Page 37 of The Business Trip

“No, I live alone. No one is here.”

Officer Goatee pointed toward the front door.

“Mind if we have a look around?”

“Sure, you can look around,” I said. “There is no one here. I have no idea how this could happen. Are you sure you have the right address?”

“This is the address that was phoned in.”

I walked confidently up the front walk and unlocked it.

“Come right in, look in every damn corner,” I said. “There is not a soul here. If my ex-wife did this…” I let the sentence trail off.

“Are you divorced?”

I glared at him. What did he think I meant when I referenced an ex-wife? But it probably wasn’t wise to get too mouthy, so I said:

“Yes.”

The officers started poking around, opening closet doors and peeking behind the couch. I took them to the bedrooms, the office, the bathrooms, and the dining room. We ended back where we started.

“See?” I said with satisfaction. “Not a soul. Can I go back to work now? Somehow you fellas got the wrong address.”

“Wait here,” said Officer Deep Throat, and he went outside to the squad car. Officer Goatee stayed in the living room with me. I could see Deep Throat talking into the radio to someone. Goatee tried to strike up a conversation.

“What do you do for a living, sir?”

“I’m the news director at Channel 6. I run a newsroom of over a hundred fifty people,” I said. “I know your chief very well. We interviewed him for a story just last week.”

“Oh, that was you guys? The one on the police-community basketball game? That was a good one.”

“Yup,” I said. “So, can I go now? I was in the middle of an important meeting when this happened.”

“You should be clear in a minute, sir,” said Goatee as Deep Throat got out of the car and gave a thumbs-up that we saw through the front window.

“You’re good to go. Sorry for the inconvenience, but if someone calls 9-1-1, we’re obligated to check it out.”

“Make sure that never happens again. Get your facts straight or I’ll have my investigative journalism team look into fake calls to police.”

“I’m sure it was a misunderstanding,” said Goatee tersely and left my living room. I followed behind him and locked the front door.

They got into their squad car and drove off, and I sighed deeply.

What the hell was that? I looked around one more time forthe prying eyes of neighbors, but it appeared all was quiet, and relief flowed through me. Now I had to hustle back, though. I had never even told Bill I was leaving.

Jumping into the Range Rover and flying toward the station, I formulated an excuse in case I needed it. Something that would make me a hero.

Back in the parking lot, I sprinted through the back door and into the newsroom. Leigh was at her desk, but the Mega Mattress people were nowhere to be found. Walking over quickly, I leaned down and whispered, “Where are they?” We were so close I could smell her hair spray and some kind of berry lip gloss.

“In Bill’s office wrapping up,” she whispered back.

“Thank you, you are amazing.” I gave her a little pat on her shoulder.

“That’s what they all say,” she shot back with a smile.

I needed to say goodbye properly to try and seal this deal, so I strode back to Bill’s office. Thankfully, they were all still there, and Bill was showing them a framed Wayne Gretzky hockey jersey on his wall.

“I’m so sorry about that,” I said to the group. “A reporter in the field texted me. She was having a mental health crisis right at that moment, so I ran out to assist her. That’s the kind of newsroom we run, the kind of care we give.”

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