anyway.”
T he intrepid little group returned from lunch in an upbeat frame of mind, quite proud of how well they’d run the media gauntlet. They’d answered every question that was thrown at them with a smile and nothing more, except for Helene, who’d ground her high heel into one reporter’s foot when he tried to grab her arm. They’d escaped into a small luncheonette around the corner, where the owner not only barred the press, but gave the survivors free desserts with their meals.
“I think I could get used to this celebrity treatment,” Helene announced as she slid the last piece of cinnamon-rich apple pie into her mouth. Rory led the others in a round of good-natured booing that quickly turned to laughter, her aunt laughing so heartily that she almost choked on the pie. Rory knew that the emotional issues Helene and company were struggling with in the aftermath of the flood weren’t likely to resolve themselves in a week or even a month, but the laughter was a fine indication they were headed in the right direction.
As they made their way back into the hotel, they were again assaulted by a barrage of questions. This time, the reporters played it safe and kept their distance from Helene’s lethal footwear.
Inside, a hand-lettered sign had been posted atop the reception desk announcing that the Navajo Police Department would hold a press conference at two fifteen in the conference room. Well-timed, Rory thought. The police injunction would run out at two anyway, marking the start of open season on the survivors. The media was sure to be in attendance, cameras and microphones at the ready.
Rory and her lunch group headed to the conference room, which turned out to be a relatively small space with a grandiose title. The rest of the troupe was already in attendance, along with the hotel manager, who was supervising the removal of the twenty or so chairs that were usually in there. In order to accommodate more people, the briefing would be standing room only. He left one chair off to the side for Dorothy Johnson, who wasn’t supposed to stand for too long on her injured foot.
At exactly two o’clock the media laid siege to the hotel. One minute the lobby was peaceful; the next it was swarming with reporters and cameramen, cursing and shoving each other out of the way in a mad dash to reach the survivors and get on air with their story before their colleagues did. When they reached the conference room, they were pleasantly surprised to find all the survivors waiting there as if they’d been corralled expressly for their purposes. In less than two minutes, every member of the troupe had a microphone thrust in his or her face. Rory lost count of how many eager reporters she disappointed with the fact that she hadn’t been in or even near the canyon at the time of the flood. She finally slipped away from the chaos and went back to the lobby to wait for Detective Joe’s arrival.
He and Begay arrived a few minutes late without Preston’s mother in tow. Presumably she’d already identified her son’s remains and been given the official police report, including the cause of death. Rory would have liked to believe that Detective Joe talked Clarissa into skipping the press conference because he had a kind, well-intentioned heart and wanted to protect her from the feeding frenzy going on at that moment in the shark tank otherwise known as the conference room. But with one look at the hard set of his face as he hurried past her, Rory let that particular fantasy expire.
She followed the two policemen back to the room, which came to order as soon as the detective appeared on the raised platform. The reporters stepped back from their subjects; all eyes turned to Daniel Joe.
“I’m going to read a brief statement,” he said, “after which I’ll take some questions.” He withdrew a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it and started reading slowly and without inflection. “The investigation into the
T he intrepid little group returned from lunch in an upbeat frame of mind, quite proud of how well they’d run the media gauntlet. They’d answered every question that was thrown at them with a smile and nothing more, except for Helene, who’d ground her high heel into one reporter’s foot when he tried to grab her arm. They’d escaped into a small luncheonette around the corner, where the owner not only barred the press, but gave the survivors free desserts with their meals.
“I think I could get used to this celebrity treatment,” Helene announced as she slid the last piece of cinnamon-rich apple pie into her mouth. Rory led the others in a round of good-natured booing that quickly turned to laughter, her aunt laughing so heartily that she almost choked on the pie. Rory knew that the emotional issues Helene and company were struggling with in the aftermath of the flood weren’t likely to resolve themselves in a week or even a month, but the laughter was a fine indication they were headed in the right direction.
As they made their way back into the hotel, they were again assaulted by a barrage of questions. This time, the reporters played it safe and kept their distance from Helene’s lethal footwear.
Inside, a hand-lettered sign had been posted atop the reception desk announcing that the Navajo Police Department would hold a press conference at two fifteen in the conference room. Well-timed, Rory thought. The police injunction would run out at two anyway, marking the start of open season on the survivors. The media was sure to be in attendance, cameras and microphones at the ready.
Rory and her lunch group headed to the conference room, which turned out to be a relatively small space with a grandiose title. The rest of the troupe was already in attendance, along with the hotel manager, who was supervising the removal of the twenty or so chairs that were usually in there. In order to accommodate more people, the briefing would be standing room only. He left one chair off to the side for Dorothy Johnson, who wasn’t supposed to stand for too long on her injured foot.
At exactly two o’clock the media laid siege to the hotel. One minute the lobby was peaceful; the next it was swarming with reporters and cameramen, cursing and shoving each other out of the way in a mad dash to reach the survivors and get on air with their story before their colleagues did. When they reached the conference room, they were pleasantly surprised to find all the survivors waiting there as if they’d been corralled expressly for their purposes. In less than two minutes, every member of the troupe had a microphone thrust in his or her face. Rory lost count of how many eager reporters she disappointed with the fact that she hadn’t been in or even near the canyon at the time of the flood. She finally slipped away from the chaos and went back to the lobby to wait for Detective Joe’s arrival.
He and Begay arrived a few minutes late without Preston’s mother in tow. Presumably she’d already identified her son’s remains and been given the official police report, including the cause of death. Rory would have liked to believe that Detective Joe talked Clarissa into skipping the press conference because he had a kind, well-intentioned heart and wanted to protect her from the feeding frenzy going on at that moment in the shark tank otherwise known as the conference room. But with one look at the hard set of his face as he hurried past her, Rory let that particular fantasy expire.
She followed the two policemen back to the room, which came to order as soon as the detective appeared on the raised platform. The reporters stepped back from their subjects; all eyes turned to Daniel Joe.
“I’m going to read a brief statement,” he said, “after which I’ll take some questions.” He withdrew a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it and started reading slowly and without inflection. “The investigation into the
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