Chapter 44

At an old fashioned Stella desk in the dingy halls of the chronicle’s basement library, Alice Barry scrolled through four-year old articles on microfiche. It was late. After eight, working alone in the underbelly of the building, she felt as if she were some isolated Egyptologist scraping the dust off long-buried hieroglyphics tablets. She now knew why it was referred to as “the Tombs.”

But she felt she was unto something. The dust is was coming off secrets, and something worthwhile would soon be clear to her.

February. . . March, 1996. The film school shot by with in distinguishable speed.

Someone famous, the Cleveland bride’s friend had said. Alive pushed the film onward. This was how stories were earned. Late nights and elbow grease l.