View to a Crime

by Winnie Reed

  “What’s this all about?” Mom finished wiping down the last of the tables before turning to me. “Is somebody giving you trouble now that you were in the paper?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” I turned back to Trixie, who was clearly waiting for clarification. “I was reading a new book, one I was considering stocking at the store. The main character is a reporter, and one of her subjects ends up attacking her because she asked the wrong question during an interview. I haven’t gotten too far into it yet, but I flipped ahead to the end to see if my guess about the attacker was right.”

  “You’re always doing that, skipping to the end to see how the story ends.” Mom shook her head and clicked her tongue before moving on to the next bit of work to be done before closing up for the night.

  “In this case, I just want to see if the book is worth stocking. I’m still not completely sold on it.” I turned back to Trixie. “So? Would a human interest reporter like you ever be the target of something like that? It’s just that I find it hard to believe. Could somebody who writes on innocent topics stir up enough anger or present enough of a threat that somebody would feel they have to attack them or keep them quiet or something?”

  She nodded slowly, lips pursed. “I can see why you would question that. But I suppose it’s possible.”

  I gritted my teeth in an effort to keep myself from reacting too strongly. “A physical attack, though? I mean, what do you think would drive a person to take things that far?”

  “What a dark conversation.” Mom shivered in her usual theatrical way. “Just when I was glad we haven’t had any little scares or emergencies lately.”

  I patted her shoulder as she passed by. “No emergency here. Like I said, I’m curious.”

  “What was the motive in the book?”

  “Huh?” I turned back to Trixie, confused.

  “In the book you’re reading. What was the motive?”

  Darn it. She would have to go ask a question like that, wouldn’t she? She was too sharp. This was all a mistake. How could I pull out of it? And how obvious would it look when I did? “I don’t know yet. Like I said, I flipped to the end. I didn’t read all the things in between.”

  “I see.” She stood and started getting her things together, which didn’t upset me since it meant she was on her way out. “Well, this reporter in your book might’ve visited her subject at the wrong time. She might have overheard a conversation she wasn’t supposed to overhear. Or maybe while she was researching she uncovered something that caught her attention. She might’ve asked about that, in a completely innocent way, mind you. But the person she asked might’ve taken her question as something more than that. A warning, maybe. Or a reminder that the secret they’re trying to conceal is easier to unearth than they thought.”

  That opened a lot of possibilities, didn’t it? “I see. That makes sense. And I guess that’s sort of a twist, right? Nobody would expect somebody writing innocent, happy little articles to be attacked by one of their subjects.”

  “There you go. Who knows? If you had read the book from beginning to end without spoiling it for yourself, it might have all made a lot more sense.” Mom shrugged at Trixie in a what are you going to do with these kids sort of way.

  “Like I said, I was only trying to read it to see if it would be right for the store. There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to go through every book I stock, so I have to save time where I can.”

  Trixie wouldn’t stop staring at me, which meant this meeting would have to end. She was too shrewd, and I was too tired to be quick on my feet. “It looks like the rain is slowing up. I think I’ll head out now.”

  “I can drive you. I have my car parked down the street.” When I opened my mouth to tell Trixie no, that wouldn’t be necessary, whatever it took to get her to abandon this idea, she only held up a hand. “Don’t bother arguing. I hate to think of you walking home in the rain. Indulge me.” She put an arm around my shoulders. “I don’t have any kids of my own, so I have to take care of somebody. This can be my good deed for the day, too.”

  Meanwhile, she squeezed my shoulders so tight, I knew I was in for it. Could I fake a sudden illness? Maybe fall and twist my ankle? A sprained ankle would be nothing compared to the third degree I was sure to get from Mom’s best friend.

  “Yes, you should let Trixie take you home. Get some rest. Are you sure you don’t want me to take Lola for the night?” Mom, blessedly oblivious, rushed around and got Lola’s bed and toys together. “This way, you don’t have to worry about taking her out or anything. You can just go to sleep.”

  Ordinarily, that would’ve been a great idea. If this was nothing more than the aftereffect of insomnia, I would’ve taken Mom up on that in a heartbeat.

  But Lola at least helped me feel like I wasn’t completely alone. I had a companion, even if my companion wasn’t even fifteen pounds and more likely to beg an intruder for a treat than to attack. “That’s okay. Besides, at least with her around, I have an excuse not to go straight to bed and stay there until morning. I have to try to at least pretend like I have a life, right?” I kissed Mom’s cheek, told her I would see her in the morning, then clipped on Lola’s leash and led her outside.

  Trixie was already double-parked in front of the café, and I darted out into the rain, tumbling into the backseat with a squirming Lola under one arm. “Thanks. We would’ve gotten soaked!”

  The only response I heard was the sound of four door locks clicking into place all at once.

  Trixie turned halfway around in her seat, fixing me with a deadly stare. “Now, why don’t you try telling me what’s really going on?”

  Chapter Seven

  “What are you talking about?” Was my voice shaking? Did I sound even remotely believable? Judging by the look on Trixie’s face, I would’ve guessed the answers were yes and not by a long shot.

  “Come on. I’ve known you too long. Your mother, bless her heart, wants to believe the best. Not that I don’t, mind you, but I can see through all the excuses and attempts at putting on a happy face.”

  “They aren’t attempts. I’m not lying or pretending.”

  Suddenly, Trixie’s expression shifted, and I found myself face-to-face with a grotesque expression that would’ve been more appropriate for Halloween. She smiled from ear to ear, eyes wide and unblinking. “This is how you looked back there.”

  “Like a deranged serial killer?”

  She scowled. “Close enough. Now, we can sit here in this car all day, and you won’t be able to get out because I have the child locks on.”

  “What about when Lola needs to do her business?”

  “I walked her around the block for your mother before you came in. Trust me, she’s empty.” Trixie arched an eyebrow. “Your move, kid.”

  Why? Why did this have to happen? I sank against the seat, eyes closed. “Just take me home. We can talk about it, but I don’t feel like doing it here in the car. I could go for something to eat, too.”

  “Fair enough. I could use something to eat, too. The least you can do after I’m going to all this trouble is feed me.”

  “No one ever asked you to go to the trouble.”

  “You didn’t have to. Obviously, somebody needs to step in and take care of you.”

  I didn’t even have it in me to be annoyed at the implication that I couldn’t take care of myself. I could only sit there and let Lola lick my hands until I was pretty sure I didn’t have fingerprints left while Trixie drove to my house.

  “It sounds like somebody’s having a party.” Trixie’s gaze lifted when we reached my landing, indicating the noise coming from the floor above us.

  “Yeah, they have friends over a couple of times a week. Dinner parties, I think.” I unlocked the door and ushered her in, followed by the dog.

  “You never go?”

  “It’s not exactly an open invitation. It’s for their friends, not for me.”

  “Why don’t you have dinner parties here?”


  “Who says I don’t?” When she tipped her head to the side, I rolled my eyes. “So what? The store is my life. And I’m working on the other areas, too. I am!”

  “Fine, fine.” She held up her hands. “I was only asking. No need to get upset.”

  “I wasn’t—” I practically bit my tongue then, since it was obvious I wasn’t getting anywhere. I had gone around the block enough times with my mother to know some fights weren’t worth pursuing.

  She sank onto the couch, where Lola happily joined her. “So, what’s for dinner?”

  I was at a loss, standing in damp clothes in the center of my living room. “You were serious about that?”

  Her head bobbed up and down. “I’m starving. And you need help. Anybody with eyes can see it. But I do my best thinking on a full stomach.”

  A few minutes later, after ordering a pizza because I truly didn’t have it in me to cook a meal for not just me but someone else, I sat down on the other side of the sofa and pulled my feet up under me. “Okay. Pizza’s on its way and you’ve managed to make me admit there’s something going on. It’s not my problem, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves and freak out or anything.”

  “I’m not freaking out. I don’t freak out.” She looked appalled that I would even suggest such a thing.

  “Sorry, right. I got you confused with Mom.” I rolled my eyes. “As I was saying, this isn’t my problem and I haven’t done anything about it. No sticking my nose in or anything like that. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

  “All right. We’re off to a promising start.” She rubbed her hands together. “You ought to know by now you can’t keep anything from me for long. I might write about—how did you describe them? Innocent topics?—but I can sniff out a story with the best of them.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult your work, trust me.”

  “I did win an award once, you know.”

  “I know.” Did I ever. It had to be fifteen years since she’d won, but I could still remember her bringing the little golden statuette into the café and showing it off to anybody who passed through.

  Not that I blamed her. I would’ve done the same thing in her shoes. But to a teenager? The whole thing had struck me as painfully cringeworthy. Then again, nothing was ever cool enough to satisfy a teenager.

  “I’m just saying, your Aunt Trixie has a nose for news.” She tapped the tip of the aforementioned body part. “So. Spill. Don’t leave anything out, or I’ll know. You aren’t nearly as good at subterfuge as you want to be.”

  “All these compliments. I don’t know if my ego can handle it.” When she didn’t budge an inch, I groaned. “It’s going to sound silly, but I think I witnessed a reporter being attacked last night. Only I’m not sure, since I can’t find any proof anywhere.”

  She stared at me for a long, silent, completely still moment before finally blinking. “All right. I’m going to need a glass of wine with that pizza.”

  “You’re right. I can’t find a single thing about that girl aside from what she already published with the News.” Trixie chewed what was left of her second slice, frowning down at her phone.

  “It’s maddening. I know what I saw—rather, what I heard. It was obvious somebody was hurting her. They were mad. She asked too many questions, they said.”

  “I can see why you assumed it had to do with her work, then. She asked too many questions, or the wrong questions. Either way, somebody wanted to shut her up.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off a sudden chill. Here I was, shivering in mid-summer. “She seemed like such a nice person. I hate to think of nobody caring that she was hurt.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t. It might not have been that serious.”

  “But I called the police and begged them to go over to help her.”

  “And they might’ve brushed it aside as nothing but a crank call.” I winced, and she reached over to pat my hand in a sympathetic way. “Let’s be honest. We’re talking about Paradise City here. They have their hands full. Ask your brother-in-law the next time you see him.”

  “No need. I’m aware of how tough it can be up there.” Now that Joe had transferred to Cape Hope and spent time in our quiet, boring town his stress levels had lowered dramatically. No more panic attacks to mistake for something more serious.

  “There you go. Or she could’ve run out and left the building empty, and when the police got there they assumed it was a prank. There are plenty of reasonable explanations.” She held up the phone, shaking it back and forth a little. “Here’s your proof. No stories, no rumors, nothing. If a reporter was found in the office after being attacked, you know somebody would’ve written about it. Talk about a scoop, dropped into somebody’s lap. I find it hard to imagine there wouldn’t be at least one coworker chomping at the bit to publish.”

  “What if somebody at the paper told them not to? A boss or editor or somebody?”

  She nodded, sighing. “It’s possible. Yes, I can imagine that. But you know what, sweetie? It’s not your problem. None of this is. You said the attacker couldn’t have known it was you, who you are or where to find you. That’s good enough for me.”

  “What about Jane?”

  “What about her?” When my mouth fell open, she held up both hands. “Listen, sweetheart, I’m not saying I don’t feel sorry for the girl. I feel sorry for any girl who gets hurt—boys, too, of course. My heart goes out to them. But I can’t mourn for all of them, either. I can’t make them my mission, because then I lose sight of my life. Of me.”

  What was it? The slight tremor in her voice? Or was it the way her hands trembled as she reached for another slice? “You didn’t always write human interest stories, did you? I mean, I never thought much about it when I was a kid, but looking back…”

  Her shoulders heaved in time with another, heavier sigh. “Here I was, hoping you wouldn’t ask about that. It’s not that I have anything to hide, but I don’t particularly enjoy going back to that time. It was when I won the award, actually. The reason I won. I spent eight months uncovering a trafficking ring working up and down the coast.”

  “No way! I didn’t know that!”

  “You were too young, of course. I know your mom tends to overshare, but some things even she knows better than to blab about.” She sipped her wine, and it seemed to bolster her a little. “This so-called employment agency knew kids came over here from Europe for the summer so they could work on the boardwalks, at the motels, that sort of thing. The way they still do now. These creeps preyed on teenaged girls, told them they’d make all this money working for the summer, painting this rosy picture of living on the beach in America and having the time of their lives. The agency would hook these girls up with jobs and do all the work to get them settled in. All they had to do was pay a fee.”

  She took another sip, this one closer to a swig that emptied her glass. “Let’s just say they never made it to the beach. And they never made it back home, either. To think, they paid those heartless monsters so they could be sold to the highest bidder.”

  I winced, horrified. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to drag up the past, especially if it’s painful for you. You don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

  “There isn’t much to say, except once you’ve learned enough sad stories, you have to decide if you’re going to fall deeper down that hole or not. There’s nothing at the bottom but more sadness. More… outrage.” She balled up a fist and pressed it against her chest. “Like having a powder keg inside you, ready to go off at any second. The slightest provocation, something completely innocent, can result in an explosion. Not because of what’s happening in the moment, but the weight of everything you’re carrying around inside. A crying mother. A missing daughter. The helplessness of knowing there’s nothing you can do to help either of them, nothing anybody can do after a while. Once a person is truly lost, or dead. It’s a terrible thing.”

  She wiped under her eyes, where tears had started to glisten. “Some people can handle it, I guess.
Some can only take so much. I fall into the latter category, hence my covering human interest and local developments these past fifteen years or so.”

  “And nobody does it better.” I leaned over the box between us and gave her an awkward, but heartfelt, hug. “You’re a dynamo.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” She was chuckling as she stood and went to the bathroom, where I could hear her splashing her face. When she returned, her makeup was completely intact and she looked fresher than ever. The woman really was remarkable.

  “So you think I should drop the whole thing?”

  She nodded, stone-faced. “Yes, yes, drop it. For your own sake. I hate seeing you looking like somebody dug you up and brushed you off and forced you to go to work.”

  “Um… ouch.” Did I look that bad? I patted my hair, self-conscious.

  “You’re tired, sweetheart. Needlessly so.” She checked the time on her phone. “It’s almost eight o’clock. I know you don’t normally go to bed this early, but I could walk Lola for you while you get ready to hunker down for the night.”

  I must’ve looked like death warmed over if she was offering this. “That would be nice, thanks. I have to admit, if anybody tried to make small talk with me out on the street, I might’ve had a meltdown. I’m too tired for that.” A huge yawn cut off anything else I wanted to say.

  “Don’t worry.” She left a crimson mark on my forehead when she kissed it. “That’s what family’s for.”

  They were out the door, with Trixie congratulating the little dog on how expertly she handled the stairs, when I went to my room and got into a t-shirt and cotton shorts. Yes, there was a kiss mark on my forehead, just like I knew there would be. I smiled to myself as I washed it off before washing the rest of my face.

  Everything would be fine. Hearing the situation from Trixie’s point of view had cleared up so much of my self-doubt and guilt. Just because I expected the worst to happen didn’t mean the worst had actually come to pass.

  Still, something was niggling away at the back of my mind. I didn’t want Jane to think I didn’t care about whatever happened. I didn’t want her to think I had run off and abandoned her, either, though there wasn’t anything I could do to stop things. Maybe I could’ve screamed and let the attacker know I was watching, but then I had been too concerned with hiding. Who wouldn’t be?