crime when I was forced to kill Duncan after spending more than five minutes with him.

“I don’t want him with me constantly,” I blurted out.

“It’s not exactly a dream come true for me either,” Duncan deadpanned.

I ignored him. “You know what he’s like,” I continued. “He’ll alienate everyone on the case and we’ll never get a good story.”

“You’ll be in charge of making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Fish supplied.

“I’m not a miracle worker,” I said. I noticed Duncan glaring daggers at both of us. I could feel another uncomfortable human resources meeting in my future. Duncan had them on speed dial – and I was one of his most frequent targets. No one was safe, though. A couple of weeks ago he had made an appointment with the publisher to complain that everyone in the office was disrespecting him. Of course, he didn’t seem to realize that we all hated him because he was the type of guy that went to the publisher to complain that people were disrespecting him. It was a vicious little cycle.

“I have faith in you,” Fish said. I saw the twinkle in his eye. I was right. He was doing this on purpose.

“I know what you’re doing,” I announced.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said with faux innocence.

“Not only do I know what you’re doing, you know I know what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing is expecting you to put together an impressive package for the upcoming weekend – and I expect Duncan to have some sort of video to go along with it.”

Duncan was regarding me with his smug little pinched face.

“Fine,” I blew out a sigh. “I can’t guarantee he’ll survive the week, though,” I warned.

“I know. Maybe that will be another bonus?”

Given the look on Duncan’s face, I had a feeling Fish was going to be heading to the human resources department, too.

After I left work that afternoon, I was still fuming. I had to figure out a way to get out of teaming with Duncan. He was like herpes. I avoided him as much as possible, but when there was an outbreak it was painful and annoying – and really hard to get rid of.

I was in a sticky situation here. Fish was clearly testing me to see if my newfound dedication to my craft was going to stick. Of course, he could be punishing me for his own enjoyment, too. If I were him, I’d make me miserable on a regular basis. I’m massively annoying. I can admit it. I’m not oblivious to my shortcomings.

When I got to the house, I entered through the back door. I heard the television in the living room and figured Lexie’s job hunt probably hadn’t lasted very long this afternoon.

When I got to the dining room – which opens into the living room – I saw
Lexie stretching herself like a pretzel in front of the television. “What are you doing? That looks like it hurts.”

Lexie’s
face was red with effort. “It feels great,” she huffed. I could tell she was lying. She had to be lying. There was no way that position was anything other than sheer torture.

“But what are you doing?”

“I’m practicing yoga.”

I glanced at the television and saw that she was watching some exercise show and trying to mimic the moves. “How did the job hunt go?”

“I got hired at the Starbucks down the road,” she said as she tried to maneuver herself into another position.

“And?”

“I start tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“I’m working the morning shift.”

“So, why are you doing this?”

“I told you I wanted to be a yoga instructor. Did you forget?”

“No. I just figured you’d forget about it.”

“Well, I didn’t. I’m telling you, this is my passion.”

I didn’t think passion was meant to look like medieval torture, but I kept that thought to myself. “Did you visit Raymond at the rehab?”

“Yeah. He’s excited. I told him how bendy I’m going to be by the time he gets out. He can’t wait.”

I bet.

“So what did you do all afternoon?”

“I got the job before noon, so I took the opportunity to go to a yoga class at that gym around the corner.”

“That weird hippie one with all the green teas in the window?” I involuntarily shuddered.

“It’s a place of calm and serenity. Not a hippie place with tea,”
Lexie corrected me caustically.

“The people that go there look stoned,” I pointed out.

“They’re high on life.”

Life, reefer, whatever.

“Are you sure that’s an environment you should be in?” I asked cautiously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
Lexie feigned ignorance.

“I thought the rehab place told you to stay out of places that would tempt you with, um, herbal supplements.” I just want to point
out, I’m not a pot hater. In fact, if I wasn’t randomly drug tested I would probably partake from time to time myself. However, there’s a difference between occasionally imbibing and spending your day baked on the couch watching
The Wiggles
. It was a distinction that was often wasted on Lexie.

“They’re not potheads,” she argued. “Yeah, sure, I think some of them smoke recreationally, but it’s not like
it’s some big drug den.”

Watching
Lexie try to twist herself into a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, I had my doubts. I figured you’d have to be high to even try that.

“Anyway,”
Lexie continued. “I went to a class and the only one they had was a hot yoga class, so I went to that.”

I plopped down on the couch so I could continue to watch
Lexie’s endeavors and be comfortable at the same time. “I’ve heard about that. Isn’t that where they turn up the heat to like 100 degrees and then try to sweat you until you die?”

“No. It’s meant to help loosen your muscles, clear your airways and help you sweat out your toxins.”

Lexie had obviously been busy this afternoon. That sounded like hell to me. “Well, how did it feel?”

“It sucked,” she admitted. “I felt like I was going to die. Then, when it was over with, I felt exhilarated. I realized I had an enigma.”

“An enigma?”

“Yeah, you
know, when you realize you know what you want to do with the rest of your life.”

“You mean an epiphany,” I corrected her.

“Whatever,” Lexie muttered. She hated it when I corrected her grammar. I knew it was annoying, but I just couldn’t help myself. “I had an epiphany, and this is the way I want to spend the rest of my life.”

“Crawling on the floor and doing irreparable bodily harm to
yourself?”

“You don’t have to make fun of my life ambitions.”

She had a point. “Well, I’m glad you had a good day.”

“I think you should go with me when you get out of work tomorrow,” she said.

Um, no. “Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll have time,” I lied.

“Are you going out with Eliot tomorrow?”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be at work. We have a big story going on and I’m going to be doing some legwork on it tomorrow.”

“Is that true, or do you just not want to do hot yoga?”

It could be true, but I really had no inclination to sweat for no good reason. I’m one of those people that doesn’t tolerate heat very well. When it his 80 degrees I have a hard time doing anything but laying on the couch with a fan blowing air directly on me.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” I said. “If I can make it home, I’ll go with you.” Something told me that some catastrophe would cause me to miss any time period that hot yoga was available.

“I think you should promise me that you’ll go,” Lexie argued.

“Why?”

“That way there’s a fifty percent chance that you’ll actually go.”

I’m fairly certain she was calling me a liar. “Fine, I promise to try and go.”

Lexie stopped what she was doing and shot a glance back at me. “That means you won’t go. I know you.”

“I said I’ll do the best that I can,” I shot back. “I’m not going to make a promise when I don’t know how my day is going to go.”

“Fine,” Lexie said shortly.

“Fine.”

We both lapsed into silence for a few minutes. “What do you want to do for dinner?” I finally asked.

“We could cook,” she suggested. “I got a recipe for vegan pizza while I was at the gym.”

“Yeah, I was thinking more like we’d go out for Middle Eastern.” Vegan pizza? Pizza without cheese? Yeah, I’m not eating that.

Lexie
brightened considerably. “Yeah, Middle Eastern sounds good. Plus, the curry is good for you.”

“Plus, it tastes good.”

“There is that, too,” she conceded.

Vegan pizza my ass.