Negative Space by Mike Robinson (classic literature list .txt) 📗

it came to Cam, and her writing betrayed her attempted professionalism. Her original article focused as much on character assassination as the incident. She wouldn’t admit that out loud, though, especially to Dan.

“The headline is misleading,” she said. “There’s no proof that coyotes did this.”

Dan peered over the bifocals that clung to the tip of his nose. “The article is clear on the fact that the Sheriff’s Department says that coyotes did it.”

“That’s a load of crap, Dan. You’ve seen the photos. You know a coyote didn’t do that. You also know that most of our readers don’t even read the articles unless the headline is salacious. That headline pretty much guarantees no one will even read it. What happened to journalistic integrity?”

Dan sighed. “If you want journalistic integrity, go to the big city. In Rose Valley, we have to play by different rules. One of those is to not piss off the most powerful person in town.”

She couldn’t imagine leaving her job with the Rose Valley Reporter. Rose Valley was her home, along with all of its annoyances and idiosyncrasies. Dan knew that. He’d encouraged her to leave more than once if she couldn’t adapt to the ideals of a small-town paper. He’d tried so hard to mentor her into mastering the politics of Rose Valley, but it seemed to have been the one lesson she deftly evaded. Ironically, her refusal to learn that lesson made her one of the best journalists in the Reporter’s history.

“Will you at least admit that it wasn’t a coyote that killed that lamb?” Shandi pleaded, “Let me keep investigating. Find more evidence. Let me find something to refute the claims of the sheriff.”

“Of course. Just remember that it’s the news we’re after, not the sheriff,” Dan said, shifting his gaze back to his computer.

Shandi skulked back to her office. As she approached her desk, she noticed a piece of paper on her chair; an expense report she needed to sign. She plopped down, grabbed the nearest pen, and quickly scribbled her signature over her typed name, Shandi M. Donner.

Just looking at her legal name filled her with rage. Though she used her maiden name on her work, she avoided going through the bother of changing it back legally.

Every document she signed and piece of mail that she sorted, made her angry with Cam all over again. She should have gotten over it long ago, she told herself, but his arrogance and aloofness always got to her. Glimpsing something real in him, she’d given him the benefit of the doubt, exposed all of herself to him even as others had warned her at the beginning of their marriage.

Cam Donner worked hard to suppress the genuine, caring part of himself, burying it deeply under layers of machismo. She’d pried it up for a time, but she didn’t have the strength to win the war of emotional attrition. Once he became the Sheriff, all hope was lost.

He’d protested when she left, at least. She liked to believe that it meant that some part of him did love her at one point, though it might’ve just been fear about how a divorce would reflect on him as a public figure in Rose Valley. It didn’t seem to have affected him too much. He’d won re-election after his first term in a landslide.

Shandi switched her monitor back on. As she began typing in her password, a sudden knock brought her attention to the door. She looked up and saw Geneva, the paper’s secretary. Her genuine kindness lit up any room, but she didn’t have many skills. Shandi always imagined secretaries at real papers as upstart young journalists out to make a name for themselves, but the Rose Valley Reporter sadly lacked any upstart.

“We got a call from an employee over at Relics Wildlife Reserve,” Geneva said. “Something about the cheetahs escaping? I’m not sure. Thought you might want to cover it.”

Shandi immediately grabbed her Nikon and headed out the door. Cheetahs? That was hardly any fun at all. She’d hoped for a more exotic ending to the mystery of the livestock mutilations. It seemed strange that the reserve wouldn’t have reported the missing cheetahs earlier. If they’d escaped early enough to have mutilated the goat out at Serendipity Ranch, that would mean that Relics had sat on the news for almost a week before calling anyone. That didn’t make sense.

Her drive to the Relics Wildlife Reserve took less than ten minutes. Having visited the park numerous times for various stories over the years, she knew exactly how to navigate the winding roads to the cheetah exhibit. Pulling up and finding no sign of Cam’s suburban, she felt the release of previously-hidden anxiety.

She slipped out of her car and surveyed the scene. A number of Relics jeeps circled around, as well as one police car. A quick inventory of the personnel told her that she’d be dealing with Deputy Dub Higgins. Dub represented someone she could work with—and manipulate—to get the story she wanted.

Deputy Higgins and a Relics Wildlife Reserve Ranger stood near a large hole in the fence. The title of “ranger” only meant something in the context of the corporation that ran the park. They shared nothing in common with the famed Texas Rangers or the National Parks & Wildlife Service.

As she walked up to the group, Dub’s face lit up in a huge smile. The ranger, however, winced at her approach.

“Mornin’, Shandi!” Deputy Higgins hollered, grinning.

Dub carried naive sweetness in abundant supply. After being elected Sheriff, Cam had avoided even the simplest request from Shandi. So if she needed an errand to be run or a multi-person chore completed, Dub valiantly filled the void. Shandi suspected that Dub acted of his own accord, not out of duty to Cam.

“Hey Dub. What’s going on here?”

Before Dub could answer, the ranger spoke up. “Ms. Mason. I’m not sure how you were notified of this, but we have it under control. No need to make a scene. We don’t