As the Wicked Watch(41)

Ellen put me on hold but was back in thirty seconds. “The assignment desk pulled Scott off the clock and gave it to George. He isn’t there yet?”

“Great,” I said sarcastically. “No, he isn’t. Pamela Alonzo hasn’t arrived yet, either, thankfully. But I’m running out of time here.”

“Okay, don’t panic. I’ll see if the desk can track him down and get his ETA,” Ellen said.

“All right.”

I wasn’t panicked; I was mad. I felt as if Scott was sending me a message but couldn’t figure out what he had taken so much to heart that he would ghost on me, without so much as a text.

Tanya’s doorbell rang. My head was on swivel, but it wasn’t George, it was Pamela, locked arm in arm with a man I didn’t recognize. She was followed by Bishop Lamont Toney, pastor of one of the city’s largest megachurches; Cynthia; and a cohort of a half-dozen women, all strikingly tall with long thick jet-black hair. They’re a formidable group, representing both strength and beauty. Each one could easily be taken for either a supermodel or a WNBA star.

This family has one stunning gene pool.

They bore a resemblance to the man on Pam’s arm, and I connected the dots. He must be Masey’s father, Anthony James. Masey looked more like her dad, whose side of the family was obviously where her beautiful Kenyan features came from. Just behind the family processional appeared George’s round, bearded face.

Finally!

I was grateful the family was occupied greeting the ministers and local politicians so that I could work with George to set up the shoot. He was accompanied by an intern, a young woman who’d recently graduated from Northwestern University and joined the newsroom staff, carrying a bag of equipment.

“Where have you been?” I asked him.

“Sorry, Jordan. The desk didn’t tell us about the boom mics until I’d left the station. So I had to go back for them and get somebody to work ’em. Have you met Grace?”

The young woman sat down the clunky equipment bag and stuck her bony right hand out enthusiastically. “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Jordan,” she said. “Oh my God, I’ve watched you, like, since my sophomore year in college.”

She was practically bouncing as she spoke.

We don’t have time for this.

“You, too, Grace,” I said hurriedly, “but time’s a-ticking, so we’ve got to figure out how we’re going to set up this room.”

I pointed out Tanya to George. “See that lady? Work with her to figure out how we can rearrange this room, because the sectional is too low and the picture window is problematic.”

“Okay, will do,” George affirmed. “Oh, and we’ve got one more mic coming in. He’s assembling it in the truck,” he said.

“Awesome!”

As I surveyed the room, I started to think to myself, Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. It was complete chaos. Folks were going in and out of the kitchen, fixing plates of food and standing around eating. The noise level had subsided a bit but pitched upward again once the family arrived. Louise was hugging and saying hello to everybody. An attractive young woman with blond streaks in her short brown hair sidled up to Louise, who turned toward her and gave her a warm hug. It was so loud in the room, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. But clearly they were well acquainted.

I’ll credit George for making quick work of setting up the shoot. He even had Tanya helping him to move the dining room chairs into two rows.

“Hey, Jordan!” George yelled across the room. “How many people are going to be in the shot?”

I counted in my head but rather than shout back, I held up six fingers.

By now, it was going on six-fifteen. I walked over to Louise, who was talking to Pamela, and tapped her on the shoulder. “Are we ready to get started?” I asked.

“U-u-u-h-h, just a minute,” she said, holding up a finger. “Did Tony get something to eat?” she asked no one in particular.

“Does he have time to get some food first?” She turned to me to ask. “He just got in about a couple hours ago.”

“How long is that going to take?” I asked.

Masey’s father overheard the exchange. “Don’t worry about me. You all go ahead,” he said. “I’m not in the interview.”

Since no one introduced us, I took it upon myself. “Hi, Mr. James. I’m Jordan Manning with Channel 8. You have my deepest condolences.”

“Thank you,” he said, backing away slightly. “I don’t want to be on-camera, though,” he said emphatically.

Louise turned and asked, “Why not?” But Pamela cut off the exchange with a stern shake of her head.

“All right,” Louise said, shrugging her shoulders.

George and Tanya had arranged a seating area with six chairs, three in front and three in back, and asked everyone to take a seat. Louise made sure to cop a spot next to Pamela and ordered Tanya to remove the third chair in the front row.

“I’ll sit in that one,” I told George.

Louise quieted the room, and everyone took their seats. The two interns holding boom mics stood on either side of the group, and George was positioned far enough away from me that I wouldn’t be distracted by his heavy breathing. What ensued was nothing like what I, nor I am certain Pamela, expected. As savvy as they all believed themselves to be, this group of community activists didn’t have the forethought to unify around a common theme. So they leaned on what they knew best. Before I posed my first question, Bishop Toney asked the group to stand up and join hands with the people next to them; then he led a prayer. I shot a look at George, who was already filming, which he confirmed with a thumbs-up.