Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Not now,” I said shortly. “Not here. You need to go.”
She looked down at the road. “I’m on public property.”
It hit me all at once. Coach Spellman was dead—I’d just seen the devastating evidence of it—and I had to go tell his family. There were so many people in the Beard who were going to be shaken by this. And I’d be damned if a single detail from this crime scene would be reported in the paper. Spellman deserved better than that, and so did his family.
“Public property or not, this is a crime scene,” I said, anger seeping out of me with every step I took toward her. “I said get the fuck out of here and I’m not going to say it again. Stand there five more seconds and I’ll arrest you.”
Her eyes looked the slightest bit watery as she held my gaze for a second, nodded, and walked back to the truck. I’d been an asshole, but I had to pack our interaction into a corner of my mind for now and focus on the job at hand.
My phone was blowing up with texts, and I wished I could toss it into the woods and never look back. I never gave out information, but it didn’t stop people from asking me to.
Rick and Cindy’s house was a well-kept two-story in a neighborhood just off Main Street. The driveway and sidewalk were freshly plowed, of course. No one beat Rick Spellman at clearing the driveway. He still loaded up former players in his truck to plow and shovel for elderly and disabled people, and he never took a dime for it.
I steeled myself as I put my work SUV into park. This was the hardest part of my job. But I did it the same way my father always had, with respect and compassion.
The walk up the sidewalk that divided the Spellman’s front yard and led to their door was endless. And at the same time, it was over in seconds.
I rang the doorbell and steeled myself. My sadness would have to wait. I had to be strong for Rick’s family.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Avon
Bess’s expression was fond as she stared at the large color photo of Rick Spellman on the front page of the Chronicle.
“I remember when Pete took this one,” she said. “Our football team made it to the playoffs and Rick and the players were all crying. That was a really big deal for our little team.”
I picked up the newspaper one of the pressmen had just delivered to my desk; it was still warm. I’d never worked so hard on anything as I had on this edition of the Chronicle in the past twenty-four hours.
As soon as Bess had called to tell me who died in the car accident and what he’d meant to the town, I’d gotten to work on a story about him. I’d interviewed his friends, colleagues, and past players. Sam had helped me scroll through all the photos of Rick in the archives and choose a few to run with the story.
I’d felt ready to go to press as usual this morning, and then Rick’s daughter Shannon called to see if I wanted to ask her any questions for the story. I hadn’t wanted to call the family on the day they lost a beloved family member, but since she offered, I asked her to tell me about her dad in her own words.
That had been a total game changer. I’d ended up rewriting the story and we held the press while Bess and I passed the story back and forth to tweak it. Bess, Devon, Sam, and I had toiled over a headline, trying to come up with one that worked well and fit the available space.
It was a banner headline, across the top of the front page, so it had to be long enough, but not too long. I’d come up with “Farewell to a Legend,” and then we’d all pored over the front page on the computer monitor some more, wanting to make sure we got everything just right.
I wanted to publish the best story I could for Rick’s family and friends, but I also wanted to use this opportunity to show the community and potential buyers what an asset the Chronicle was. As I looked over this week’s hard copy edition, I felt like I’d done both.
“How much sleep did you get last night?” Bess asked me.
“A few hours. I kept waking up and thinking about the story.”
“You should cut out early and go get some rest.”
I considered it for a moment, but there was no way I’d be able to sleep. I still had deadline adrenaline coursing through me, and I had a pile of Freedom of Information responses from the city to go through.
“I’m okay,” I said, glancing at the heavy snow falling outside. “How much snow are we supposed to get today?”