Bury! The Lead

by Shelley Dawn Siddall

  I’m afraid. What should I do? Should I go to the police?

  Yours truly,

  It was only one dance.

  Dear It was only one dance,

  Yes. Go to the police. Now.

  This is seriously dangerous behaviour on his part.

  Make a list of everything he’s done and write out a physical description of this jerk and GO TO THE POLICE.

  And please get your locks changed.

  Take care,

  CeeCee.

  Crystal checked the envelope; no return address.

  “Damn.”

  “Oh, so you saw the front page, did you?” Marjorie said.

  “Um, no. I have a letter from a woman who I think has a stalker after her and is in danger. I wanted to see if I could look up her address in a reverse directory and find her phone number.”

  “Yeah; you don’t want to do that.”

  “I know. ‘Not my circus; not my monkeys.’ The envelope doesn’t have an address on it anyway. What did you say about the front page?”

  Marjorie picked up one of the newspapers printed last evening and plopped it in front of Crystal; front page down. She stood by to watch Crystal’s reaction.

  Crystal turned the paper over.

  The photograph grabbed her attention first. A demure elderly woman dressed in a dark blue dress with a white Peter Pan collar and pearls sat at the defense table.

  It was Gloria Fielding.

  Behind her, in the gallery, were smartly dressed young women holding up signs that read ‘Go Grandma!’; with a few reading, ‘We love you Grandma!’ Crystal’s eyes shot up to the headline. She slowly read it aloud.

  “Grandma’s Continued Guidance Guaranteed!” She then dropped her eyes down to the body of the story. “Mrs. Fielding, having completed her court ordered treatment, asked for clemency in her sentencing for vehicular manslaughter. The court approved her request, as did the young women seated in the gallery; many of whom benefited from her wise counsel over the past three weeks. To quote Mrs. Fielding…”

  Crystal dropped the paper, closed her eyes and pressed her temple with two fingers of her right hand. With her eyes still closed she quietly asked Marjorie, “When did this happen?”

  “A couple of days ago; Monday afternoon to be exact.”

  “The day you told me Scott had a hot tip about a hot chick at a laundromat?”

  “Yup.” Marjorie paused. “So…what do you think of the story?” She watched the young woman closely. What sort of stuff was Crystal Cinnamon Schmidt made of? Was she going to lose her temper and storm out? Marjorie could see Crystal’s lips moving; so she leaned in closer. Did Crystal just say, ‘she sells seashells down by the seashore’? With a lisp?

  Crystal spoke up louder and she indeed had a lisp. “Thea thells thea-thells down by the thea thore.”

  “Are you okay?” Marjorie asked as she stiffly patted Crystal’s back.

  “Oh I’m fine. When I was young, and children would tease me about my lisp; Mom came up with a strategy for me. She told me to use humor. So the next time I was teased, I told everyone in a loud voice that I was an expert at tongue twisters. Then I said the seashell tongue twister and got everyone laughing. After that, I said the woodchuck tongue twister and from then on, the kids laughed with me not at me.” Crystal looked up at Marjorie. “I know you all must be laughing at me these past two days…so, I reminded myself to use humor. As soon as I find something funny to say, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “You know, Scott did go to the laundromat to chat up the young wife before he went to court.”

  “That’s fine Marjorie; don’t worry; I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at anyone. When you think about it, it is kind of funny that a person with a history of twenty-four years of doing nothing would suddenly be able to right wrongs after two whole days of trying to be involved in life.”

  “Two days?”

  “Marjorie, I’ve been basically sleep walking through life until I started working here. Well, until I read the first hit and run story. Like I said to my mom, I suddenly had a passion to pursue; I wanted justice for little Lisa.”

  Marjorie pointed to Scott’s story covering Gloria Fielding’s trial conclusion. “Look hon, it says right here; she was extremely remorseful; horrified in fact. Even though everyone told her it was a bad reaction to a new medication, she still felt guilty.” Marjorie then tapped on the photograph. “And look at all these young women that admire her. This woman Gloria must have made quite an impression on them in the few weeks they knew one another.”

  Crystal shook her head. “Marjorie, you can chose to believe me or not; but it just isn’t true.” Crystal turned the paper over and said sadly, “Laugh if you want, but my investigation provided a completely different truth.”

  “Your investigation?” Marjorie tried not to laugh. She said in the gentlest tone possible, “Look Crystal; everyone here has been gracious enough to make you feel welcome even though you’re completely inexperienced. We’ve put up with your little quirks and hoped you would enjoy your month working here and it would help you with your, um, social anxiety problems. But if you’re going to continue to pursue ‘your investigation’ despite solid evidence to the contrary; well, I don’t know if even Matt can save your job.”

  “Don’t worry Marjorie; I’m not going to continue my investigation. I’m quite done.”

  Marjorie smiled and patted Crystal on the back again. “There’s my girl!,” she said as she went back to her desk and her machines. “Now, back to work.”

  Crystal couldn’t sit still. She got up and started to clean the coffee pot, then stood still.

  “Nope,” she said loudly. She walked over to Marjorie and turned off her little radio.

  “I just need to mention a couple of things I found out in my investigation; if you don’t mind.”

  Marjorie frowned and gave a long-suffering sigh. “If you must.”

  “Gloria Fielding is addicted to alcohol and prescription drugs. She also has no remorse for killing Lisa Filipowitz and she paid those women to be present at her sentencing. How do I know? I went to the Arbutus Drug and Alcohol Treatment Center yesterday afternoon and had several discussion with not only other women being treated there, but the Director of the Center.” Crystal grabbed the paper and plopped it in front of Marjorie.

  “This woman is called Dana; this one Claire. I met these three as well. They showed nothing but animosity for Gloria; in fact, they used the term Grandma derisively. She in turn viewed them as guttersnipes and cheap whores. Besides that, you’ll notice in Scott’s story it said Gloria had finished her treatment? Well, she hasn’t. Like I said; she was there yesterday and said quite clearly that she had bought these women for a song.”

  The earlier roles were now reversed; it was Marjorie who closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temples.

  “This is all true? What you’re telling me is true?”

  “Yup. But, don’t worry. I’m not going to pursue my investigation.” Crystal tapped the paper. “In the issue of the Harrogate News a few weeks ago; actually the issue was dated May 4th, 1988; there was an article about a certain Winston Fielding being the latest board member of the very same treatment center his wife was ordered by the court to attend. A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? Could that be why Scott’s article touted her ‘treatment’ as a complete success? Anyhow; it’s all bigger than me. I see that now. The deck is stacked, wouldn’t you say Marjorie?”

  Marjorie literally could not speak. She had typeset all the articles, but never made the connection about the Fieldings. More importantly, her mind, which was as sharp as her tongue, was filled with a disturbing thought; Gloria Fielding, who quite likely would not complete her treatment with a revised awareness of her life, would drink again and would get behind the wheel of a car again. She turned on her radio to drown out her thoughts. ‘Not my circus; not my monkeys’ Marjorie told herself.

  Across the room, Crystal was congratulating her
self on how well she was handling everything. She picked up the next envelope that had no return address, opened it and read:

  Dear Betty,

  A friend of mine, let’s call her Eve, has been married for a long time to her husband; we’ll call him Adam. Adam and Eve are the perfect couple; they are always so happy and do everything together. My husband and I try to live up to their standards.

  Well, I happened to go out of town for work and who should I see in the hotel? It was Adam checking in with his wife.

  When I told Eve I was going to **** for a conference; she told me Adam had a family member he had to go see, who also happened to live in ****. You probably have guessed, the ‘wife’ checking in at my hotel with Adam wasn’t Eve. I hid around the corner until they were gone and then checked in myself. I read the register upside down. Adam had used different names.

  Betty; should I stick my neck out and tell Eve? She’s would be even more heartbroken than I was. What if he has not just a mistress, but another family?

  What do you think?

  Yours truly,

  Heartbroken in Harrogate.

  Crystal picked up her pencil and plunged it into her notepaper and wrote:

  Dear Heartbroken,

  You know what happens to people who stick their neck out? Hint: Marie Antoinette. The answer? Guillotined. So don’t stick your neck out; stick with what you know!”

  Crystal didn’t even sign her answer. She knew as she was writing that anger was starting to cloud her mind. And embarrassment. Could this day get any worse?

  Scott Avery walked in the door whistling.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “There she is!” Scott boomed. “Our intrepid investigator!” He walked over to Crystal’s desk and started laughing. “So you thought you discovered something at the mechanics eh? An empty booze bottle? What does that prove? Nothing. And that’s what your little investigation about Gloria’s car amounted to; nothing.” He flipped the paper over and slapped his hand down on the front cover. “While you were busy running around like a chicken with her head cut off, I was getting the real story. Do you see my point? You were so busy trying to track down the car that hit the child…”

  “Hit and killed the child!” Crystal shouted.

  “Whatever. You thought that you were running down a story, when the train had already left the station and you were left standing in the dust. This story has been put to bed; tied up in a neat little bow.” He tapped the photograph. “A person who does a lot of good in this community, had their reputation saved thanks to none other than me; Scott Avery, a real reporter with real credentials! Stick to your advice column honey. But I think you should rename it. You should call it ‘CeeCee’s not so common sense’. It’s ironic that your dispensing so called common sense advice when you have none. Face it; you’re a day late and a dollar short.”

  Crystal stood up and towered over Scott.

  “Better a day late and a dollar short than being a man of means without morality!” she retorted.

  Scott’s whole body twitched. “Lame,” he said and walked away.

  Crystal kept the sarcastic smile frozen on her face, but inside, she knew she was defeated.

  ***

  The library was full of well-behaved children. Sure there were a few giggles and the occasional squeal, but it was a happy buzz in the background. Crystal hoped one of them was reading about platypuses but then remembered that her column on that subject wasn’t published yet. She loved sitting at the library reading; there was always a congenial librarian to help if she needed a particular volume, as she did today.

  “Sorry our reference section is being re-vamped that’s why you couldn’t find it! Here you go; the yellow pages for Patterson Lake.”

  Crystal looked up kennels and found ‘Vicky’s Scottish Folds’. The phone number matched the one she had been given so she excitedly copied the address. Now all she had to do is figure out how to get there. Meantime, she had to find a book on journalism.

  Halfway to the non-fiction section, she stopped and asked herself, ‘Why? Why am I even bothering? I don’t want to be in competition with Scott; that’s a battle I’ve clearly lost. And who knows if this advice column gig will continue past this week? Nobody’s going to write me and Matt will probably be called on the carpet regarding my antics and then he’ll lose his job for ‘arm’s length nepotism’ and what will he think of me then? Mom and Matt will probably have to elope because they can’t afford a wedding and then go and live in Alberta with his kids and make stupid pickled furniture and I’ll be stuck paying the mortgage on the house and doing the maintenance and I don’t even know where the water shut-off valve is!’

  She sat down between the stacks and tried to slow her breathing down. The ‘what-ifs’ and ‘worst case scenarios’ kept racing through her brain.

  ‘Everybody’s been laughing at me and my pathetic attempts to investigate; soon everyone in Harrogate will know; maybe Scott will write an article on me-loser Crystal and her overactive imagination and what if the Fieldings read the article and decide to sue me and I can’t pay, so I have to go to jail? And then the Fieldings sue the paper who’ll sue the city for not protecting them and then Harrogate will disappear because they can’t afford power?’

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, that’s ridiculous; get it together girl!”

  Crystal got up from the floor, decided to get the book on journalism anyhow and then biked home. When she walked in her cabin, she automatically looked towards where she has taped her silly drawing of a cat. The tape had dried out and Duffy MacDufferson Schmidt had drifted to the floor.

  Crystal burst out crying.

  “Forget the damn Fieldings, what about the Filipowitz’s?” she cried. “What about Peter, Rosa, Jennifer and the twins? What about Lisa? She didn’t have to die like that! It’s not fair!”

  ***

  Amber noticed Crystal had been crying.

  “Have a seat Crystal; I’m sure Dr. Maroney can fit you in.”

  A few moments later, the Doctor came out to the waiting room and sat beside Crystal.

  “I know you find our treatment rooms claustrophobic so I thought I’d come out and talk with you. Don’t worry, no one is here other than Amber and I don’t have another appointment until much later. You’ve been crying; what can I help you with?”

  “I need you to fry my brain.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Crystal sniffed and waved her hands. “You know that treatment you talked to me about… the one that was in the movie about patients in a psych ward? You know, when I ran out of your office after you mentioned it? Well, I’ve been doing a lot of running away from things and it’s time for me to grow up and face the truth. I’m crazy.”

  Dr. Maroney smiled. “Crystal, you’re not crazy. And I think you’re getting ECT mixed up with CBT.”

  “Whatever. I’m ready to do whatever group of initials you think is best.”

  Amber brought Crystal a tissue and a glass of water.

  “I don’t advocate ‘frying’ anyone’s brain nor do any of my colleague’s. You might be thinking of Electroconvulsive Treatment or ECT which involves shocking, not frying, the brain. I wouldn’t prescribe that course of treatment for you anyhow, Crystal; you don’t have depression.”

  “Well I’m pretty sad right now,” Crystal sobbed.

  “What I mentioned to you was CBT; Cognitive Behavioural Therapy or self-talk.”

  Crystal sat up and stopped crying. “Self-talk? I talk to myself all the time.” She smiled slightly. “I’m going to get a cat to talk to instead.”

  Dr. Maroney nodded. “That’s good. Now about this self-talk therapy; I have a bunch of material on the subject for you to read…Amber, can you get that information for me? In short, by working through some of your negative thoughts, you can learn to control them and the behaviour they produce. For example, let’s say your anxious about getting a job…”

  “I have one! I’ve only had it for three days now; but I finall
y have a job.”

  “That’s remarkable. Well done you! So, let’s say your anxious about going to work tomorrow. You might rationalize your thoughts in this way, “I have gone to work for three days, I survived, I will again.” Of course, I’m simplifying a whole field of study; you will have to work on your beliefs and take them apart, see if they are valid and put them back together again. It’s a gradual process, but I think it will help you. Can I refer you to a therapist friend of mine?”

  “Do they work at the Arbutus Drug and Alcohol Treatment Center?”

  “No; but why do you ask?”

  Crystal dabbed her eyes. “It’s a long story; but I think there is something hinky going on there; I don’t want to go to anyone who works there.”

  “No problem. Amber will write up the referral and you can make an appointment when you’re ready. Is there anything else?”

  “Actually, there is. I know a woman who is at the treatment center and who wants to get her own place but needs a lot of help with medical stuff. Are there such things as visiting Nurses? Or some sort of home support she can get? She really needs to get away from her parents.”

  “Wow. You’re full of surprises today! Yes, there are all sorts of support services available; again, the wonderful Amber will get you a list and pamphlets.”

  Crystal smiled. “Now don’t think I have a drinking or drug problem; I was just doing some undercover work.”

  Dr. Maroney’s smile faded. “Nothing dangerous, I hope?”

  “Nope. I’m fine. Well, I have to go; I got a lot to get done this afternoon. Thank you again.”

  She dropped the vast amount of information Amber had given her, into her knapsack and hopped on her bike.

  “Next stop; the camera shop!” she said, still sniffing. Her meltdown had only been in front of two people she trusted; but she still felt embarrassed. She stopped just before the end of the bike lane; lifted her bike over the curb and as she did so, took a quick look in the mirror. Her face was a mess.

  “Oh my goodness; I look butt ugly!”