Authors: Julie Kramer
Both of our lives had changed forever that afternoon at Channel 3 when Garnett killed the gunman who was shooting up the newsroom. Even though he’d been a cop his entire life, he’d never actually taken a life. And I was struggling with my own disturbing problems after facing a psycho in an Iowa cemetery. I guess I thought if we didn’t talk about the bad, it wouldn’t be real and might just go away. But I’d since learned that theory was worthless. Maybe Garnett had, too. Maybe that was why he was back in my bed. I was afraid to ask him.
“Want to walk the dog with me?” I said instead.
“You have a dog?” He looked around the kitchen. “Where do you keep him?”
“Husky. He’s with a neighbor. Remember him? First he belonged to Toby, then Noreen, now me. He rotates between living here and down at the farm.”
Soon we were heading toward Lake Nokomis, just the three of us. We almost resembled a family. I wondered if Garnett still had the engagement ring that he had given me and I had given back. It held a deep red stone—a garnet. But instead of asking me to marry him again, he asked how things were at the station.
“How’s the new boss working out?”
“I hate him.”
“Still making you shoot your own video?”
“That’s the least of it.” If I told Garnett about Bryce’s technique for supervising women, he’d pound him. So I kept quiet because I didn’t want my once-again boyfriend behind bars. “Although if I’d had a photographer assigned to me, I wouldn’t have been running for my life alone the other night.”
“There’d probably just be one more dead bear victim,” he said.
“Walden got a bum rap. He deserved to see spring. I wish things could have ended differently for him.”
“Well, the way I read the situation, if the bear hadn’t killed this guy, the guy would have killed you. I’d rather hear about a dead bear than a dead Riley.”
“That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.” Garnett was better at quoting movie lines than coming up with his own dialogue.
“I do my best.”
My ankle was still bothering me, so I suggested we turn back so I could elevate my foot.
“Fine with me,” Garnett said. “All the walking is making me hungry. Do you have anything in your refrigerator?”
I weighed the last time I’d been shopping with the last time I’d taken out the garbage. “Probably nothing edible.”
We stopped by a local deli and I ran to use the ladies’ room and grab something to eat. This bathroom water was a little on
the hot side, but what really got my attention was that one of the workers making sandwiches wasn’t wearing gloves. I knew that was a health violation, so I just stuck with two coffees and muffins in plastic wrap. When I came outside, Husky was rubbing against Garnett’s legs while he got his ears scratched. I made a mental note to swing by the grocery store on my way home from the station and pick up some basics like milk, eggs, and dog biscuits.
Then I remembered owing Bryce another food story that was cheap, fast, and foolproof. That would probably be the first thing he asked me about when I returned to work. Not, how was I doing? But, what have I got for sweeps?
I forced myself to think food. And suddenly, restaurant inspections came to mind. Instead of Channel 3 putting eateries to the test, we’d simply report what city health inspectors found. Cheap. Fast. Foolproof. Now I wasn’t dreading returning to work so much.
Husky was eager for the walk to end. He didn’t like cold paws. When we got back to the house, he rushed to the door to embrace his indoor-dog status. Garnett and I clung together for a brief kiss and went back to our professional—but at times, unprofessional—worlds.
A
s I drove to Channel 3, I was reveling in the benefits of not having a cell phone and not being constantly on call. I’d traded convenience for freedom. I’d decided to wait until the station ordered me to buy a new phone.
But I didn’t go straight to the office. I stopped first at the Minneapolis Health Department to talk about health code violations, which are public record. Within minutes I was sitting at a small table with a large stack of files. The last three months of city restaurant inspections. I made a food index, noting which places had high grades and which had tanked. My story would be a report card to Minneapolis’s dining establishments. I wished all my research could be so easy. I set to work making photocopies.
• • •
The best part about my Channel 3 office was the location. Tucked in the rear of the building, I could enter through the station’s back alley entrance when I wanted to keep a low profile. I didn’t have to walk by the news director’s office or the assignment desk.
By the time I arrived at work, the news huddle was long over. Most of the staff had scattered. I logged onto my computer, and made a spreadsheet of the restaurants and their scores. Just as I
was heading to tell Bryce the good news, I ran into Nicole who was leaving his office.
“Why didn’t you interrupt us?” She held up her cell phone. “I texted you.”
“I’m phoneless, Nicole. What happened?”
She looked around to see if anyone was watching us. I motioned for her to follow me to the ladies’ room. The restroom hadn’t been updated since the station was built, and had gotten shabby over the years. The faucet water was on the cool side. The women of Channel 3 had been campaigning long for a remodel, but had always been turned down due to budget constraints.
However, the stalls were empty, and it was just the place for a private chat.
“What happened?”
“He complimented me on my job covering the bear attack. Then he asked if I’d received his message. I told him I have conservative Christian values and didn’t appreciate that kind of picture. That I had deleted the photo and didn’t want any more.”
“That’s actually good. You put him on notice.”
She looked relieved. “Really? Do you think he’ll stop then?”
“No, Nicole. If anything, he’ll want to prove he’s in charge.”
I
walked into Bryce’s office waving a printout of my spreadsheet. “Here’s your food story, boss, and it’s terrific.”
My enthusiasm surprised him and he instructed me to close the door for our discussion so he could better concentrate. I thought about refusing, but figured that would just piss him off.
I gave him the bottom line: Channel 3 would broadcast restaurant inspection scores. “We have some popular places with violations that will surprise viewers.”
“So we’re good to air?” He sounded surprised.
“Sure are, boss.”
“This seems too easy.” He sounded suspicious.
“Call Miles,” I said. “I’m not worried. Because a couple of these places with failing marks are large restaurant chains with their own staff attorneys, now might be a good time to bring him in to flag any legal issues.”
While we waited for Miles, I explained the difference between critical and noncritical food violations. “Critical ones could cause food-borne illnesses. They might involve sanitation or undercooked meat.”
Within a couple minutes, Miles had arrived. He shut the door for our attorney-client talk, but that was fine with me because I wasn’t alone with Bryce anymore.
Miles had no objection to broadcasting the inspection scores as long as we gave the restaurants an opportunity to respond. Whether they decided to comment or not would be up to them.
“Absolutely, we will,” I said. “But that affects timing. If we want to hold the story for the November sweeps, I don’t think we want to contact them much more than a week in advance. Otherwise they’ll have their advertising team call our sales gang to lean on us to kill the story.”
“Wait,” Bryce said. “This could cost us advertising revenue?”
“Theoretically, yes,” I said. “These major restaurant chains might threaten to pull their advertising. But usually that’s just a ploy to see if we’ll fold. And it wouldn’t be fair to just report mom-and-pop places that can’t afford to advertise.”
“But conceivably, we could lose money?”
“Well, yes. But companies that make a stink about pulling advertising usually end up looking even worse. And that draws more attention to their transgression. In the meantime, we likely gain viewers who tune in to watch all the fuss.”
Bryce got quiet fast. And I feared he might be mulling over killing this story, too. “But aren’t these health code inspections just a snapshot in time? The restaurants might have improved.”
“That’s certainly true,” I said. “And that’s what they’ll probably argue, if they choose to do an interview. But the restaurants might also have gotten worse.”
“I’m not comfortable airing it without comment from the restaurants,” Bryce said.
“That would be their choice,” I said. “Are we never going to air a crime story if a suspect refuses to talk to us? Are we going to steer away from political controversies if a candidate declines an interview?”
“What if the restaurants sue us?” Bryce asked.
“I don’t see it as a legal problem,” Miles said. “We’re merely reporting what the city found. Very low libel risk.”
“We’ll add some context with an interview from the health
department,” I said. “And we’ll also salute restaurants which scored high, to prove it’s possible.”
I thought that settled things. But not so. Ten seconds later, my restaurant inspection story was dead.
Miles left, but I wanted answers. “How can this be, Bryce? The calorie-fat testing story also involved some advertisers.” Then I realized that was why he killed it, not because the food tests were too expensive or risky. My new boss didn’t want to offend advertisers.
Before I said something that would land me in trouble, I stood up to leave.
“Just a minute,” he said.
Uh-oh, I thought. He wants a high five. But he just wanted to admonish me about being out of touch with the assignment desk.
“They couldn’t reach you for the last couple days. In this world of breaking news, our staff needs to be available 24-7.”
I reminded him that my cell phone blew up with the station van. “My phone died in the line of duty, Bryce. I think the station should replace it.”
He disagreed. “You’re lucky I don’t make you pay for the van, too, and not just the phone.”
As I walked out Bryce made some comment about writing me up for negligence with company property and scoring me poorly on availability in my upcoming job review.
“And don’t forget, Riley, I still expect you to come up with a food story.”
• • •
A letter came in that day’s mail from Michelle Kueppers. She thanked me for spotting the Amish quilt in their shed and helping find Sarah Yoder’s killer. She enclosed a picture of her and Josh holding Brian’s military photo. The picture looked good enough for a Christmas card and I wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up on one.
It is such a relief to Josh and myself not to worry about this murder anymore. And even though I believed my husband when he told me he was not involved with this woman, to be honest, I was anxious about what his DNA might show. Josh had been blaming himself for finding her body. I told him what he did was good and brave and God will reward him. “But not if it hurts our family,” he said.
Thank you for being smart and brave too, and doing your job.
My bottom desk drawer has a file of my favorite letters from viewers. This one belonged with that bunch.
Also in the drawer was a file from viewers who considered me liberal media scum. I kept those close to remind myself that journalists can’t please everyone. If hell had mail delivery and Ike could send a letter, it would likely go in that file.
I thought about burning some of the really hateful letters in the alley behind the station. But I had vowed to save them all. Someday, to celebrate my retirement from television news, I would donate my top ten to a charity’s silent auction where autograph hounds might bid for them.
Not that any collector would care about me, the recipient. The senders of the letters—politicians, athletes, even murderers—would attract the money.
M
alik greeted me the next morning with a gleam in his eye that I hadn’t seen since the day he froze during his live shot.
“No, we don’t get any more meals to test,” I said. “If what you’re hoping for is a free lunch.”
But it was something else. “Remember how I’ve been missing that certain camera you lost? I knew every centimeter on that camera’s body from viewfinder to lens. I could operate that camera blind.”
“Which one? The torched one or the stolen one?”
“The stolen one. That camera was perfection.”
“Well, if you lobby Bryce, maybe he’ll buy you another. But I’m not bringing it up because he’ll probably make me pay for it.”
“They don’t make ’em like that one anymore.”
“I have to write the food script, Malik. Stop trying to make me feel guilty and let me get back to work.”
Instead, he pushed my growing stack of food files aside and pulled a chair up next to my computer.
“Move over, Riley. Let me at that mouse.”
I stored my script and abandoned my workstation, seeking coffee and a chance to stretch my legs. When I returned,
Malik motioned me over to the monitor and I saw he’d called up Craigslist, a website for selling used merchandise.
He clicked to an ad where a picture of a video camera, priced at a thousand dollars, came up on the screen.
“That’s our camera,” he said, pointing.
“Are you sure?” My memory of the camera was muddled. I hadn’t been a one-man band long enough to be an expert. “Seems like an awfully good price.”
“Most stolen goods are priced to move.”
“But the Amish don’t have computers or Internet access, how would they be advertising online?”
“Maybe an English friend is helping them out. See, the seller location says Preston, Minnesota. That’s very near Harmony.”
He was right about that. And I had a hard time believing there’d be two such cameras in one rural county. “So what do we do?”
“There’s only one way to be sure, Riley. The serial number.”