Sweet Dreams, Irene

He sat down, and Julie slowly made her way to the podium. She cast a quick look at me, then began to speak, reading from a text. “I apologize to the Las Piernas Police for misdirecting their time and energy, and appreciate their understanding.” She stopped, and looked back at me. “I also owe an apology to certain people at the Las Piernas News Express, who became unwittingly involved in my — escapade.” I could see Monty Montgomery and Brady Scott grow nervous at her departure from the text. Scott stood up and watched her anxiously.

“The text Mr. Scott has given me says that I’m to tell you that this was merely a prank on my part, of which I am ashamed. I do regret the pain it has caused my father. However, I could not condone my father’s own prank, his lie that Brian Henderson’s son is a Satanist. I wanted to even things out…” By now Brady Scott had made his way over to the podium and turned off the microphone. Montgomery was right behind him, looking for all the world like a snake oil salesman who has had to swallow his own merchandise. Shouts and questions went up from the reporters, making it impossible to distinguish anything anyone said. Julie was ushered out by her father, and Brady Scott returned to the podium. He turned the microphone back on and motioned to everyone to sit back down.

“Miss Montgomery has a teenager’s loyalty to her friend Jacob Henderson, and unfortunately lacks judgment. I apologize for her behavior here before you today. In light of what has happened here, we will not be taking questions. Good day.”

Another chorus of shouts went up. I thought Brady was making a tactical error by not taking questions, but I have to say I was enjoying the effect it made on the reporters. He had frustrated them, and I could well imagine how this campaign fiasco would be served up in the media. Far from being his worst enemy, the back-pedaling Express would probably give Montgomery fairer treatment than the others. Not that I wasn’t going to make the most of Julie’s statements in my own write-up.

“Wow,” was all a flabbergasted Stacee could manage.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get some reaction from Henderson.” We ended up following a contingent of reporters that apparently had the same idea, and soon there was a good-sized group of us at Henderson campaign headquarters. By luck or design, Jacob Henderson was in his dad’s office, and they walked out to meet the reporters together. I started to favor design.

Brian Henderson had been given word about the Montgomery press conference — obviously someone had called him. He put an arm around Jacob’s shoulder, who was looking shy but not cowed by the sudden attention. I smiled at him, and noticed that he was wearing a long-sleeved light blue shirt and a nice pair of slacks. He didn’t look preppy, but the effect was one which would make you think the best rather than the worst of this kid.

He smiled back at me, and I was happy to see that the photographer from the Express had come along — she caught the smile and started clicking away. That father and son took pride in each other was plain to see. A striking contrast to the Montgomery ordeal.

The questions came at them, and they calmly fielded them. No, Brian had never believed his son was a Satanist, and he was sorry Mr. Montgomery’s daughter had felt compelled to take such a drastic action to draw attention to Jacob’s innocence. He added that he thought she was, nevertheless, a courageous young woman. He said he laid the blame for her desperate act squarely on the shoulders of Mr. Montgomery, who was reaping the rewards of his dishonest campaign tactics. Jacob said that he was concerned for Julie and hoped people would not form bad opinions of her. He was proud to have Julie as his friend.

He explained again that the photo in the flyer was taken when he was trying to get a friend to leave the coven. This time, the attitude of those present was clearly sympathetic toward him.

As things wound down and reporters began to leave, Jacob sought me out. I introduced him to Stacee, and was amused that he seemed immune to her charms, unlike 90 percent of the men who had been eyeballing her that afternoon. “Did you save a copy of the school paper for me?” I asked.

He looked sheepish, but said yes. “Have you heard from Sammy?” he asked.

I told him of the call on the machine Friday, but when I said I hadn’t heard from her since then, his brows knitted together.

“I’m really worried about her, Miss Kelly. This isn’t like her. She usually gets in touch with me every day. I haven’t heard from her in so long. I’m kind of scared for her.”

“Well, to be honest, I’m worried about her, too. I’ve got a friend or two with the Las Piernas Police. Maybe I’ll talk to them about her.”

“Do you think she’s mad at me because I had her talk to you?”

“No, she wouldn’t have called me if she was mad about that. You don’t have any ideas on where she might hide out?”

“A few maybe. But I’ve gone by those places four or five times now, and there’s no sign of her.”

“Well, you’ve got enough to worry about. By the way, you look great. And you handled yourself very well with the reporters.”

“Thanks. I kept imagining what it would be like to be the one asking the questions.”

Just then, Brian Henderson walked over. “Hello, Irene. I understand you’re the one who got my son interested in journalism.”

“I hope you weren’t planning to send him to law school. He seems to have been bitten by the bug.”

“Whatever makes him happy. We’re quite proud of him. You should see the story he wrote for the school paper.”

He might as well have given the kid a million bucks.

We chatted for a minute or two about the election. His campaign manager came by and hustled him out the door to an appointment, and we took our leave as well.

“WHO’S SAMMY?” Stacee asked when we were in the car, driving back to the paper.

“A friend of his. She ran away last Wednesday.”

“On Halloween?”

She had asked a simple question, but it stayed with me, making me feel a chill down my spine.