Damage by Mark Feggeler Page B

desk directly ahead of him had a hand-written make shift tent card propped on it that read "Be right back, Tammy." Every desk in the editorial department also sat empty, and the three ladies in production were so busy working on the Wednesday circular they didn't even notice Ray. The heavy aroma of his uneaten lunch mingled with those of newsprint, ink, and developing chemicals. A back note of cigarettes could be detected, thanks to the fifty years the staff was allowed to smoke in the building before state laws banned it.
    To his left, the door to Becky's office hung open. The lights were off, but he knew she would be in there, preparing for the department-head meeting the Citizen-Gazette held every Monday afternoon. Sure enough, he found her hunched over the previous week's expense reports from the editorial staff, entering them into a computer spreadsheet while failing to keep several long curls from repeatedly falling in her face. Ray sat on a beat up leather love seat directly in front of her and waited for her to finish. He could tell by her lack of civility he was not in for an easy encounter. With a final dramatic click at the keyboard, Becky slumped back in her chair and stared at the screen.
    "What happened to you today?" she asked.  
    The trace of disappointment in her voice was worse than any amount anger she could throw his way. Becky waited just long enough for Ray to wonder if she were finished talking. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off before a sound came out.  
    "I was expecting, at the very least, a brief article on the Lonesome Pines groundbreaking and a bunch of   pictures to choose from for the cover," she explained. "Instead, I don't hear from you until late into the morning. Then you tell me you've got this incredible story about the Wallace family, but instead of giving me that, you give me this?"
    She shoved the day's newspaper toward him on her desk. From where he sat, he could see his byline positioned just above the fold. He picked it up. The ink was still moist enough to immediately smudge on his fingertips. The headline read "Tragedy for Local Business Leader" and the article filled the bottom right corner of the cover. The treatment of the story he submitted matched Ray's opinion of its quality. Two pictures, one an old headshot of Evan Wallace, the other a wide shot of the house that clearly showed the crumpled bushes where he had found Correen Wallace, were tucked inside the article. To his horror, he could make out what looked like her arm poking out from under the bushes.
    "I couldn't even run the groundbreaking," Becky complained. "First of all, you never bothered to write anything for it, and then the only picture I have from the entire event is of some couple walking away from the camera holding hands. That's great if we want to start printing greeting cards, but it doesn't help me much when I'm trying to put together a Monday edition."
    "Becky, I'm sorry," Ray said. He was in a deep hole and needed to start digging. "For starters, I thought I'd be done with Billy by seven. I would've had plenty of time to finish up Lonesome Pines if I hadn't got caught up in all that mess at the Wallace's."
    "And the pictures?" she asked. She held up a laser-printed copy of the only groundbreaking photo he had emailed across. "What is this supposed to accomplish?"
    "Actually," Ray said sheepishly. "That's the Wallaces as they were leaving the ceremony. It's probably the last picture ever taken of Evan Wallace alive."
    Becky studied the printout, then sighed heavily. "I wish you had said something," she whined. "How the hell was I supposed to know that was them? Shit, that would have been perfect."
    They sat in silence for a moment, Becky staring at the photo, Ray wondering how long he would have to sit there apologizing. The aroma rising from the warm container in his lap didn't help his attitude. He knew he needed to eat something, but he couldn't stomach the thought of eating grisly meat