Forbidden Entry (4 page)

Sean murmured, “Hey, how's it going?” and my mother brushed Ginger's cheek with an air kiss.

“Well, well, you old goat, it's about time you decided to grace us with your presence,” came a booming voice from the doorway. We all swung around to see Morton Tuggs, hands on hips, his round face beaming with pleasure.

“Who are you calling an old goat, you ornery old bastard?” my dad challenged, grinning ear to ear.

Tugg's eyes twinkled. “Ornery debatable, bastard for sure! What the hell did you do to yourself?” he barked, pointing to my dad's black boot.

“Fell on my ass, that's what.”

“Humph. Got the cast in the wrong place then, don't ya?”

My dad was laughing along with everyone else as Tugg crossed the room with his hands outstretched, a hint of moisture shining in his eyes. As the two men embraced, slapping each other on the back, their affection for each other was palpable. My heart warmed witnessing the emotional scene, cognizant of the magnitude of the event that connected them. The fact that Morton Tuggs had saved my father's life during the Gulf War where they'd both served as photojournalists had sealed a bond between them forever and added a significant dimension to their reunion.

“Bill, come and see the remodeled office I share with your daughter,” Tugg commanded. “I'll tell you what, she's whipped me and this place into shape. I can actually see the top of my desk now.” He winked at me. “Oh, and she's one hell of a good reporter to boot.”

“Thanks, Tugg.” I gave him a grateful smile before turning to my dad. “Why don't you two go ahead? I'm going to show Mom and Sean around while you guys visit for awhile.” Nine months ago, I'd have been embarrassed for anyone who'd known me before to see the dismal place I worked, but now with the fresh paint, new tile, carpeting, furniture, upgraded computers and printing equipment, I was proud to show it off.

Thinking back, it was nothing short of amazing how much my life had changed since I'd started out doing odd jobs at my dad's small newspaper in my hometown of Spring Hill, Pennsylvania. Reporting got in my blood and soon I became obsessed with being not just any old reporter, but the best reporter. When I'd accepted a job at the prestigious
Philadelphia Inquirer
I'd worked like a maniac to make a name for myself, only to end up at the dreary little
Castle Valley Sun
. It had been quite a comedown, but it had also given me the opportunity to scoop four of the most bizarre and dangerous assignments of my career.

Tugg slid his arm around my dad's shoulder and I could hear bits and pieces of their sobering conversation as they commiserated about the decline of print media as we followed them along the narrow hallway. “Did you know that no one under thirty even reads the print version of the paper anymore?” my dad remarked, moving gingerly with his crutches. “These kids get most of their news from social media sites, so you've probably experienced the same drop off in ad revenue as we have.”

“Down more than fifty percent from ten years ago. Hell, technology is changing so damn fast we've become dinosaurs,” Tugg opined gruffly as they rounded the corner into the office he and I now shared.

They were right. Print journalism was in deep trouble—the dead tree industry. The next generation would most likely never know the pleasure of holding a newspaper, hearing the crackle of the pages, finding some obscure little article or juicy tidbit of information, savor the unique aroma of newsprint.
What would people line their bird cages with?
I wondered wryly, and had to admit seeing my pieces published digitally didn't give me the same satisfaction as seeing them on the printed page. It was also evident that even holding the job title of “journalist” was changing by the minute, what with the fluid 24/7 news cycle that sent stories whizzing around the globe via cell phones, web newscasts, conventional news websites, social media sites and blog posts by citizen journalists. Working for days or even weeks to develop a big story was becoming harder and harder as news outlets and private individuals scrambled to be the first to break a sensational story or post a photo or video. And it was disturbing that in some cases the facts be damned. It was all about being first. The industry was changing so fast I wondered if I was to become a dinosaur as well before I'd even hit my 30th birthday.

I ushered my mother and Sean into the room where three of us had been crammed last spring, where I'd worked on my first phenomenal story, where Tally and I had first fallen in love. The irregular-shaped room now seemed much less crowded, containing only two desks and three filing cabinets. “This is Walter Zipp,” I said, introducing our jovial new reporter who'd been with us almost two months and had thankfully taken over covering the mundane stories that I been assigned as the ‘newbie'. “Meet my mother, Alana O'Dell, and my brother, Sean.”

A wide grin lighting up his face, he shifted his substantial bulk and rose to shake hands with everyone. “Welcome to Arizona, folks! I hear you've got a ton of sightseeing planned.”

“Yeah, I think my sister's got that all covered,” Sean answered, stuffing his hands in his pockets as his gaze roamed around the room.

“We've got a lot to see in a short amount of time,” I concurred.

“Good, good! Well, you folks have fun! We'll hold down the fort here.”

I turned to introduce Jim, who'd just hung up the phone. “Meet Jim Sykes. He's…”

“Well, well, well,” he cut in, swiping a handful of limp blonde hair from his forehead, “so this is the infamous O'Dell clan. I hope the rest of you aren't as big a pain in the butt as this woman.” He pointed in my direction, the humorous twinkle in his eyes contradicting his deadly serious expression.

My family looked predictably taken aback and I had to stifle a laugh. They had no way of knowing that he was renowned for his acerbic wit. I shook my head and lightly admonished him. “Try to behave yourself,” then explained, “Jim is taking over the sports desk from Tally full-time starting in January.”

“And not a moment too soon, I might add!” His ice-blue eyes sparkled with pure devilment. “It's time that cowpoke was put out to pasture with the rest of his cattle and horses. Out with the old, in with the new.”

I knew he was referring to Tally's stubborn resistance to changes in the industry. He didn't like computers and balked at having to file his stories online. Jim teased him mercilessly about being behind the times and he was right. I'd run out of patience trying to convince him to get a cell phone and had finally bought him one as a gift. But half the time he didn't remember to take it with him and if he did, he didn't have it powered on. I'd often grouse at him, ‘Why can't you at least turn it on? How am I supposed to reach you?' He'd level me with that crooked grin of his, push the brim of his Stetson up and say, ‘Maybe I don't want to be reached.' Yes, the man could be exasperating, but then I was far from perfect and yet he patiently endured, so it was hard to complain.

While everyone was chitchatting, I took Ginger aside and whispered, “Have you heard anything concrete about Jenessa and her boyfriend?”

Her eyes clouded. “Not yet. Marcelene is about to go out of her mind. The not knowing is killin' us.”

My spirits took a nosedive. There was little doubt in my mind that the news they awaited was not going to be good. Not good at all. “I'm so sorry. I hope you hear something soon.”

She somberly agreed. “It's past closing time. I'm gonna scoot over yonder to the motel and let her know y'all are checkin' in real soon.”

“Thanks, Ginger. Keep your chin up.” It pained me to see her down and I gave her a comforting hug before continuing the tour. Swiveling around, I noticed that Jim and Sean appeared to have hit it off, but then, why not? They were about the same age.

We moved on to the production area and I introduced them to Harry, our longtime print operator, then Rick, who now handled online layouts and computer issues, and lastly, Al in advertising. A glance at the wall clock confirmed that we were running short on time. Last stop was my office, where it proved difficult to separate Tugg and my dad, who were busy comparing cell phone features and exchanging numbers, but I finally got everyone herded towards the door amid a series of goodbyes and promises to see everyone the next day at the barbeque. It was closing in on five-thirty as we stepped outside, where we were greeted with a sunset that literally took my breath away.

“Man, you weren't kidding!” my dad exclaimed, staring transfixed at the deep persimmon-hued horizon overlaid with an assortment of gold-rimmed black clouds backlit by fiery flares of scarlet orange rays shooting skyward. The dark silhouettes of saguaros framing the foreground completed the picturesque scene.

“Awesome!” Sean dug out his phone and took a series of shots while my mother snapped away with her camera. The sun slid behind the distant mountains, pulling the heat of the day down with it, and everyone grabbed for their coats. “It does get pretty chilly at night,” I advised them as we cruised along the twilight streets until the bright green neon DESERT SKY sign appeared ahead.

“Suddenly I'm starving and yet I could totally crash at the same time,” Sean announced, yawning audibly. “My body is telling me it's really more like eight o'clock.”

I parked in front of the motel office. “Let's get you settled in and then we'll drive over to the restaurant as soon as you're ready.”

My dad clomped ahead of us into the lobby and was greeted by Squirt, Marcelene's adorable, fawn-colored Pug, while we followed with the luggage. Their heads bowed close together in muted conversation behind the counter, Marcelene and Ginger both looked up as we entered. I'm sure only I noticed the almost imperceptible shake of Ginger's strawberry blonde curls, indicating there was still no news. Damn! What was taking so long? As I had many times, I fervently wished it were possible to be in two places at once. If I could, I'd be at the scene right now asking questions and waiting for information from Fritzy.

“Welcome to the Desert Sky, folks! I'm so pleased to finally meet all of you!” Marcelene's brave smile contradicted the sheen of anxiety reflected in her caramel-colored eyes as introductions flew all around, and my parents raved about the vintage furnishings. Not only had she done a superb job of retaining the 1950's charm of the old motel, she'd staunchly refused to abandon the old-fashioned paper registration system, claiming that she was too old and set in her ways to undertake the challenge of learning to operate a computer, even though Ginger's brother Brian, who was the town's only IT guy, constantly bugged her to get with it and go digital. She laughingly called herself a ‘tech-tard' and Ginger was always grumbling about the fact that she didn't even want to learn how to use a smart phone. I could certainly sympathize with her since I'd had to practically drag Tally into the digital age as well.

After all the paperwork was completed, everyone marveled that she issued an actual door key to their rooms rather than the usual coded card. With the luggage unloaded and deposited in each room, we finally headed out into the bracing night air, and by the time we arrived at Angelina's it was close to seven o'clock.

The mouth-watering aroma of chilies and spices along with the cheerful strains of Mexican music greeted us as we stepped inside the squat stucco building. Angelina, the rotund owner, bestowed on us her signature full-toothed grin and lead us through the half-filled restaurant to a large red vinyl booth.

“Order Angelina's homemade green corn tamales,” I urged as menus were passed around. “They are the best in the state!”

My mother, of course, complained that eating spicy food would give her indigestion, but nonetheless, joined us in consuming several saucers of cilantro-seasoned salsa piled onto crisp tortilla chips and washed down with a frosty pitcher of margaritas. As the steaming platters of enchiladas, tamales and tacos arrived, I typed a quick text to Tally reiterating again that I wished he had joined us. He'd politely declined my invitation, saying he'd be too busy getting ready for the barbeque, and he wanted me to enjoy some alone time with my family. His thoughtfulness was another reason I loved him, and that he put up with what he impishly labeled my pigheaded personality.

By the time we finished eating, it was after eight o'clock and everyone was quickly fading. My dad's face was etched with his increasing discomfort and my mom insisted that he take one of his pain pills.

“Shit, it's friggin' cold out here!” Sean announced, pulling up the collar of his coat against the wind as we stepped outside.

“Told ya,” I responded, unlocking the car. “It's still better than August.”

My mother paused and stared up at the star-studded sky. “I've never seen so many stars before in my life. It looks like I could reach up and touch them. Beautiful.” I was encouraged to actually hear her utter some positive words about Arizona for a change.

Having thoroughly enjoyed every bite of my Mexican dinner, I basked in the contented cocoon of being with my family again and joined in the lively banter flying around the car. As we approached the motel, my mellow mood evaporated at the sight of the sheriff's patrol car parked near the front door. “Oh, no.” I thought I'd whispered the words to myself, but my dad turned to me sharply, asking, “What's going on, Pumpkin?”