Burnout (7 page)

The next morning, feeling like I needed to try a new direction,  I decided to pay a visit to Edgar West. He ran his tax business from a small building off of Main Street that had formerly been rented by Cuties Quick Copy Shop. Cuties went out with the burgeoning sales of personal home printers. Even though it was now set up with cheap office furniture and posters of happy people doing taxes, there was still a faint whiff of printing press ink in the air. I recognized the small man with black framed glasses from his newspaper ad. He had a receding hairline and a double chin that seemed to stretch with his grin. Swooping in on me like a falcon to a field mouse he stood up and extended his hand. Edgar west had on a ratty-looking sport coat and a wrinkled shirt that was buttoned midway showing a sparse amount of chest hair on his flabby body.

"Hello. What can I do for you today?"

There is nothing like a tax guy outside of the tax season to give you his full attention. I scrambled to think of some sort of problem I could have. As I came up with something, his beseeching eyes seemed to glisten.

"I just stopped in because ... well, I wanted to know how you can do taxes in eight minutes? It takes me at least an hour just to fill out the 1040EZ form."

He nodded knowingly. Another disbeliever. "That's because you have not been working with a professional, sweetheart. You fill out one form a year. I fill out hundreds, so of course I've developed quite a bit of know-how, speed, and agility. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I've actually done a 1040EZ in four minutes. I thought about putting that into my advertising, only I was afraid everybody would want me to do their taxes in that amount of time." He laughed at his own joke. Now that I had him talking about himself he seemed to be enjoying it.

"That certainly explains a lot."

"Was there anything else?"

I tried to think of a way to bring up Rocky without it sounding suspicious. "Yes, um ... wasn't it terrible about the fire at the Gazette?" That didn't seem too obvious. Edgar West stopped short.

He tugged at his collar. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Betsy Livingston Fitzpatrick."

"And I'm guessing you're not here to ask me to do your taxes." He settled back into his chair. "What can I really do for you? Are you some sort of boondocks undercover police woman?"

I was really hoping he would have told me something before he shut down the way he did for the police. Maybe I could appeal to him in a feminine way. I smiled and played with a strand of my hair.

"Okay you caught me" I said, trying to play it off as sounding goofy. "I was trying to go all Nancy Drew on you. It's just that Rocky is missing, and you are one of the last people that spoke of to him. I was hoping that maybe you had something that could help us. Did he mention anybody who might want to set the newspaper on fire?" At the end of my question I purposely let my voice break just a little bit so he would think I was about to break down in tears.

He didn't fall for my attempt at flirtation or crying." I hate to disappoint you, but Rocky Whitson and I were far from being friends. Rocky took one look at my ability to churn out taxes and decided that I was doing something wrong. He thought I must be cheating the government or stealing from the people I prepared taxes for. I told him if he printed anything in the paper he would be opening himself up for a lawsuit. Frankly, it's just lucky that he burned up in that fire before it went any further. I was serious about suing him and had already contacted a lawyer." He returned to his desk and began reading his computer screen. "You can see yourself out."

"Mr. West, if Rocky thought there was something illegal going on with what you do here, he was probably right. Rocky Whitson was an investigative reporter, and one thing he could always spot was a con."

"Everybody's entitled to their own opinion, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. It's just too bad that yours is so wrong. Rocky was a pestilence, and frankly, I feel all happy inside when I think of him burning."

"And just where were you on the night of the fire?"

"Working late of course."

"I guess some of those returns must have taken more than eight minutes."  I slammed the door and headed back to my car.

*****

What a little weasel. The more I thought about Edgar West, the more I was sure that Rocky was probably on to something with this guy. If Rocky were here I'd be rushing to the Gazette office just to tell him how right he was. Rocky wasn't here. I went across the street to the brand new office of the Pecan Bayou Courier. The new editor and owner didn't seem to be anywhere at first, but then I saw him crawl out from underneath a desk holding a cord. I heard the sound of human skull hitting wood as he tried to maneuver himself upright.

He rubbed the top of his head. "What can I do for you now?"

"Are you okay Mr.... Mr...." I stumbled because I realized I had never learned the man's name.

"Wendell. Nicholas Wendell. Mrs. Fitzpatrick." He certainly had a good memory. "I'll live."

"Yes Mr. Wendell. I was wondering if you would like your first investigative report in Pecan Bayou?"

Nicholas Wendell sat down on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms as he considered my proposition. "An investigative report? Right here in little old Pecan Bayou? Well, isn't this interesting."

"We may be a little town, Mr. Wendell, but a few things have been known to happen here."

"Is that so? May I ask just what is it that has you hopping away from your dire research on handy-dandy hints that have you so excited?"

"When you put it that way…"  I started to leave.

"Wait. At least tell me what brought you in here."

"If you're going to speak to me like that maybe I don't want to work with you."

"Work with me? When did we start talking about becoming partners?"

"We didn't. It's just that Rocky had been working on this story before he ... I think it still needs to be done. I know you're busy trying to set up your office right now, but the man Rocky was investigating thinks he's getting away with something. I guess it's important because this could be Rocky's last story."

Nicholas Wendell eyed me for a moment.

"I'll tell you what. Do you know anything about hooking up computers?"

So maybe the person with all the helpful hints could be useful to the big city newspaper guy? "Just what did you need? I'm no Geek Squad, but I've hooked up a few computers."

"Yes well all of the other offices that I've worked in have had IT crew on staff. Now that I'm on my own, I'm finding it's a little more difficult than it looked. I just need to hook up the computer and printer, and then get it on my network. Eventually I hope to have other reporters in here, but for right now I can't even get myself going. I noticed your small town doesn't seem to have access to any of the big electronics outlets so I'm pretty stuck at this point. You get me hooked up to the Internet, and I'll work on Rocky's last story, deal?"

"Full disclosure … you need to know I'm not an expert at this. If it gets too complicated, I know other people in town we can call."

Nicholas Wendell reached across his desk to pull out his center drawer. He put his hand on a notebook and pencil and began to write. "Let's get started then. What's the man's name?"

It only took me about an hour to get Nicholas Wendell's computer hooked up to the Internet.

"Okay, looks like you're ready to start hiring reporters."

He looked at the screen now showing his network connection. "I don't know how you did that, but thanks."

"Here's my number if you run into any more troubles." I had a feeling he'd be calling. I was surprised that a man in his twenties knew so little about computers.

"Good. I hope I won't need this. I promise I'll look into Edgar West for you. We can't let Rocky's last investigation go cold.  It's just too bad we can't get into his filing cabinet. It was probably all in there, filed nice and neat, old school."

I chose not to share the information about the files on the virtual cloud. I wanted to see what Mr. Wendell would come up with on his own, first. Even though I had just spent an intimate sixty minutes with his computer network, his showing up the week after the fire was just a little suspicious.

When I returned home, I sat down with a piece of paper and tried to brainstorm the terms that Rocky might use for a password. I typed in the URL of the Pecan Bayou Gazette website. It still showed the headlines from the day of the fire. As I scanned through the columns I noticed that the articles that he reported on were followed by his e-mail which was [email protected]. Would Rocky actually do something as simple as making his cloud log in the same as his e-mail address?

I pulled up the log in screen and entered rock_paper_scissors in the password box. With a couple of clicks I found myself looking at Rocky's cloud files. There was a folder for advertising. There were other folders for each of the individual columnists and a folder for sports. I opened the folder labeled "Stories in Progress" and found two documents. One was Edgar West and the other looked like an investigation into someone from Pennsylvania. Making a mental note to get back to that, I clicked over to his "To Do" list. He had four things listed.  Edgar West, Phyllis Hamlin, Pecan Bayou Animal Shelter, and Classifieds Files. He was probably depending on a volunteer to file a paper copy of the classifieds for him. That person could have been one of several little old ladies from the town. These were the last things on his mind before the fire.  Why couldn't it be something simple like "Interview Arsonist".  I needed to get this information over to my father's office right away and let him dig into it. I trusted him a whole lot more than Nicholas Wendell.

I shot off an e-mail to my father with the log in and password. He would be kicking himself when he saw how easy it was. I took a look into Rocky's correspondence file. He had saved various e-mails having to do with either stories or the day-to-day workings of running a business. None of it seemed too monumental until scanning down the list, I saw an email with the subject line "Why don't you call me?"

I opened it to see what the body of the message said. Unfortunately it only contained one word, "Why?" Could this be Rocky's arsonist? Could this person be the reason Rocky hadn't run out of the building? Was he hiding somewhere? Was he laid out on the slab at the morgue never again to trace the comings and goings of the town of Pecan Bayou? The e-mail address was "Rockys_Shadow". I wished I knew a way to trace the email.  I could ask them to try to do it down at the police station, but truthfully their internet investigation unit was Mrs. Thatcher and a "Computer for Dummies" book.

Someone was not too happy with Rocky. It was probably a woman, but these days you could never be too sure. Whoever it was, she had it bad for Rocky with an email handle like Rocky's Shadow. I decided to email Rockys_Shadow to see if I could get a response.

"Hi,

This is Betsy Fitzpatrick. I was going through Rocky's email files and noted you wanted him to return your call. I was checking to see if there was anything I could do.

Thanks,

Betsy "

That didn't sound to strange, now did it? Just a casual little email asking help from some creepy person who might have been bugging the hell out of Rocky just before he disappeared.

I hit "send" and sat watching my email box to see if there was an immediate return. It was only a few seconds, and my computer beeped. I had a new email, but it was from Leo.

"Hey Betsy,

I'm still over at NUTV. We are working on incorporating some new tracking graphics. Hurricane Hal hasn't updated since the old teletype days. Be home a little later.

Love Leo"

For a guy who didn't want that job, he certainl
y
seemed to be putting in some hours. It was true, I had seen Hurricane Hal reading off of a piece of paper in front of the camera, and then pointing to the same type of map that I kept in my glove compartment. Stan was lucky to get Leo even if it was for such a short time. Being out this many days, Hal must have some sort of super flu bug. I just kind of wished Leo would mess something up.  They were getting way too comfortable having him around.

"Yo Bets!" Tyler said as he came into the house. He sounded like he was in a good mood today. I came around the corner to see him throwing his backpack into the den. He then kicked off his shoes in the hallway and headed for the kitchen. He seemed like such a sweet kid when I first met him. The Tyler I knew now was messy, overbearing and eternally hungry. "Betsy, you need to ask your son about his project today. He has something to tell you." Tyler pulled some leftover pie out of the refrigerator.

Zach came trudging in behind him, dumping his backpack next to Tyler's. His chin was on his chest and he avoided my eyes.

"What do you need to tell me?" I asked.

"Nothing." He muttered.

"It isn't nothing." Tyler said through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Shut up!" Zach pushed past me and ran upstairs. Tyler yelled after him. "You got to tell her sometime, bro."

"I said shut up, and you're not my bro!" The boys had been home for two minutes so why did I suddenly feel exhausted?

"What is going on?" Tyler gulped, and then a slow smile spread across his face.

"It's just that perfect little Zach got an F today."

"What? You're kidding right?"

"Nope. Big fat F."

"What did he get an F on? Was it that report?"

"No. He was supposed to have turned in his math homework notebook. Seems Zach hasn't been doing any." Tyler resumed his hunt for sustenance while I took a second to catch my breath in a kitchen chair. Zach hadn't been doing math homework? He was always up in his room after school. I just didn't understand it. I took a deep breath and started to go up the stairs. Right as my foot hit the first stair an email beeped on my computer. I ran back to see if Rockys_Shadow had emailed me back. It was short and to the point. My email was returned. The account no longer existed.

*****

Whatever was happening with Zach, he certainly wasn't going to be hiding in his room. I knocked on his door and then tried his doorknob he had locked it. In our old house he had never locked the door, but in this one he seemed to lock me out more and more.

"Zach I need you to open the door please." No response on the other side. "I'm going to stand here until you open this door." I waited for the sound of the lock to click open, but still there was no response. Even though I had pledged to stand out in the hall I quite unexpectedly had to go to the bathroom. I knocked again, more gently this time. "Zach whatever it is we can talk about it." Nothing from the other side.

I shifted from one foot to the next trying to hold out for a minute more. "Zach, it's always been just you and me. No matter what was going on in our lives we've always stuck together." I started feeling the countdown clock on my bladder just as I heard the door knob starting to turn. It was going to have to wait. He opened the door. He looked down at his shoes as he waited for me to enter. "Hold that thought. I'll be right back." I ran into the restroom and finished as quickly as I could.

When I returned Zach was sitting on the end of his bed, his elbows propped on his knees with his head in his hands. "What's going on Zach?"

His eyes were red, and his nose was running. "I don't know."

"You have a failing grade in math because you haven't been doing your homework. Is that correct?" Zach nodded in acknowledgment. "And why haven't you been doing your homework? You always say you're up here doing school work. I just assumed that you were actually doing it."

"You just don't understand." He muttered.

"Are you so sure about that? Look Zach you're not the first kid who struggled in math, and you won't be the last. Math is hard and it doesn't come naturally to everybody. "

"It does to Leo. It does to Tyler. I'm stupid, and Tyler is smart. I'm ugly, and Tyler is handsome. I'm the son of the hint lady who tells people how to unclog their toilets. Tyler is the son of a weatherman who saves people's lives from danger and gets to be on television."

That last one really hurt. I never thought of comparing the Happy Hinter to Leo's job. "This is about a whole lot more than math, isn't it? Tyler might be good in math, but you're good in English. You might think Tyler is better looking than you are, but I think you're both insanely handsome.

"How about the fact that everybody wants to be Tyler's friend, and nobody seems to want to be mine?"

"Now, that's not true. Your friend Grace was just knocking on the door to check on you."

"She doesn't count."

"Why not?"

"Because Grace is different. She's not the kind of friends Tyler has. His friends are...in everything. Everybody likes them."

"It almost sounds like you're the new guy in school, not Tyler. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Weren't you the one who's been in class with these kids since kindergarten?"

He pushed off the bed and walked to the window.  He looked out onto the street.  "Just like I said, you don't understand, Mom."

"You're right I've made a mistake. I thought you were a better judge of what's important. Tyler may be getting all the things you want right now, but don't think for a minute that makes you any less of a person."

"Right. Got it. Thanks."

"Good, because it's true."

"I wish I could believe that, but not only is he popular, but he's also good in sports." He sighed and leaned his head against the cold glass. "Life will just never be the same for me. I wish you had never met Mr. Leo, and I wish you had never married him." I was finding so much joy in my new life. I had no idea how miserable he was.

I stood next to him and reached over to push a strand of hair out of his face as I had done so often when he was a small child. "I know it's tough. Just know that change is hard, but sometimes you find out things are better once you get used to it." He shrugged me away.

Taking his cue, I headed for the door, but before leaving him alone in his misery, I turned back.  "I love you Zach, and I know you're going to come through this. We'll talk later about getting you a math tutor."

He sighed and threw himself back on the bed. "I guess."