Free Damage by Mark Feggeler Page B

he drove. "Wonder if we're gonna get some rain."
    "We need it," Ray said.
    "Uh huh."
    As they passed the old Glen Meadows Elementary School on the right and crested the big hill one mile north of the Citizen-Gazette office, Ray thought about the grand entrance he would make. Deadline had come and gone long ago for the editorial staff, possibly even for most of production, as well. The ladies in advertising likely had wandered in by now and were seated at their desks preparing for their days, or huddled around Marci's desk for their daily stand up meeting. All eyes would turn to Ray as he entered the building. Those who didn't want to ask him over and over about what happened at the Wallace's farm would certainly want to ask him about missing deadline and the missing camera, most especially Becky. He was tired, hungry, and not at all in an apologetic mood. Facing the office now was not in his best interests.
    "Awful what some people can do, isn't it?" Deputy Greevey asked. "Like that rich lady shooting her husband and jumping out that window."
    Ray winced at the stupidity of the suggestion. He could scarcely imagine how amazingly free of deductive reasoning Greevey's life might be.
    "Do me a favor," Ray said, choosing to ignore the comment. "Drop me off around back on Gorney Street."
    "You trying to sneak in?" Greevey asked knowingly, grinning as if he were in on the planning of some great caper.
    "Uh, huh," Ray said, his talent for mimicry fortunately lost on the deputy.
    They traveled a block beyond the Citizen-Gazette, a one-story building with brick siding stained black by years of untreated mold and windows that gave the appearance they allowed little light to pass through to the interior, which would have been a correct assumption. The full name of the newspaper -- the Tramway County Citizen-Gazette and Daily Standard -- was painted in red letters just small enough to be unreadable by anyone passing the building at more than twenty-five miles per hour. The cruiser turned left on McReynolds Street, then immediately left again on Gorney to come up behind the building. Two large rusting doors took up a fair portion of the back wall. One, as usual, was propped open by a bucket. From the sidewalk, Ray turned to thank Deputy Greevey for the ride.
    "Try to stay out of trouble," the deputy said, and drove away north on Gorney Street, disappearing over the crest of the first hill a few blocks up.
    Once the car was out of sight, Ray walked around the building instead of inside it. To the left was a narrow dirt path winding through overgrown brambles and tall grass to a gap in the chain link fence that separated the Citizen-Gazette's parking lot from that of the Greasy Spoon, the closest thing to a diner in Tramway County. A variety of signs, decals, flyers, ads and a tiny open/closed sign took up much of the wall of windows lining the front of the diner. Through the few unobscured gaps, Ray could see two waitresses, one wiping down tables and the other gathering sugar shakers into a bin, busy prepping for the lunch crowd.
    He pulled at the swinging glass door, also covered in propaganda, and the heavy lingering odors of bacon grease and eggs welcomed him on a wave of hot air escaping the restaurant. He took in a deep breath and could feel his stomach immediately rumble at the possibility of finally getting something to eat. Before he had the chance to take in his surroundings, a deep and friendly voice beckoned to him from somewhere off in the far corner of the restaurant. It was Walter Gannon, senior reporter at the Citizen-Gazette.
    "Sit with me!" Walter called.
    The cracked imitation leather of the bench seat caught and tugged at Ray's jeans as he tried to slide into the booth. Walter was bent over a half-eaten plate of the Double Down, a hefty menu item consisting of two eggs any style, two sausage links, two slices of bacon, two slices of toast, and a double portion of grits in a bowl.
    A short waitress with spiked blonde hair