"I have a deadline to meet," Rich told her. "So I'll be working on my own article. If you need any help, give me a holler. Sue nodded. '
The two of them worked in silence. Sue kept glancing over at the editor. She couldn't help thinking that she should initiate a conversation, but she had no idea what to say. She wondered if he felt as strange and awkward as she did and hazarded another glance in his direction. He appeared to be busily working on his story, apparently unconcerned with the silence.
He glanced up, caught her looking at him, and smiled.
"How would you like to do "Roving Reporter'?" he asked. "Me?"
"I'm busy, I'm tired, and I'm not sure I'll be able to get to it this week. If I don't put it in, though, I'll be getting calls from everyone and his brother. The people in this town don't like their regular features to be missing."
"What do I do?"
"You know how to work a camera?" . "A little."
"Either you do or you don't. We have a Canon AEI." "I don't," she admitted.
"No problem. I'll show you how." He opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out the camera by its strap. "I should warn you, though, that
"Roving Reporter' is not as easy as it looks. People think we just stake out a spot, ask the question, take a few photos, and that's it.
But you're going to find that there are a lot of people in this town who don't want their opinions published or who are afraid to express their opinions even on innocuous subjects. And there are even more who don't want their picture taken. I remember standing in front of the bank for two hours one day looking for five people to tell me whether they prefer ice cream or frozen yogurt. Not a controversial subject, but I stood there for haft the afternoon trying to find someone to respond. Everyone likes to read the "Roving Reporter," but no one wants to meet him. Or her..."
Sue smiled. "Adversity and I are no strangers."
Rich chuckled. "We'll make a reporter of you yet."
Since she didn't have a car, Sue was forced to stake out a location within walking distance. She considered the post office, but Rich told her he'd been there two weeks ago and didn't want to repeat this soon.
He suggested the Shell station, but she said she didn't feel comfortable hanging out there. They finally decided on Mike's Meats, the butcher shop.
Sue first walked inside and told Mike Grayson, the owner, what she was planning to do and asked his permission to stand on his front walk. He said he didn't care, and she went back outside and waited.
And waited.
An old man ignored her completely, not responding to her request or even looking at her. Two women agreed to answer the question but refused to allow their pictures to be taken. A cocky-looking teenager laughed at her.
It was going to be a long morning.
By the time she returned to the newspaper, it was after one. Carole's seat was empty--the secretary was obviously on her lunch break--and Rich was at his desk, eating an apple. Sue sat down in the folding chair and placed the camera on top of his desk. She wiped the sweat from her forehead. "You're right. No one wanted to talk to me."
"What'd I tell you? How many responses did you get?" "Four." "How many people did you ask?" "Twenty." ...... Rich smiled. "Were the responses good?" She shrugged. "I guess."
"Anybody give you advice, tell you what you should be asking instead?"
"Three people told me I should be asking about vampires."
Rich's smile faded. "Vampires?"
She nodded.
"They were joking, weren't they?"
"I don't think so."
He frowned. "What did you tell them?"
"Nothing. I smiled, nodded, told them thank you, then went on to the next person."
Rich stared silently at the camera, making no move to pick it up.
Sue cleared her throat. "Maybe we should ask about vampires. It seems to be on a lot of people's minds. I think--" She broke off in mid-sentence, suddenly remembering the events of the night before. She mentally kicked herself, looking quickly away.
"We may," the editor said quietly. We may have to." "Hey, Daddy!"
Sue turned her head at the sound of the voice. A young girl with long blond hair came speeding out of the door to the paste up room.
"Oh," the girl said, stopping short.
Rich stood. "Sue, this is my daughter Anna. She's going to be visiting us for a few hours in the afternoons. Anna, this is Sue Wing.
She's going to be working here."
"I know you!" Anna said, coming closer. "You work at the restaurant!"
"I recognize you too," Sue said. She turned toward
Rich. "I know who your wife is. She's a regular customer." "Yeah.
We like your food."
"How come I've never seen you in there?"
"I've been in, a couple of times. You probably just didn't notice."
"Or I was in the back." "
"I like the fortune cookies[" Anna announced. Sue laughed. "Me, too.
You want me to bring you some tomorrow?"
"Yeah[" Anna grinned at her father.
"You've got yourself a friend," Rich said. He sat down again. "Now there are two of us who've glad you're here."
"Three," Sue said, smiling.
The FBI agent and the representative from the state police left at the same time. Robert saw them to the door of his office, shook hands with both men, and gave them a smile and a hearty "thank you."
The second the door closed, he stuck out his middle finger, thrusting it upward in the air for emphasis. Assholes. - .
He had never before had to deal with state or federal law enforcement authorities, and he hoped to Christ he never had to deal with them again. He walked across the room and watched through the slats of the miniblinds as the two men got into their respective cars. A chain of command had been established, and for that he was thankful. The buck no longer stopped with him. He was now merely a link in the chain, and if he couldn't handle the situation, he could pass that buck on up to the state police and the FBI. :,.:
But he regretted giving up his autonomy. Last week he'd been confused, not knowing what he should do or how he should do it, but a week of responsibility had given him a taste for serious decision making, and now he felt resentful toward the big boys for trying to horn in on his territory. :":, Especially since the were such complete and total assholes. The state policeman had said almost nothing during the meeting, had simply requested duplicates of every thing asked for by the FBI agent. It was the FBI agent who had done most of the talking who had laid out the recent events in Rio Verde in such a patronizingly arch manner that the emerging picture, though factually correct and chronologically accurate, made Robert and his department look like Joe Doofus and his Goober Patrol.
God, he hated the smug attitude of that business-suited geek.
To make matters worse, Robert had snuffled and sneezed his way through most of the meeting. The hand kerchief on his desk was soaked. Fall was always the worst time of year for his allergies, and, unfortunately, they'd picked today to start the season. He would're taken a pill had he known, but in that instance the cure was almost worse than the disease. Even the mildest over-the-counter allergy medicine knocked him out. If he had taken a pill, he probably would have dozed off halfway through the FBI agent's diatribe.
Not that that would have been a bad thing. He and the agent, Greg Rossiter, had experienced an immediate antipathy toward one another.
That was strange. Ordinarily, he was a fairly easygoing guy and got along with practically everyone. But something about Rossiter had instantly rubbed him the wrong way. He'd known from the moment he'd laid eyes on that blond brush-cut Nazi's head that he wouldn't like the man. And his response to Joe Cash, the state policeman, had not been much different.