formidable style might have come more from being a single parent than from being filthy rich. Checking the newspaper archives, I found an obituary and brief story about Madeline’s father’s death. He died on the eleventh hole, seeking shelter under a tree during a sudden thunderstorm.
Mr. Post had owned several car dealerships in the Twin Cities, so his marriage to Vivian blended old money with new.
Examining my lists on the board, I realized I needed to learn more about Mark. He was still a mystery. I pulled his and Madeline’s engagement announcement from my file and noted that his mother lived just outside of Hudson, Wisconsin.
Getting no answer at her home, I checked for florists in the area and soon located her at work. Surprised by my call, she welcomed a visit to discuss her missing son. So twenty minutes later, Malik and I were on our way to the cheesehead state.
By the time we got to the YOU ARE LEAVING MINNESOTA sign, he was dozing in the passenger seat while I drove over the St. Croix River. Malik preferred that division of travel duties—him sleeping, me driving. He claimed it kept him sharp when it came time to shoot video. He’d learned to sleep on command in the army and practiced that skill anytime he could. I didn’t really mind because it gave me time to brainstorm without having to listen to chatter about his home life. And his soft, pleasant snore soothed my racing mind.
The trees along the riverbank were turning green and the wind was brisk enough for whitecaps on the water. No boats in either direction. I turned north just after the WELCOME TO WISCONSIN sign.
I dialed Madeline because I wanted to fill her in on my meeting with her mother before her mother brainwashed her against me.
“I probably shouldn’t have told Mother about the story,” Madeline said. “But we’re very close. In some ways, she’s more like a big sister than a mom. ‘A big, bossy sister,’ I like to tease her. But she feels it’s not healthy for families to keep secrets. They only cause heartache.”
“She’s so right,” I said.
I often use a similar tactic to get reluctant interviewees to open up. And how could I argue that Madeline should keep secrets from her mother but share them with me?
So I decided to keep my current destination secret from her. The last thing I needed was Mrs. Post contacting Mrs. Lefevre and shutting her down before I even reached the front door.
“It sounds like you and your mother don’t necessarily have to agree on everything, as long as you’re upfront about it.” I was testing to see if Madeline was still on board with my investigation into her fiancé’s disappearance.
“Absolutely, Riley,” she said. “I love her dearly, but if it was up to Mother I’d still be living at home.”
That didn’t sound like much of a life to me. After all, I’d met Mother. And while I didn’t need the mother of the bride’s cooperation for my story, the bride herself was essential.
“So we’re still cool then, right, Madeline?”
“Right. I’ve thought about this a lot over the last couple of days, Riley, and whatever reason Mark vanished, knowing can’t be worse than not knowing.”
That philosophy certainly made sense then. But at that moment, I had no clue how this story might unfold. So when I assured Madeline that her decision was sound and promised to tell her the truth, no matter what I discovered, I sincerely believed it was the best course.
nudged Malik awake as I pulled in front of Jean Lefevre’s small-town-cute floral shop, painted a variety of pastel hues. We left the camera gear inside the van so as not to spook her. Mrs. Lefevre bore _ no physical resemblance to her frizzy-haired missing son. With pink cheeks and white hair, everything about her was adorable.
I loosened her up by placing an order for a spring bouquet to be sent to Shep’s K9 partner, who was still in the hospital. Rarely can you ingratiate yourself with two sources in two stories in
Mr. Post had owned several car dealerships in the Twin Cities, so his marriage to Vivian blended old money with new.
Examining my lists on the board, I realized I needed to learn more about Mark. He was still a mystery. I pulled his and Madeline’s engagement announcement from my file and noted that his mother lived just outside of Hudson, Wisconsin.
Getting no answer at her home, I checked for florists in the area and soon located her at work. Surprised by my call, she welcomed a visit to discuss her missing son. So twenty minutes later, Malik and I were on our way to the cheesehead state.
By the time we got to the YOU ARE LEAVING MINNESOTA sign, he was dozing in the passenger seat while I drove over the St. Croix River. Malik preferred that division of travel duties—him sleeping, me driving. He claimed it kept him sharp when it came time to shoot video. He’d learned to sleep on command in the army and practiced that skill anytime he could. I didn’t really mind because it gave me time to brainstorm without having to listen to chatter about his home life. And his soft, pleasant snore soothed my racing mind.
The trees along the riverbank were turning green and the wind was brisk enough for whitecaps on the water. No boats in either direction. I turned north just after the WELCOME TO WISCONSIN sign.
I dialed Madeline because I wanted to fill her in on my meeting with her mother before her mother brainwashed her against me.
“I probably shouldn’t have told Mother about the story,” Madeline said. “But we’re very close. In some ways, she’s more like a big sister than a mom. ‘A big, bossy sister,’ I like to tease her. But she feels it’s not healthy for families to keep secrets. They only cause heartache.”
“She’s so right,” I said.
I often use a similar tactic to get reluctant interviewees to open up. And how could I argue that Madeline should keep secrets from her mother but share them with me?
So I decided to keep my current destination secret from her. The last thing I needed was Mrs. Post contacting Mrs. Lefevre and shutting her down before I even reached the front door.
“It sounds like you and your mother don’t necessarily have to agree on everything, as long as you’re upfront about it.” I was testing to see if Madeline was still on board with my investigation into her fiancé’s disappearance.
“Absolutely, Riley,” she said. “I love her dearly, but if it was up to Mother I’d still be living at home.”
That didn’t sound like much of a life to me. After all, I’d met Mother. And while I didn’t need the mother of the bride’s cooperation for my story, the bride herself was essential.
“So we’re still cool then, right, Madeline?”
“Right. I’ve thought about this a lot over the last couple of days, Riley, and whatever reason Mark vanished, knowing can’t be worse than not knowing.”
That philosophy certainly made sense then. But at that moment, I had no clue how this story might unfold. So when I assured Madeline that her decision was sound and promised to tell her the truth, no matter what I discovered, I sincerely believed it was the best course.
nudged Malik awake as I pulled in front of Jean Lefevre’s small-town-cute floral shop, painted a variety of pastel hues. We left the camera gear inside the van so as not to spook her. Mrs. Lefevre bore _ no physical resemblance to her frizzy-haired missing son. With pink cheeks and white hair, everything about her was adorable.
I loosened her up by placing an order for a spring bouquet to be sent to Shep’s K9 partner, who was still in the hospital. Rarely can you ingratiate yourself with two sources in two stories in