Sandy drove from the Coffee Spot back to the mainland and located the newspaper building on US 1. She was pleased with the meeting with Chip. However, she'd need to explain such close dealing to Raymond and Kagan. They weren't there. She doubted they wouldn't understand.
Next, was to cozy up to Linda Call, the local reporter who was writing each day about the murder. Make her open to the possibility of other suspects. The media access would be invaluable. Sandy knew that most reporters imagine themselves Investigative Reporters. Let's see how Linda Call reacts to the murder suspect's sister.
In the building lobby, a young woman behind the counter interrupted her classified ad phone-order to motion Sandy up the stairs. The newsroom wasn't large, wasn't busy and wasn't noisy. A glassed-in cubicle with a large desk and a conference table sat empty in the far corner. Low-hanging fluorescent lights hung down over a dozen desks. Three employees were engaged at their computers. One was a woman.
She was leaning back with her feet on the desk and the keyboard in her lap. Papers and folders were disordered around her on the floor. She wore jeans with a lightweight cotton sweater. Attractive but a tad overweight. Dark eyes to die for. She appeared to be in her mid-forties. Sandy thought it a shame to have nice dark-brown hair like that and do just a no-fuss ponytail. Sandy walked over. "Don't tell me your big newspaper comes out of this little room."
At first, the woman just glanced over at Sandy, then she turned and held a long look. She straightened and made a broad grin. "Hello to you. Yes, deceptive place, huh? State and national items come in digital and need little editing, mainly to make it fit, if we use it at all. Feature writers work out of their homes now. Advertising has its own office. That leaves a few others and me. That's the tour. How do you like your little MX-5?"
Sandy grinned. "I'm not wearing my Miata Rally T-shirt, so how'd you figure that out?"
"I was at the window when you pulled in. I'm Linda Call."
"Sandy Reid. How do you know my car?
"I'm a former auto mechanic masquerading as a reporter. I've worked on Miatas. Know every bolt. Wish I had one myself."
"Mechanics don't have nice-looking nails. Yours haven't touched grease in a long time," Sandy said. "Working your way through college repairing cars would make a good article."
"Nothing in my life is that classy. I dropped out of high school...long story. Was a mechanic in Georgia for twenty years, loved it. Just install the correct part with the correct tool, turn the key and stand back, that baby has to run. No jobs in Georgia so I came down here. I got a job here at the paper selling space. They liked my ad copy and the rest is history. I left out the part about a girlfriend, her boyfriend, a dead dog and a fire. You just got the short version."