In a tale as immediate as this evening's news, Details at Ten follows the charismatic Georgia as she struggles with justice, truth, and the ratings while pursuing a terrifying story of a child missing in the midst of gang warfare in Chicago. Little Butter, as the girl is called, has disappeared after witnessing a drive-by shooting on the South Side and identifying the criminals' car on live TV during an interview with Georgia. Haunted by the recognition of her responsibility for the child's fate and heartbroken at seeing her old South Side neighborhood devastated by violence, our whip-smart reporter throws herself into the search for Butter -- dragging news producers, directors, cameramen, and support staff behind her kicking and screaming. For as the take-no-prisoners Georgia quickly discovers, the last thing her ratings-driven TV news czars want to cover is another tragedy in a poor black neighborhood.
Georgia uses her power as a television personality in smart, hilarious, and heartfelt ways as this shocking story unfolds with the pace of a runaway train. Our daredevil reporter's pursuit of the truth takes her into dangerous territory, but she's not there alone. This is one woman who won't take no for an answer, but everywhere she turns, there in her way stands a masterpiece of a man, Detective Doug Eckart. He's a tough cop and he's not about to let a TV reporter nose in on the case, but Georgia's drive is relentless and shekeeps scooping him at the most sensitive moments. These made-for-each-other enemies agree to a sexually tense truce while gang violence escalates, informers turn up dead, and time to find the little girl seems to be running out. As a simple missing-persons case mushrooms into a citywide effort to nab one of the most powerful gang leaders in Chicago, Georgia, Doug, and the crew of Channel Eight News find themselves struggling to do what's right in a world of violence, racism, and fear. In Details at Ten, Ardella Garland takes her readers into a world of both terror and hope with a powerful tale of innocence, justice, and, finally, love.
|Publisher:||Simon & Schuster|
|Product dimensions:||6.36(w) x 9.56(h) x 0.84(d)|
About the Author
About Ardella Garland
Nom De Plume of bestselling novelist Yolanda Joe
Yolanda Joe is a Chicago native, raised on the south side by her maternal grandparents. Her working class family was influential in pushing her to achieve her goals of being a journalist and a novelist.
Ms. Joe received a four-year academic scholarship to Yale University, from which she graduated in 1984 with a BA in English Literature. During her stint at Yale she studied under well-known scholar Henry Louis Gates and received a fellowship to study British Literature at Oxford in England. She went on to receive an MS in Broadcasting from the Columbia School of Journalism.
Yolanda Joe began her professional journalism career at Chicago's WBBM-AM, an all news radio station, where she was a production assistant, a producer, and part time writer. She transferred from radio to television and worked as a writer and producer for Channel 2, the CBS-owned station. She is currently a freelance journalist, spending more time on her novels.
Her first book, Falling Leaves of Ivy (Longmeadow Press, 1992), was about four college friends who share a secret that could ruin their lives. Set in the fast-paced-have-it-all-80s, it is about interracial relationships, racism in the workplace, betrayal, and murder. The book made the Blackboard best seller list in 1993.
Ms. Joe's second novel, He Say, She Say (Doubleday, 1997), is a vibrant and rollicking novel that shows how black men and women relate to one another through friendship, family, and romance. The novel made the Blackboard and Chicago Tribune best seller lists. Her third novel, Bebe's By Golly Wow (Doubleday, 1998), was a Literary Guild Book of the Month selection as well as a Blackboard best seller. Her fourth novel, This Just In (Doubleday, 2000) is about five friends in the television news business and focuses on racism and sexism in that cut-throat industry.
Details At Ten (Simon & Schuster, September 19, 2000) was the debut novel in Yolanda Joe's mystery series and introduces Georgia Barnett, a sassy and daring television investigative reporter whose passion for news, desire for justice, and love for Chicago are the driving forces behind the series.
Now Georgia Barnett is back on the case in Ardella Garland's second fast-paste, suspense-packed, and thought-provoking mystery, Hit Time (Simon & Schuster, February 13, 2002). Once again, Garland takes readers inside the competitive world of television news and confronts real-life, racially charged issues of injustice, corruption, and violence.
Yolanda Joe writes and resides in her hometown of Chicago.
Read an Excerpt
My day seemed to be winding down innocently enough --
"Georgia, may I see you for a minute?"
-- but it didn't play out that way.
I stepped into my boss's office. Garbage was everywhere. Crushed tin cans. Stacks of old newspapers. A broken stress toy on the floor. Stress test flunked, okay.
I thought of Junk Man, the urban prospector who used to cruise my old neighborhood with a grocery cart. Junk Man loved to sift through garbage. This office would be his treasure island.
"Clear a space somewhere," said my boss, Halo Bingington. "Please have a seat."
Bing's personality is half George Foreman and half Mike Tyson. That's cool for two rock 'em, sock 'em boxers but not cool for one newsroom boss. So I knew that Bing's nice-nice stuff could turn ugly quick and in a hurry.
When your boss calls you into his office, you get that feeling. Like after the match ignites the fuse in a Mission Impossible rerun, I saw scenes flashing before my eyes. They were scenes from my last exclusive.
It was late night and hotter outside than a hole-in-the-wall barbeque joint. The police cars were lined up in front of a frame house. I was on the journalistic down low. Me and my one-man crew crouched in the bushes, waiting for the arrests.
Two Bandits were inside the house. Sammy Sosa could throw a baseball from the front porch and it would probably land near the pitcher's mound in nearby Fellows Park. That's where the bodies had been found, riddled with bullets.
The two suspects were grabbed out of bed, but, true to thug life, they seemed unfazed by the police. Officers yanked them outside by the necks, pajama bottomssagging, hands cuffed behind their backs with silver bracelets that jingled. It was the only sound in the night. Except cries. One of the suspects' mothers leaned over the porch railing sobbing as she grabbed for her son, a man who had been out of reach for quite some time.
I'd written the story with feelings and facts. I'd fronted it live from the scene. But now something was wrong. The competition couldn't possibly have scooped me on some new development, could they? Did the suspects make bond and I didn't know it? Did the cops find the murder weapon and I missed it?
I watched my boss, Bing, as he made a quick call. He sat wide-legged, khaki pants high above his bare ankles. Scuffy, comfortable shoes fit loosely on his feet as he bounced his right leg up and down. Small freckled hands drummed on the desk, then Bing stopped and used his left hand to free several strands of dirty blond hair matted against the back of his neck by sweat. Bing finished his call and focused directly on me.
In direct contrast to Bing's warm and rich voice, suddenly his eyes turned cold with displeasure. Bing had started out as a commercial announcer, moved to radio news, then to TV. But he paid the cost to be the boss. Three decades in this business had lost Bing some of his hair, his waistline, his first and second wives, but not his drive to be number one.
"Georgia, your on-camera look stunk. You didn't fix your makeup and your hair was out of place! Channel 14's reporter looked flawless."
I thought of the Generation X babe with Breck hair and poor writing skills. "But, Bing, the competition didn't have the exclusive video of the arrests. They didn't have the kid's mother either. I was hustling like a popcorn vendor at the circus! I was worried about facts, not face."
"Georgia, this is TV news. The viewers care about how you look. You kicked tail on the story but you didn't polish it off. Ratings are about how our reporters look just as much as they are about our news coverage."
Bing continued to bawl me out. I listened halfheartedly, then shrugged before heading back out into the newsroom.
"Georgia, Georgia on my mind!" Nancy Haverstein yelled out at me. She's the producer for the ten o'clock news.
"Yeah, Nancy." I smiled. She was actually one of the reasonable ones at my tripped-out television station, WJIV Channel 8 in Chicago. I've been a TV general assignment reporter in four other markets, all in Ohio, before finally getting a break. Then I was able to get-down-boogie-oogie-oogie back home to Chi-town.
My coworkers seem to think that "Georgia, Georgia" is an original joke. The best joke occurred when my twin sister and I were born.
At first my mother named me Georgia and my sister Georgina.
But my grandmother, who in her heyday did musical comedy on the chitlin circuit, went to find the hospital nurse. Grandma told her to change Georgina's name to Peaches. Mama threw a fit. Grandma said then, and still says now, that Mama is always raising saying over nothing.
Mama changed my sister's name back to Georgina but as far as my family was concerned it was far too late. You know how black folks hate to let go of a nickname. Poor Georgina's nickname was stuck to her like paint on a brush. I have to admit, though, I loved going to Savannah and hearing my grandmother call us in from playing: "Georgia, Peaches! Where are my sweet Georgia, Peaches?!"
I walked over to Nancy. She's good people -- kind, even-tempered, considerate, and gently honest. Nancy's fronting on fifty but not looking nearly that age. She has a naturally slender build and bright, taut skin; raven black hair falls three inches below the big hoop earrings she loves to wear. Nancy's eyes are the singed brown color of cigar smoke. She blinks them constantly, too. It's a nervous habit she shoplifted after working in various television newsrooms across the country.
Nancy pointed to the show rundown, which lists the stories included in the newscast. "Take a look, Georgia. I don't have a strong lead. What about a hot-weather story -- can you write something cute?"
"Ughh!" I groaned. Don't go there! I would have to stand outside somewhere on Michigan Avenue or along the lakefront and talk about how hot it was -- and my hair was surely going to go berserk! Heat and humidity on a black woman's hair? Goodness.
"Georgia, what do you think about doing a weather crawl?"
"A weather crawl? Girl, do a hair advisory! Nancy, if you send me outside to do a heat story in this weather, my hair is going to look like I'm a backup singer with Sly and the Family Stone. And you know Bing wears two hats -- newsroom boss and chief of the cosmetic police. Dude wants glamour. Bing doesn't care if it's humid or windy or wet. He wants face and hair from his female reporters. But Bing doesn't say a word to the guys! They can look any kind of way. Give me a pass, huh, Nancy?"
Before she could answer, an intern yelled, "Got a breaker! Caller says there's been a drive-by shooting. Five people shot."
"New lead!" Nancy announced to the newsroom. "Hit it, Georgia!"
I hustled to get started on the breaking story. But I got delayed at the front door, waiting for one of our crew trucks to pick me up. I flipped a glance up to the sky, then sighed. The raindrops were steamed by the sun until they became a mist that clung to everyone who stepped out into The Sauna, a Chicago synonym for midday in August.
I put on my thinking brim as I waited for my crew. A drive-by at Fiftieth and Hedge. It was in Englewood, my old neighborhood. A curious feeling came over me -- a double-dip emotion of warmth and apprehension. It's hard covering stories in Englewood. The neighborhood has changed so much from the way it was when I was a little kid.
I had already covered the double murder in Fellows Park last week, a park where my twin and I used to play double Dutch and where we sang our first "concert" under the monkey bars, come one come all, for a nickel apiece.
Once again I tried to give myself the proper distance for peace of mind to do my job. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a Channel 8 truck turning the corner. When I saw who the cameraman
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I loved this book! I couldn't put it down! It is great for anyone in the biz!
I bought this book through my book club because I had extra points to redeem. What a great purchase!!! Ardella Garland (a/k/a Yolanda Joe) did her homework when she penned this book. Georgia Barnett, Butter, Trip, Peaches (every family has a Peaches), and Doug are characters that will stay in your minds days after completing this book. This would be a great book to bring to the tv or silver screen.
TV reporter Georgia Barnett interviews a local eyewitness of a drive by killing. The ho hum murder would be another statistic in Chicago¿s South Side gang war with same day media coverage and no follow-up except the witness Butter, a little girl fond of bread and butter sandwiches has been abducted. A guilt racked Georgia realizes his on the scene reporting has jeopardized the life of the precocious preadolescent. To make amends, Georgia begins her own inquiries. However, her efforts lead to clashes with Detective Doug Eckart and her superiors at the station. Eckart and her employers want her to drop the case that is no longer a rating grabber. However, Georgia owes it to her self and especially Butter to rescue the little girl from the gang that kidnapped her. DETAILS AT 10 is an interesting amateur sleuth-police procedural tale that highlights the helpless poverty of a depressed neighborhood. The story line works when Ardella Garland concentrates on the South Side and the problems haunting even the very young. The plot struggles when it focuses on the attraction between the journalist and the cop that tends to blur the more serious and tragic aspects of a superior novel. Harriet Klausner