Look Again Part 2

"But she didn't mean it. And still, it's a shock when it happens."

Sarah lifted an eyebrow. "She was the obvious choice. She wasn't sourced that well, and her writing wasn't as good as yours or mine."

"That's not true," Ellen shot back, hurt for Courtney, even in absentia. Meanwhile, the photo of Timothy slid from the printer tray, showing a rectangle of clear blue sky.

"What are you working on, anyway?"

"Research." Ellen was a bad liar, so she asked, "How about you?"

"An embezzlement piece, if Marcelo okays it." Sarah wiggled some papers in her hand. "The police commissioner just agreed to meet with me. An exclusive, which he never gives. So, what are you researching?"

"A follow-up on an old abduction story." Ellen wondered why she kept lying. She could have just told the truth. Funny, I just saw a picture of a kid who looks exactly like Will. Funny, I just saw a picture of a kid who looks exactly like Will. But something told her to keep it to herself. But something told her to keep it to herself.

"What abduction story?"

"Sulaman, a family abduction I did a while ago."

"Oh, right, I remember. It was so you. you." Sarah snorted, and Ellen hid her annoyance.

"What do you mean?"

"It was heartfelt. Unlike me, you can pull it off."

"You can do heartfelt," Ellen said, though she wasn't so sure. The photo of Timothy had almost finished printing, and suddenly she wanted Sarah gone. "Sorry, but I have to get back to work."

"Me, too." Sarah's gaze fell on the printer just as the photo shot out, and she plucked it from the tray. "Aha! You're not working."

Ellen's mouth went dry as Sarah scanned the photo of Timothy.

"You took more baby pictures than anybody I know."

"Guilty." Ellen didn't know what else to say. Obviously, Sarah had mistaken Timothy for Will.

"See you later." Sarah handed her the photo and took off, and Ellen bent down and slid it into her purse.

Then she picked up the phone to call Susan Sulaman.

Chapter Eight.

Fifteen minutes later, Ellen had hung up the phone, and Marcelo was motioning to her from his office doorway.

"May I see you for a minute?" he called out, and she nodded, seeing through his gla.s.s wall that Sarah was still sitting in one of the chairs across from his desk.

"Sure." She rose and walked to his office, which was lined with colorful photographs that he had taken in his native So Paulo. One was a series of exotic stone arches in warm gold and tan hues, and another of weathered doors painted germanium red, vivid orange, and chrome yellow, with a pot of magenta petunias on one threshold. Ellen realized she had a crush on Marcelo's office, too.

"Please, take a seat." He gestured her into a chair, and Sarah smiled quickly at her. He took his seat behind his desk, uncluttered except for stacked screen shots beside his laptop and a pencils-and-pens mug with a soccer ball on it that read Palmeiras. Palmeiras. He sighed. "First let me say, I know it's hard on you both, losing Courtney. If I could have avoided it, I would have. Now, Sarah just told me a great story idea." Marcelo brightened, nodding at Sarah. "You wish to explain or shall I?" He sighed. "First let me say, I know it's hard on you both, losing Courtney. If I could have avoided it, I would have. Now, Sarah just told me a great story idea." Marcelo brightened, nodding at Sarah. "You wish to explain or shall I?"

"You can."

"Fine." Marcelo faced Ellen directly. "We all know that Philly's homicide rate is among the highest in the country, we cover some angle of it every day. Sarah's idea is that we do a major think piece on the issue, not treat it as episodic news. Sarah, this is where your editor steals your idea." Marcelo flashed Sarah a grin, and she laughed.

Ellen, confused, couldn't even fake a smile. Sarah had told her she was going to Marcelo with an embezzlement piece, but that wasn't true. She had gone to him with a think piece, which was a much bigger deal. With one layoff to go at the end of the month, Sarah was making d.a.m.n sure it wasn't her.

Marcelo continued, "We need to explain why this is happening here, as opposed to other big cities in the States. What's more important? It's life or death."

"Exactly," Sarah said, and Ellen felt a half step behind, like a middle schooler during a pop quiz.

Marcelo nodded. "I see this as a cause-and-effects story. A thoughtful, in-depth examination. I will a.s.sign Larry and Sal to a.n.a.lyze the causes. Talk to social scientists and historians."

Ellen blinked. Larry Goodman and Sal Natane were the A-team, finalists for the Pulitzer for their investigative series on munic.i.p.al bonds. All of a sudden, she was playing in the hard-news bigs.

"I'd like to get you two started on the effects, and it has to be good, new work. Sarah, I want you to look at the effects from the perspective of costs. How much does violent crime cost the city in law enforcement, cop and court time, lawyer time? How about in tourism, lost business, and prestige, if you can quantify that. Crunch the numbers, as they say, but make it understandable."

"Will do." Sarah took notes, her glossy head down.

"Ellen." Marcelo turned to her again, and she guessed that if he had a crush on her, either he hid it well or the murder rate had killed the mood. "I want you to put a human face on it. The homicide rate has to be more than a number. Don't be politically correct about it. We can't fix it if we don't tell the truth."

Sarah interjected, "I have good stats on the race issue, and that's the part I already wrote. Maybe I should take that angle, too."

Marcelo dismissed her with a wave. "No, please give your notes to Ellen. As far as deadlines, today is Tuesday. Let's talk on Friday, before the weekend. Can you both do that?"

"No problem," Sarah answered, then rose, papers in hand.

"Okay by me." Ellen may not have studied for the quiz, but she was a fast learner. "By the way, can I ask you about another story?"

"Sure. Go ahead." Marcelo leaned back in his chair, and Ellen became aware that Sarah was lingering behind her in the threshold. Marcelo seemed to read her mind because he raised his gaze. "Thank you very much, Sarah. You don't have to stay around."

"Thanks," Sarah said, and left.

"Okay, what is it?" Marcelo asked, his voice almost imperceptibly gentler, and Ellen wondered if he really did like her.

"I did a story once on the Sulaman family, a wife whose kids were taken by her ex-husband. I just got off the phone with Susan and I'd like to do a follow-up."

"Why? Did she get the children back?"

"No, not yet."

"Then what happened?"

"They're still gone, and I thought it would be interesting to let Susan tell us how it feels, as a mother."

Marcelo frowned, with sympathy. "It feels horrible, I a.s.sume."

"Right."

"Well." Marcelo opened his palms on the desk. "A mother who grieves the loss of her children, still. It's terrible for her, but there's no story there."

"It's more than that." Ellen couldn't explain the pull of the story, but then again, she never could with any of her stories. She sensed that the idea was connected to the Braverman baby, but she wasn't about to tell that to Marcelo. "Why don't I go see Susan, then write it up and see what you think? It might pay off."

"I don't understand you." Marcelo s.h.i.+fted forward on his chair, an incredulous smile playing around his lips. "I just asked you to make our readers feel the tragedy of murder. Isn't that enough to keep you busy, Ellen?"

She laughed. Humor was as strong an aphrodisiac as power, and the man had both. Also that accent, with the soft esses like a whisper in her ear.

Marcelo leaned further forward. "I know you're feeling unhappy about me today."

"What do you mean, unhappy?"

"Sarah told me you were no longer a fan of mine, because I let Courtney go. I made the best decision I could." Marcelo's expression darkened. "Please, try to understand that."

"I do understand." Ellen didn't get it. Why would Sarah tell him such a thing? Time to change the subject. "So what do you say, about the Sulamans? Gimme a chance?"

"No. Sorry."

"Okay." Ellen rose, hiding her disappointment. It wouldn't do to give him a hard time. She had to get out of the office before she got herself fired.

"Good luck with the homicide piece."

"Thanks," Ellen said, leaving to talk to Sarah.

She felt a catfight coming on.

Chapter Nine.

Sarah's desk was empty, and her coat wasn't on the hook, so Ellen went to the desk nearest hers, where Meredith Snader was on her computer, her short gray hair barely visible above the monitor.

"Meredith, excuse me, have you seen Sarah?"

Meredith looked up over her tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses, though her eyes remained vague, her thoughts with whatever she'd been writing. "She left."

"Where to, did she say?"

"No, sorry." Meredith focused on Ellen belatedly, her gaze sharpening like a camera lens. "So how are you, now that Courtney is no longer?"

"Sad. How about you?"

"Terrible." Meredith tsk-tsk tsk-tsked like everybody's favorite aunt. "You know, they say war is h.e.l.l, but I've been in a war and I've been in a newsroom. To me, you pick your poison."

Ellen smiled, grimly. Meredith had been a nurse in Vietnam, but she rarely mentioned it. "You have nothing to worry about. You're an inst.i.tution around here."

"I hate it when people call me that. Inst.i.tutions close at three o'clock." Meredith mock-shuddered.

"They'll never cut you, ever."

"Brings me no joy. I feel like you do, that cutting one of us cuts us all. Courtney was a real sweetheart and a h.e.l.luva reporter." Meredith shook her head. "I heard how upset you are."

"What do you mean?"

"Sarah said you took it hard."

Ellen could barely hide her pique, and Meredith leaned over her keyboard, lowering her voice.

"She also mentioned that you blame Arthur. By the way, so do I. It's corporate greed of the highest order."

Ellen stiffened. Arthur Jaggisoon and his family owned the newspaper, and it was career suicide to bad-mouth him. In truth, she didn't blame him for the layoffs at all. "She said that?"

"Yes." Meredith's phone rang, and she turned away. "Pardon me, I've been waiting for this call."

"Sure." Ellen went back to her desk, glancing around the newsroom. Sharon and Joey, on the phone, looked pointedly away, and she wondered if Sarah had been talking to them, too.

Ellen's face burned as she sat down in her chair. Marcelo's back was to her, so there were no more eye games, and she wasn't in the mood anyway. On top of her computer keyboard sat a messy stack of printed notes with Sarah's name at the top.

Ellen picked up the pages and thumbed through them, and they included a draft, research, and stats. She wanted to confront Sarah, but didn't know her cell phone number. She reached for her coffee and took a cold sip. Her distracted gaze met Will's on her screensaver, but his face morphed into Timothy Braverman's.

She had to get her head back in the game. She rose, grabbed her purse, and got her coat.

Chapter Ten.

Ellen sat in a lovely family room that had everything but the family. Susan Sulaman sipped water from a tumbler, curled up in a matching chintz couch opposite her, in jeans, a pink crew neck, and bare feet, a remarkably down-to-earth woman who looked oddly out of place in her own home. An Oriental rug covered a floor of resawn oak, and the couches faced each other in front of a colonial-era fireplace that had authentic cast-iron hooks and a swinging iron bracket inside. A perfect circle of cherrywood table held the latest magazines, a stack of oversized art books, and a tape recorder, running, now that the small talk was over.

"So you've heard nothing about the children at all?" Ellen asked.

"Nothing," Susan answered quietly, raking fingers through thick brown hair that curved softly to her chin. Her pretty eyes were brown, but her crow's-feet went deeper than they should for her age. Two lines had been etched in her forehead, over the bridge of a perfect nose. Susan Thoma Sulaman had been Miss Allegheny County when she became the trophy wife of her worst nightmare, multimillionaire builder Sam Sulaman.

"What have you done to find them?" Ellen asked.

"What haven't I done?" Susan smiled weakly, a fleeting glimpse of a dazzling grin. "I hound the police and the FBI. I hired three private investigators. I posted on the missing kids sites on the web."

"Like the ACMAC site?" Ellen was thinking of the white card.

"Of course, that's the main one. n.o.body's turned up anything, scam artists, but no leads. I offered a fifty-thousand-dollar reward. Real money."