Page 5 of Reptile Dysfunction
I can only groan, sinking my head into my hand. Of course, this weird little town has a pickle festival. Why wouldn’t it?
“Okay, thanks, Fred,” I say, sending him away before he embarrasses me further.
I sigh, turning back to the files around me. I know there has to be something here, but the more I look, the more frustrated I get.
I find an article about what I think might be a rigged election. That is, until I realize the ‘underground voting’ it’s talking about is just subterranean voting booths set up for Curiosity’s gnome population.
Then there’s the so-called sex scandal involving the treasurer and a councilwoman. Only it turns out the councilwoman is a siren who was absent-mindedly humming a tune to herself and accidentally caused the treasurer to fall in love with her. Once she realized what had happened, she released the treasurer from her spell, and order was restored.
The only thing that’s even vaguely interesting is an article from years ago about Mayor Mason Wendall. It was published during his mayoral campaign, alleging that he was involved in bribing his opponent, a sasquatch named Samuel Thornfoot.
The only proof of the allegation is a clandestine photo of the now-mayor handing some sasquatch some cash. But the photo is so blurry that I can’t tell who the mayor’s meeting with, no matter how hard I look at it. It may not even be Samuel.
The rest of the article is just hearsay, and when I keep digging, I find a follow-up piece in the next week’s paper rescinding the allegations and explaining it was all just a misunderstanding. According to the follow-up, the mayor was simply meeting with his uncle, an ethical vampire who was dressed in a gilly suit and ready to go hunting for deer. The money was to help the uncle out with rent that month.
“There’s no way,” I mutter to myself, thinking the whole thing just seems a little too convenient.
I realize that it’s barely a lead, but it’s still the most promising thing I’ve found all day, and it just proves my suspicions about the mayor were on point. ‘He has his fingers in many pies,’ after all. And I bet every one of those pies is rotten.
I dig through the pile of files on my desk until I unearth the phone. A quick search later, I’m calling the one person I’m sure must have some dirt on Mayor Wendall.
“Hi, Samuel Thornfoot?” I say when a deep voice answers the phone. “This is Charlotte Lieberman from the Curiosity Herald. I’m wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions for a piece I’m working on. It’s about Mayor Mason Wendall.”
My heart skips a beat like it does every time I’m close to a promising lead, and this time it really does feel like I’m back at the Tribune. Political scandals, corruption coverups, chasing down witnesses. This is the stuff I live for. And it’s the stuff that will get me back to a job at a major paper in no time if I do it right.
“Oh, Mason!” the voice comes from the other end. “Of course! I’m happy to help. I know we’re still supposed to be political rivals, but I have to admit, the man is doing a good job. If I wasn’t running against him in the upcoming election, I’d vote for him myself.”
Samuel lets out a rich, deep chuckle, but I don’t laugh along. This isn’t quite the news I wanted to hear, but I can find another angle.
“So you’re running against him again?” I ask, jotting down notes as I speak. “Is that because you regret selling out in the last election?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Selling out?” he asks finally. “I don’t really know what you mean by that.”
The warmth has gone out of Samuel’s voice but now isn’t the time to ease up. If I want a story, I have to push for the facts.
“I mean,” I say pointedly. “The allegations of bribery. Mayor Wendall paid you to sabotage your own campaign, didn’t he?”
I know I must be on the brink of something juicy because Samuel doesn’t answer for a moment. When he does, his voice is strained.
“I’m not sure what you think you’ve heard, but there was no bribery,” he tells me. “As I said before, Mason might be my political rival on paper, but we’re actually very good friends. I respect the man, above all else, because of his integrity. And he respects me for mine. Neither of us would ever do what you’re suggesting. We both just want to serve our town, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, unconvinced. “And I’m sure he won’t be paying you off in the next election either.”
“Miss Lieberman, I believe you’re barking up the wrong tree,” he tells me, and I can see he’s starting to get upset. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Before I can say anything else, Samuel hangs up the phone. It’s not exactly proof, but it’s all I got. I’m determined to get more evidence against the mayor.
As I scribble down the last of my notes from our conversation, the wheels in my brain start turning. If I can uncover the truth about this scandal, this could be one of the best pieces I’ve ever written.
It’s no Tribune piece, of course, but that doesn’t mean I can’t put my all into it.
I spend the rest of the afternoon calling everyone I can think of that might have information on the last campaign — the journalist who wrote the original articles, the uncle who was supposedly captured in that photograph, the campaign managers for both sides, plus a host of others who worked on the election.
But I keep hitting dead ends. Every one of them tells me a version of Samuel’s explanation and the whole thing screams ‘coverup.’
Some small part of me disagrees, almost afraid that maybe there really is no story here. But I push it down before it can get too big, not wanting to get bogged down by overthinking it. I have to trust my journalist’s gut. Wendall probably orchestrated all this just to confuse anyone who looked into him, so that they’d give up.
The people of this town might be good at hiding political corruption, but I’m even better at sniffing it out and at this stage, my career depends on it.