voice.The nagging questions about her missing memory had left her feeling on edge. She also wondered how trustworthy her new housemate might be, now that she knew Sally had warned Byrne about her impending visit. The drive back into town through blowing snow hadn’t helped matters. Even with the chains on Sally’s 1950s Chevy, Jo had thought she might not make it back. She could barely find the road.
“Firstly, we can’t use the word ‘suicide,’ ” Doug said.
“Context,” Jo said, folding her arms. She was seated on a cold metal stool next to Doug, legs tightly crossed. “I didn’t say that Marlo McAdam committed suicide. I merely said that Crocus Bluffs was the most likely place for the fall and that the place is known locally as ‘Suicide Bluffs.’ ”
“But the link is obvious to the reader, and given Marlo’s position in the community, it would be politically, uh … insensitive … to make that suggestion without more factual evidence.” Doug looked away, back at the article on his desk.
“Oh, come on. There are only two choices. She jumped, or she was pushed.”
“She could have fallen,” Doug said.
Jo gave him a disbelieving look. “From the top of a cliff. In the middle of the night. Seems a little …”
“Secondly …”
“… convenient for an accident.”
“We can’t go to print ahead of schedule. Thursday night we print it, and Friday morning we deliver it.”
“But … that’s four days away … and this is the kind of story that could get you national readers if you run it first. The body of a prominent politician washes ashore in a town of thirteen hundred people …” Jo waved one hand, stirring the cold air.
“ Could . If it were murder. Or a suicide. But chances are it was an accident,” Doug said. “This isn’t some big city in the South. We get the odd bit of domestic violence, but we haven’t seen anything more serious in years. Well, except for that time Two-By-Four Tom put a bullet through another prospector’s head. Very intense.” Jo raised an eyebrow at Doug’s choice of words, but the gesture appeared to be lost on him. “At any rate, we don’t have the budget for additional print runs.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We just don’t. And, you know, I’m right in the middle of parent-teacher meetings.”
Jo placed a hand over her lips, suppressing the urge to laugh. “If we can’t go to print until Friday, we could at least dig a little deeper. Have something more than the nationals have by the time we do.”
“Look, I’m not sure how to say this …” Doug’s watery blue eyes contained undercurrents of meaning. “I know you’re looking for a chance to make a … you know, a comeback with a big story, but …”
“That’s not fair. The public have a right to know if this is something more ominous than the RCMP are admitting. I mean, it’s important to me to …”
“It’s just that I don’t want us jumping to conclusions. I’m only the editor for one more week, and I knew Marlo, and if you want to talk about fairness , I want to be fair to her. We report the facts, and we don’t speculate beyond them. This paper has always been about community service, and I want to make sure it stays that way. At least while I’m still here. So for my last edition, we’re doing service to Marlo’s memory.”
“But …”
“Look, you can talk to Caveman … uh, his real name is Cal Sanders … about the experience of finding Marlo’s body. Geez, that must have been quite a shock.”
“Yes.”
Doug shook his head and looked stern again. “But let the RCMP do their work. I don’t want us, you know, stepping on toes. And anything you write this week goes through me first. Cool?”
“Understood.”
“Our professional reputation is on the line here. Goddamn it, how did Marshall get out again?”
Jo looked down, where Doug’s attention was focused. The plump guinea pig waddled by, pausing to chew blandly on a scrap of
“Firstly, we can’t use the word ‘suicide,’ ” Doug said.
“Context,” Jo said, folding her arms. She was seated on a cold metal stool next to Doug, legs tightly crossed. “I didn’t say that Marlo McAdam committed suicide. I merely said that Crocus Bluffs was the most likely place for the fall and that the place is known locally as ‘Suicide Bluffs.’ ”
“But the link is obvious to the reader, and given Marlo’s position in the community, it would be politically, uh … insensitive … to make that suggestion without more factual evidence.” Doug looked away, back at the article on his desk.
“Oh, come on. There are only two choices. She jumped, or she was pushed.”
“She could have fallen,” Doug said.
Jo gave him a disbelieving look. “From the top of a cliff. In the middle of the night. Seems a little …”
“Secondly …”
“… convenient for an accident.”
“We can’t go to print ahead of schedule. Thursday night we print it, and Friday morning we deliver it.”
“But … that’s four days away … and this is the kind of story that could get you national readers if you run it first. The body of a prominent politician washes ashore in a town of thirteen hundred people …” Jo waved one hand, stirring the cold air.
“ Could . If it were murder. Or a suicide. But chances are it was an accident,” Doug said. “This isn’t some big city in the South. We get the odd bit of domestic violence, but we haven’t seen anything more serious in years. Well, except for that time Two-By-Four Tom put a bullet through another prospector’s head. Very intense.” Jo raised an eyebrow at Doug’s choice of words, but the gesture appeared to be lost on him. “At any rate, we don’t have the budget for additional print runs.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We just don’t. And, you know, I’m right in the middle of parent-teacher meetings.”
Jo placed a hand over her lips, suppressing the urge to laugh. “If we can’t go to print until Friday, we could at least dig a little deeper. Have something more than the nationals have by the time we do.”
“Look, I’m not sure how to say this …” Doug’s watery blue eyes contained undercurrents of meaning. “I know you’re looking for a chance to make a … you know, a comeback with a big story, but …”
“That’s not fair. The public have a right to know if this is something more ominous than the RCMP are admitting. I mean, it’s important to me to …”
“It’s just that I don’t want us jumping to conclusions. I’m only the editor for one more week, and I knew Marlo, and if you want to talk about fairness , I want to be fair to her. We report the facts, and we don’t speculate beyond them. This paper has always been about community service, and I want to make sure it stays that way. At least while I’m still here. So for my last edition, we’re doing service to Marlo’s memory.”
“But …”
“Look, you can talk to Caveman … uh, his real name is Cal Sanders … about the experience of finding Marlo’s body. Geez, that must have been quite a shock.”
“Yes.”
Doug shook his head and looked stern again. “But let the RCMP do their work. I don’t want us, you know, stepping on toes. And anything you write this week goes through me first. Cool?”
“Understood.”
“Our professional reputation is on the line here. Goddamn it, how did Marshall get out again?”
Jo looked down, where Doug’s attention was focused. The plump guinea pig waddled by, pausing to chew blandly on a scrap of
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