Page 41 of Hello, Summer
She heard voices coming from the reception area.
Lillian King and Michael Torpy were settling themselves in at their desks. Each had a cup of takeout coffee and a paper plate holding a sausage biscuit.
“You guys work on Saturdays?” she asked.
“Not my idea,” Lillian said. “We’re doing a special end-of-the-school-year advertising section.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Michael said, looking up from his computer terminal. “Grayson had the idea to sell ads to the families of all the graduating seniors, so now I gotta come up with fascinating stories about all these kids.”
“Money’s money,” Lillian said sharply. “Those ads are paying our salaries.”
“Hey, Lillian?” Conley said. “I need the next bound volume for 1986, but it seems to be MIA. Got any clues where it might be?”
“No telling,” Lillian said. “People come in and out all the time wanting to look through the back issues, but nobody around here ever puts ’em back in any kind of order.”
Conley gestured at the shelves, which looked like they were about to collapse under the weight of the books. “Is that all of ’em?”
Michael rolled his chair away from his desk. “I think I’ve seen some more of those books somewhere around here. Did you look in the supply closet?”
“Thanks. I’ll check there,” Conley said. She pushed the door of the closet open and flipped the light switch. The walls of the room were lined with homemade wooden shelves that she knew had been the handiwork of her late grandfather. The shelves held boxes of office supplies that Conley reckoned had also been there since her grandfather’s time and which had sadly outlived him and modern-day journalism—boxes of typewriter ribbons, reams of yellowing newsprint cut into copy paper—from the days when the staff typed their stories on first manual and then electric typewriters, spiral-bound stenographer’s notebooks, and boxes and boxes of waxy red copy pencils that had once been used to mark up reporters’ copy.
She spotted four or five bound volumes shoved haphazardly on the shelves, but they were all from the 1960s. She sighed heavily and went back to her desk.
“Any other ideas about where missing volumes might be?”
“Look in Grayson’s office,” Lillian advised. “Anything goes missing around here, I can usually find it in that rat’s nest of hers if I look long enough.”
Conley tried the door and looked up. “It’s locked.”
“Here,” Lillian said, producing a key from her desk drawer. “But don’t let on that I gave you that. She likes to think that office is her inner sanctum.”
Grayson’s desk was stacked high with back issues of theBeacon,file folders, page proofs of color ads, coffee cups, and soft drink cans. There was a bookcase in the corner, bulging with old books that Conley knew had been her grandfather’s, but no bound copies of theBeacon.
It struck her how much Grayson had changed since their childhood. Conley had always been the messy, creative one whose bedroom was one empty cereal box short of a dumpster, while her older sister had insisted on keeping her own bedroom spotlessly clean and tidy. Back when they were kids, the surest way to make Grayson nuts was to trespass in her room, borrow an item of clothing, and bring it back stained, torn, or wrinkled—which was usually the state of every item of clothing Conley owned.
The only thing of interest in her sister’s messy, disorganized office, as far as Conley was concerned, was the sofa. The brown leather upholstery was old and cracked and peeling. A pillow and a lightweight cotton blanket had been tossed on one end of the sofa, and draped over the arm was a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra.
“Huh,” she said aloud. She opened the door to the tiny bathroom. A makeup bag was perched on the top of the toilet tank, and a glass held a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. The back of the door held more of what she recognized as Grayson’s clothes; in fact, it looked like several days’ worth of clothes. Obviously, her sister had been sleeping in the office. The question was, why?
“Interesting,” she muttered before backing out of the office and relocking the door.
She went back to her desk and began typing up the police blotter, rolling her eyes at the mostly innocent nature of the “crime wave” the town had experienced the week before.
THURSDAY, Apr. 30–4:40 p.m.—ANIMAL CRUELTY—Officer responded to call of animal cruelty at Smitty’s Bait & Tackle, at Silver Bay Marina. On arrival, officer waved down by complainant Annalisa Sorenson, 19, who stated that bait shop operators were torturing live animals (bait fish) by penning them up in bait tanks. Officer advised bait fish not covered by current animal cruelty statutes. Bait shop owners requested complainant leave premises and stop harassing fishermen.
FRIDAY, MAY 1.—THEFT FROM VEHICLE—Silver Bay Country Club. Victim, reports his vehicle, 2019 Mercedes Sedan, was entered in parking lot of Silver Bay Country Club, sometime between 8 p.m. and 11:30 p.m. Victim stated car, which was unlocked, was ransacked and valuables removed. Items taken include pair of three-carat diamond and sapphire stud earrings worth estimated $36,500, also insulated Yeti coffee mug, and security transponder for victim’s gated community.
SUNDAY, MAY 3.—SUSPECTED DRUG OVERDOSE. Officer and Fire and Rescue Unit dispatched to Griffin County High School football field at 1:40 a.m. Anonymous caller reported apparently unconscious person in parking lot. Officer observed group of teenagers surrounding victim but witnesses scattered upon seeing approach of emergency vehicles. Victim, white female, approximately 15 years old, pale and unresponsive, had vomited. No ID found on victim who was transported to Northwest Florida Memorial emergency room.
“Okay, I’m gonna do it,” Conley announced, after she’d shipped the column to Grayson for editing.
“Do what?” Michael looked intrigued. The rookie reporter looked about fifteen. He was lanky, with freckles, wavy reddish hair, and an impossible amount of energy.
“I’ve got to call Rowena and ask what she knows about Symmes Robinette,” Conley said gloomily.
“Cool. I mean, Rowena acts kind of batty, but she always seems to know everything that’s going on in town. How old do you think she is?” the kid asked.
