The Game Changer, стр. 56
She gave a curious look, put her hand over the mic and whispered, “What are you doing?”
“You said people like local. I’m giving them local.”
“They like local cooking stories. They aren’t going to like this. And you’re going to get yourself fired.”
“They can’t fire me for telling the truth. The community needs to know. Something sketchy is going on, and it started right in the parking lot of their beloved football stadium.”
“That’s why not,” she said. “The people of the community don’t want to think about there being a murderer among them. And they don’t want to think their police department is crooked. It’s too close to home. It scares people. They just want to watch winning football games, go to the Hibiscus for victory pie, and go home.”
A look of concern fell over her face. “Is something wrong? You’re not being yourself. Have a cookie. Please.” She uncovered the microphone. “I have a poisoning story to talk about. It’s about this woman named—”
“So, here’s what we know. Coach Gerald Farley from River Fork High School was hit by a car in the parking lot of the Parkwood High School’s football stadium after a contentious homecoming game,” I said in my best anchorwoman voice, once again noting how it was the world’s loss that I didn’t have a face for TV. “It was reported as a natural death, but that did not appear to be the case forensically. A witness said she heard a car come out of nowhere, heard a thump-thump sound, heard the car speed off, and Coach Farley was dead. From where I sit, this doesn’t look at all like a natural death. This looks like a hit-and-run, and we have just a few clues about the car that ran him down. I, personally, would love to hear more from the witness about what she saw, but the police aren’t even bothering to interview her. I think there’s a cover-up going on, and here’s why—”
“So this woman had taken out a life insurance policy on her husband,” Daisy interrupted. “And did you know, Hollis, that when someone dies of strychnine poisoning—”
“Daisy, stop.” She did. “I want to start with this story.”
She shook her head. “I just think you don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“I do,” I said. “I’ve been reporting news for a while. I understand what can happen when you report the truth. But I’m a reporter and the truth is important to me.”
“It’s important to me, too.” She looked confused. And kind of hurt.
“Reporting that Coach Farley just dropped dead of natural causes when I know it was a hit-and-run goes against everything I’ve ever believed in. The people need to know, and I need to tell them. We need tips and someone must know something. Just because Parkwood is a speck on the map doesn’t mean it isn’t important to solve the crimes here.”
“Did you just call us a speck?” she asked, pulling back, away from the microphone, uncharacteristically serious.
“I didn’t. Trace did. But that’s not the point.”
“No, you just did. I heard you.”
I let out an impatient sigh. “I was quoting Trace. And, by the way, I told him it may be a speck, but I like it here.”
She pointed at me. “See? You did it again just now.”
“But I said I liked it. Being a speck doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” Her eyes narrowed just slightly, and suddenly it felt like no matter what I said, it was going to be the wrong thing. “What? It’s not like I said Parkwood is full of bumpkins or something.”
She gasped. “We’re bumpkins now?”
“No, I said you’re not bumpkins.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Dais. Don’t take it so personally. A lot of towns are specks compared to Chicago.” I felt the words come out as if they were in slow motion, knowing as soon as I said them that they definitely did not come out the way I meant them to.
“Well, it didn’t take you long to drop the old big city background on the podcast, now did it?” She shrugged away from me. “You know, I never joined in on beating up the new hoity-toity reporter, but now I’m starting to wonder if maybe everyone had a point.”
“Everyone? What do you mean everyone? Hoity-toity? I am no kind of toity.”
“Maybe this is just your podcast now,” she said, taking off her headset and pushing away from the desk. “Since you know what to do, and all I know is baking.”
“Daisy, no, I never said that. You know so much more than baking.”
She worked the plastic wrap back over the plate of cookies and swept it up. “You finish with your truth. I’ve got to get back to my speck house and my speck life next door where my speck kids are waiting for me to remind them that they matter, even though they’re just specks.”
“You’re putting a lot of words into my mouth,” I said. “And I was only quoting Trace.”
She smiled thinly. “Another reporter from the center of the universe—that big, important city of Chicago. An actual dot instead of just a speck. Whoop-dee-doo.”
“No, I mean, yes, he is from Chicago, but what I’m saying is—”
“We sure do appreciate you demeaning yourself by living in our town,” she said, then turned on her heel and stormed out.
I sat at the table, dumbfounded. I didn’t understand how I was doing everything so wrong.
Before I could stop them, tears flooded down my cheeks. In some ways, I was crying an entire year of tears. I felt so misunderstood. By everyone. And so out of place.
All I wanted to do was solve a crime. Was that so much to ask?
King Archie abandoned the cookie crumbs he was nibbling and rubbed against my shoulder, making me cry even harder. You knew you were pathetic when King forgot about food