ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE Read Free Page B

triple-fatal—three people dead at the scene of an accident; a beauty
pageant with the typical gorgeous girls vying for a crown of fake diamonds; a
bank robber threatening to kill hostages and the discovery of a dead body—like
today.
    Similar to first responders, news crews often
developed their own cryptic language and gallows’ humor to help them cope with
the mayhem they saw all too often. Jackson hadn’t been working long enough to
develop an indifference to the tragic stories he covered, but, if only to
preserve his own sanity, he was getting there.
    Operating the live truck was a part of the job
Jackson both liked and feared. A remote studio utilized by TV stations to
broadcast stories at the scene, the live truck was a two-edged sword providing
a jump on the competition, but also presenting a danger to those involved.
    When the truck’s fifty-foot microwave mast was
extended, if lightning was in the area or the operator got distracted, the
results could be fatal. Not long before Jackson was hired, an inexperienced
photographer drove off with the boom raised. It collided with high tension
wires sending 8000 volts of electricity through his reporter’s body. The woman
died instantly.

Chapter 7
     
    Leon waited for the microwave to
signal that his frozen spaghetti and meatball dinner was ready. With two
minutes to go, he walked into the adjoining family room, found the TV remote
and pushed the power button. Then he pressed thirty-nine. For some reason, he
preferred watching that station’s newscast, he really didn’t know why. Maybe
the reporters were prettier or the weather reports shorter, who knew?
    Hearing the oven beep, he went back
to the kitchen and retrieved his supper. He sprinkled it with salt and pepper,
snagged a can of beer and a fork, then returned to the family room and settled
into his aging rocker-recliner to eat and watch the day’s news.
    He was swallowing his last bite
when a story came that nearly caused him to choke. It was a piece covering the
burial of the body found at the beach. A woman was making a speech over the
coffin. And she was crying, for God’s sake.
    “I never met you,” she began, “but
I just know you were awesome. Growing up you must have had such promise. I’m
positive your mom and dad were crazy about you and I know if they were here
now, they’d tell you how much they love and miss you. Your passing has created
an enormous hole in their hearts that never will be filled. They long for the
day when they will be with you again. God bless you, little darling, may you
rest in peace.”
    When she finished, the camera
panned the cemetery. The woman stood alone at the gravesite.
     “What the hell’s she doing?”
Leon startled Tiny, who lay on the floor next to the recliner.
    His alarm made its way from the pit
of his stomach through his chest and up to his throat, where it parked itself
in a knot, making it difficult to swallow.
    Leon leaned forward, spilling the
last ounce of beer down the front of his pants . Damn it all. He stood up
to retrieve a cloth from the kitchen. Who the hell was that?
    His question was answered a few
seconds later as a pretty reporter began the interview.
    The lady’s name was Martha Simpson
from Lutz, a city about sixteen miles north of Tampa. She’d come to experience
Gasparilla and visit her son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren. When she heard
about the unidentified woman found off Clearwater Beach, it touched her heart
and she couldn’t bear the thought of someone going to their grave unmourned . So she appointed herself the unofficial
representative of the girl’s family and attended the burial on their behalf. It
was as simple as that.
    Leon was dismayed. The woman had
succeeded in making an obscure girl’s death into a tearjerker.
    “Make me cry why don’t ya ,” Leon muttered, disgusted. “Just my luck the network’ll notice and run the story on national television.
All’s I need is for Seymour to see it. Or worse, for