There was already someone waiting at the front desk of the local police precinct when Celeste walked in to ask for a look at the blotter. As she approached to form a line behind him, she recognized the other person as Joe Turley, Managing Editor (who managed to edit) for the New Orange Register.
What were the odds?
Actually, pretty high, given her bad luck. She licked her lips and eyed the door, wondering if she could turn around and leave without drawing his notice.
In the moment that she hesitated, he turned around and looked her straight in the face.
Mr. Turley squinted at her, then blinked as he tried to place her face.
Celeste could see the moment he recalled their embarrassing first meeting. His entire frame relaxed, and he smiled at her in amusement.
“Celeste Ingram,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you again this soon.”
No, she thought. He probably thought I either died of embarrassment or slunk back to Arkansas on the first bus out of town.
He glanced down at her worn clothing. “Are you working construction?” He asked in earnest.
“Mr. Turley,” she tipped her head in greeting. “I wouldn’t have expected to see the managing editor of a major metro newspaper checking the police blotter. Isn’t that the cop reporter’s job?”
“It is,” He said mildly. “Our cop reporter is on vacation right now.”
“So you’re filling in?” Celeste guessed.
Mr. Turley smiled faintly, as if he found Celeste amusing, like a baby kitten or something. Celeste gritted her teeth.
“Our city reporter is filling in. I’m just checking the blotter for him, since he won’t be on the clock until this afternoon. What are you doing here?”
Celeste considered deflecting. But reporters were some of the nosiest people on the planet. Mr. Turley would recognize misdirection for what it was, and would probably remember it the next time she applied for a job.
“I’m investigating something for my boss,” she settled on. “His basement was trashed out. Whoever or whatever did it came up from the sewers. When he filed a report for insurance, the cops told him that he wasn’t the only one.”
The newspaper man leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Are you writing a story on this?”
She inhaled, feeling suddenly like a gambler with a winning hand. “Why? Do you want one?”
He crossed his arms. “I stand by what I told you before: Your writing isn’t up to our standards, Miss Ingram.”
Celeste crossed her arms, as well. She wasn’t going to give an interview to one of his reporters when she could be writing the story herself. “Then do you know of any newspaper around here willing to take a chance on a green reporter who just needs a little polish for the sake of a good story?”
He scoffed. “More than a little polish.”
“Good story, though.” She raised her eyebrows.
Before Mr. Turley could answer, a uniformed officer entered the room. “Can I help you?” The officer asked her.
Celeste pushed past Mr. Turley. “May I see the blotter?”
The officer waved her through a side door. Celeste took a step, intent on following the officer. Then she had a thought. She turned to face Mr. Turley.
“I’ll be in touch when I have a story,” she told him. “If you don’t want it, someone will.”
As she left the room, she felt like she might have scored a victory, despite her bad luck.