reverend put his hand on Frank’s shoulder, lowered his voice. “I’ve known this man for a long time. I know what he did in there, but that’s out of character.”
Frank sighed, searching the reverend’s pleading eyes. “I understand, sir. But this is not working in his favor. He assaulted his wife.”
“I know. I know. This is very bad. All of it. But I know this man. And I know he’s not what everyone is saying he is.”
“What is everyone saying?”
“Empty words. Accusations.” A sadness swept over the reverend’s expression. “We’re neighbors. We’re supposed to look after one another.” He gestured toward the Shaws’ house. “All this over a conversation. We humans can tame animals, birds, reptiles, and fish, but no one can tame the tongue.”
Reverend Caldwell’s words crawled over Frank’s flesh. All that could be heard was the low, fretful murmuring of the nearby crowd.
“Officer? Are you all right?”
“I’ll be in touch.”
***
Damien stood in the middle of the street for a moment, taking it all in. He wanted a complete picture for the story, which included the setting—a quiet neighborhood in Marlo, just two blocks from their world-famous chocolate shop, erupting in violence on what on any ordinary day would be a playful, tranquil street. Damien noticed a crowd gathered on the lawn directly across from where the incident took place, whatever that incident might be.
A stretcher with medical personnel around it had made a hasty exit out of the home on the left. He caught a glimpse of a woman lying on it as they wheeled her toward the ambulance. The EMTs were in a hurry to get her loaded. A couple of firefighters helped lift the stretcher.
Damien took out his notepad and wrote down a few words to help him remember the moment. Yeah, he knew, this was supposed to be investigative reporting, but cold, hard facts don’t always tell the complete story.
At least, in his opinion.
The wailing sirens of the ambulance caused him to shiver. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t good. Wasn’t right. Through the glowing front window of the home where the lady was taken from, he saw Frank pass by, hands on his hips, a strangely fierce look on his face.
He decided to see if someone from the crowd would talk to him. He pulled his newspaper ID badge from his wallet and clipped it on his shirt. Just a few short steps toward them already drew attention. They all stared as he approached.
He smiled pleasantly but not eagerly. “Hi, folks. I’m Damien Underwood from the paper. Can I ask some of you a few questions?”
An elderly woman with a tight expression sized him up. “From the paper, you say? Underwood? Don’t you write those opinion pieces?”
“Yes.”
“And crosswords,” someone else said. “A little easy for my taste.”
Damien held up a hand before anyone else wanted to give an opinion. “Folks, listen. I’m here to talk about what happened tonight. What’s going on over there?”
A bald, overweight man with motorcycle pants on said, “All we heard was that the husband nearly beat his wife to death.”
“They just brought her out on a stretcher. She looked half-dead,” the elderly woman said.
Damien quickly took notes. The recorder would’ve been better, but people were talking. Now. It would take him several minutes to figure out how Jenna got to the right menu to bring up the recorder on the phone.
“I always thought that man had a mean streak in him,” a woman wearing a dirty apron said.
Another woman scoffed. “Whatever, Ginger. I’ve seen you over there flirting.”
“What are you talking about?” Ginger said, her eyes white-hot.
“You and Sara are always talking about him.”
“Shut up, Pam. No we’re not.”
“Really? Because the Web site says differently.”
Ginger suddenly lunged at Pam, who gasped and stumbled back into the crowd.
Damien stepped out of the way and observed the two women shouting obscenities at each other while
Frank sighed, searching the reverend’s pleading eyes. “I understand, sir. But this is not working in his favor. He assaulted his wife.”
“I know. I know. This is very bad. All of it. But I know this man. And I know he’s not what everyone is saying he is.”
“What is everyone saying?”
“Empty words. Accusations.” A sadness swept over the reverend’s expression. “We’re neighbors. We’re supposed to look after one another.” He gestured toward the Shaws’ house. “All this over a conversation. We humans can tame animals, birds, reptiles, and fish, but no one can tame the tongue.”
Reverend Caldwell’s words crawled over Frank’s flesh. All that could be heard was the low, fretful murmuring of the nearby crowd.
“Officer? Are you all right?”
“I’ll be in touch.”
***
Damien stood in the middle of the street for a moment, taking it all in. He wanted a complete picture for the story, which included the setting—a quiet neighborhood in Marlo, just two blocks from their world-famous chocolate shop, erupting in violence on what on any ordinary day would be a playful, tranquil street. Damien noticed a crowd gathered on the lawn directly across from where the incident took place, whatever that incident might be.
A stretcher with medical personnel around it had made a hasty exit out of the home on the left. He caught a glimpse of a woman lying on it as they wheeled her toward the ambulance. The EMTs were in a hurry to get her loaded. A couple of firefighters helped lift the stretcher.
Damien took out his notepad and wrote down a few words to help him remember the moment. Yeah, he knew, this was supposed to be investigative reporting, but cold, hard facts don’t always tell the complete story.
At least, in his opinion.
The wailing sirens of the ambulance caused him to shiver. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t good. Wasn’t right. Through the glowing front window of the home where the lady was taken from, he saw Frank pass by, hands on his hips, a strangely fierce look on his face.
He decided to see if someone from the crowd would talk to him. He pulled his newspaper ID badge from his wallet and clipped it on his shirt. Just a few short steps toward them already drew attention. They all stared as he approached.
He smiled pleasantly but not eagerly. “Hi, folks. I’m Damien Underwood from the paper. Can I ask some of you a few questions?”
An elderly woman with a tight expression sized him up. “From the paper, you say? Underwood? Don’t you write those opinion pieces?”
“Yes.”
“And crosswords,” someone else said. “A little easy for my taste.”
Damien held up a hand before anyone else wanted to give an opinion. “Folks, listen. I’m here to talk about what happened tonight. What’s going on over there?”
A bald, overweight man with motorcycle pants on said, “All we heard was that the husband nearly beat his wife to death.”
“They just brought her out on a stretcher. She looked half-dead,” the elderly woman said.
Damien quickly took notes. The recorder would’ve been better, but people were talking. Now. It would take him several minutes to figure out how Jenna got to the right menu to bring up the recorder on the phone.
“I always thought that man had a mean streak in him,” a woman wearing a dirty apron said.
Another woman scoffed. “Whatever, Ginger. I’ve seen you over there flirting.”
“What are you talking about?” Ginger said, her eyes white-hot.
“You and Sara are always talking about him.”
“Shut up, Pam. No we’re not.”
“Really? Because the Web site says differently.”
Ginger suddenly lunged at Pam, who gasped and stumbled back into the crowd.
Damien stepped out of the way and observed the two women shouting obscenities at each other while
Similar Books
