Read Shunning Sarah for Free Online

HARMONIOUS
    IN THE SMALL MINNESOTA TOWN
    OF HARMONY TONIGHT. WHAT
    STARTED AS A YOUNG BOY’S
    ACCIDENT IS NOW A HOMICIDE
    INVESTIGATION. RILEY SPARTZ
    HAS MORE IN THIS EXCLUSIVE.
    As we drove through town, Malik recognized a now-familiar name on a blue campaign sign that read Reelect Sheriff Ed Eide.
    “Isn’t that our guy?” he asked.
    “You’re right,” I said. “He didn’t mention being up for reelection. I wonder if he has an opponent.”
    Our question was answered a couple of blocks later where we saw an orange lawn sign reading Laura Schaefer for Sheriff. A woman challenging the incumbent? I was curious what the backstory was on the election, but went back to my sinkhole murder script.
    ((RILEY TRACK))
    THIS HOLE WAS THE SCENE
    OF A FREAK ACCIDENT AND A
    GRUESOME CRIME IN WHICH
    THIS BOY SPENT THE NIGHT
    TRAPPED WITH A CORPSE.
    “Slow down, Malik,” I warned from the passenger seat.
    Rounding a curve, we closed in on the rear of an Amish buggy—harder to spot this time because the sun was setting. Some Amish mount orange reflective triangles to the back of their rigs to warn of slow-moving traffic. But others resist, claiming the flashy color violates their religious beliefs. This one was solid black. We waved at the man and woman in the front of the buggy, but both adults gazed straight ahead. I did see a young girl in the rear seat turn to watch us as wepassed. I wondered where they were headed and where they had been.
    Malik noticed both females wore bonnets. The child’s was white, the woman’s black. “Their caps are similar to Muslim women and hijab ,” he said.
    I hadn’t thought about that before, but he was right. I figured the head coverings in both cultures had roots in modesty.
    “Beards, too,” he continued, noting that the man we saw earlier in the buggy also had a long beard, same as this one. Like Jesus. Or Muhammad.
    “That may be true, Malik, but despite such similarities, they would not consider your religion any more Amish than mine. The Amish call all outsiders ‘English.’”
    I wasn’t sure how that word came to be used, but knew it to be long-standing and quite rigid. When I was growing up, Amish sometimes stopped at my parents’ farm to water their horses. I’d watch and listen, and heard the word “English” bandied about, and not in a complimentary fashion.
    “Viewers would find your comparison of the two faiths interesting,” I told my cameraman. “We should make a story out of these similarities someday.”
    I wondered if Islam and Amish shared much else, but couldn’t dwell on other possibilities then, because my murder deadline beckoned.
    Since the tale had several complicated points and I’d only get two minutes to tell it, my writing needed to be tight.
    ((RILEY TRACK))
    THE MURDER IS BIG NEWS
    IN THIS SMALL TOWN.
    Every once in a while I’d read a line out loud to Malik, who’d nod his approval. Technically, I was in charge of words and he was in charge of pictures. But sometimes I’d tell him what toshoot and he’d tell me what to write. That sort of teamwork occasionally made our stories into hypnotic television.
    •   •   •
    Back at the station, I voiced my track and then learned my story was slated for section two in the newscast lineup. Section two was like the cheap seats. I stormed over to the newscast producer’s desk. “Why are you burying the lead? This is fresh news we have exclusive about a boy who spent the night in a pit with a murdered woman. All three network morning shows will be trying to book him once they hear about this.”
    The producer looked uncomfortable, especially when I noted that the top story—whether the Minnesota Vikings should get a new football stadium when they had such a lousy record—was nothing special and had been reported by every other news organization and sports blogger in the state for weeks.
    “Sorry, Riley, this is one of those nights when I’m following orders, not instincts. Take it up