Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [5]
“The other sitters all read your articles, you know. I’m like a celebrity.”
“Sell autographs,” Ellen said, with a smile. She knew that the sitters were curious about her, the single reporter with the adopted kid. Like that song on Sesame Street, she was the thing not like the others.
“You’ll be home regular time?”
“Yes. Thanks for everything.” Ellen felt a familiar tug inside her chest. “I hate when I don’t get to say good-bye to him. Give him a kiss for me, will you?”
“You know I will.” Connie reached for the doorknob.
“Tell him I love him.”
“Gotcha.” Connie opened the door, and Ellen stepped reluctantly outside. A frigid wind bit her cheek, and the sky was a dull pewter. She wished she could run back inside, send Connie home, and take care of her own child, especially when he was sick. But the front door was already closing behind her, leaving her outside.
She didn’t remember about Timothy Braverman until she got into work.
Chapter Four
Ellen entered the building with a lunch-truck coffee and flashed her laminated ID at the security guard. She wanted to hit the ground running on that follow-up story, but her thoughts kept returning to Timothy Braverman. She made her way through the dim hallways of the old building and finally popped out into the newsroom, an immense, bright rectangle that ran the length of a city block, its ceiling three stories high.
Sunlight filtered in from tall windows covered with old-fashioned blinds, and blue banners that read CITY, NATIONAL, BUSINESS, NEWS DESK, ONLINE, and COPY DESK hung over the various sections. She started down the aisle to her desk, but everyone was collecting in front of the glass-walled editorial offices that ringed the newsroom, gathering around Marcelo.
This can’t be good.
She caught the eye of her friend Courtney Stedt, who detoured to meet her midway up the aisle. Courtney was her usual outdoorsy self in a forest green fleece with jeans, but her expression looked uncharacteristically grim. The office earth mother, Courtney was the one who got sheet cakes for everybody’s birthdays. If she was worried, something was wrong.
“Please tell me this is a surprise party,” Ellen said, and they fell into step.
“I can’t. I have a journalist’s respect for the truth.”
They reached the back of the crowd, and staffers filled the aisles between the desks and borrowed each other’s chairs. The crowd was collectively restless, with low talk and nervous laughter. Ellen leaned back against one of the desks next to Courtney, and thoughts of Timothy Braverman flew from her head. Unemployment had a way of focusing the brain, because of its direct connection to the mortgage lobe.
Marcelo motioned for order, and everyone quieted, a sea of heads turning to him. He was tall enough to be seen over everyone, with a lean frame, and his thick, dark hair curled unprofessionally over his collar, in a raggedy line. Strain showed in his dark brown eyes, and a fork creased his forehead. His eyebrows sloped down unhappily, and his pursed lips spoke volumes.
“First, good morning, friends,” Marcelo said, his voice deep and soft, with a pronounced Portuguese inflection. “I’m sorry to surprise you first thing, but I have bad news. I’m sorry, but we have another round of layoffs to make.”
Somebody cursed under his breath, and the crowd stiffened. Ellen and Courtney exchanged glances, but neither said anything. They didn’t have to, which was the friends part.
“I have to make two cuts today and one more by the end of the month.”
“Two, today?” someone repeated, echoing Ellen’s thoughts. Her chest tightened. She needed this job. Someone else called out, “No chance of a buyout?”
“Not this time, sorry.” Marcelo began rolling up his sleeves in a black shirt, European-cut, which he wore without a tie. “You know the reasons for the cuts. No newspaper has the readers it used to. We’re doing everything we can here, with blogs and podcasts, and I know you guys are working very hard. None of