Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [45]
“Come in, Ellen.” Marcelo smiled, his eyes flashing darkly. “I didn’t get your draft. Did you email it?”
Ellen arranged her face into a professional mask. “Marcelo, I don’t have the piece done. I’m sorry.”
Sarah looked over. Larry and Sal turned around. Marcelo blinked. “You don’t have it?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“No, sorry.” Ellen’s temples thundered. “I got a little bogged down and I need a few extra days.”
“Maybe I can help. That’s what they pay me for.”
“No, you can’t,” Ellen blurted out, but Marcelo was still smiling, his head cocked and his eyes sympathetic.
“Let me see what you have so far. I’m not looking for perfection. I can’t be, with these two slackers on the story.” Marcelo gestured at Larry and Sal. “Their draft needed the usual overhaul.”
“Kiss my ass,” Sal said, and they all laughed except Ellen, who had to come clean.
“Marcelo, to be honest, there is no draft. Not yet.” She felt vaguely sick, unmasked and vulnerable. They were all looking at her in surprise, Marcelo most of all.
“Nothing?” Marcelo frowned, confused.
“No worries,” Sarah chirped up. “I’ve got it covered.”
“Please wait.” Marcelo held up a large palm, but Ellen was looking over at Sarah, too angry to let it go.
“What do you mean, you have it covered?” she asked.
Sarah ignored the question. “Marcelo, Ellen refused to talk with my source, Julia Guest, so I did and wrote it up. I think it puts a human face on the issue quite nicely.” She handed him some sheets from a stack she cradled against her chest. “Check it out.”
Ellen felt stunned. Sarah had just stuck a knife in her back. The girl wanted her job and was taking no prisoners.
“Who’s this source again?” Marcelo was asking, eyeing the pages.
“She’s been active in the efforts to stop the violence and has or ganized the community on the issue. She knows all the players and she feeds to the Mayor’s Office.”
“What’s her stake in this?”
“She organized last month’s demonstrations and one of the vigils.”
“Is she in local politics?”
“Not officially.”
“Thanks, but that’s not what I had in mind.” Marcelo, troubled, handed her back the pages. “It sounds to me as if she has no stake. If she doesn’t have a stake, she’s not the story.”
Ellen cleared her throat. “I interviewed one of the mothers who lost a son, a second-grader who was murdered. I also spoke with the boy’s teacher and the funeral director who prepared his body.”
Sal whistled. “Grieving mothers are a homerun.”
Larry nodded. “I like the funeral angle, too. It’s different. Original.”
Marcelo looked relieved. “Okay, Ellen. Good. So you just don’t have the draft yet. When can you finish it?”
“Next Friday?”
“She’s been working on that Sulaman follow-up,” Sarah interrupted, and Ellen turned on her, not bothering to hide her feelings.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been working on Sulaman, right?” Sarah asked calmly, lifting an eyebrow. “That’s the real reason you blew this deadline, isn’t it?”
“That’s not true!” Ellen shot back, but she could see that Sarah had gotten Marcelo’s attention.
“Yes, it is,” Sarah continued, her tone measured. “I know because Susan Sulaman called yesterday. She said she’d been calling you and couldn’t reach you, so the switchboard sent the call to the newsroom, and I picked up. She said you’d interviewed her and wanted to know if you’d talked your editor into running the story.”
Marcelo’s eyes flared, and Ellen’s face burned.
“You have no idea what I’ve been doing, so stay out of my business!”
“I knew you wouldn’t make the deadline.” Sarah remained calm, but Ellen raised her voice.
“Your story is separate from mine!” She couldn’t stop herself from shouting even though everyone had fallen into shocked silence. Her head was about to explode. “It’s not your concern whether I make my deadline or