Part 1 (2/2)
My own white flag moment: surrender.
The next morning reality hit me like an anchor upside the head, and I'd found myself hip-wader deep in ”where do we go from here?” doubts and misgivings.
You know the ones, ladies.
Like, ”Oh, G.o.d. Now he'll see my body in the unforgiving light of day and turn away in disgust.”
Or the oldie, yet often apt, ”Smart moove, Bessie, ol' gal. You go ahead. You give that milk away for free.”
And, my personal favorite, ”Is this love or l.u.s.t?”
”I'm no longer a faux fiance,” I finally mumbled a response.
”Oh. I see. Should I offer congratulations or condolences?”
”Manny and I have an...understanding.” I bit my lip, remembering the look on Manny's face when I delivered that news.
”Is that why you're down in the dumps? You're no longer Manny DeMarco's on-again-off-again bride-to-be?” Shelby asked.
”I was never really engaged to Manny, you know, Shelby. It was a ruse. A scam. My kind and caring attempt to grant a dying wish to a sweet, sentimental woman.”
”Sweet? Sentimental? Mo Dishman?” Shelby scratched her head. ”Didn't you s.h.i.+nny off to Arizona when sweet, sentimental Mo was hot on your trail to finalize wedding plans?”
My cheeks stung with the warmth of a blush.
”You make it sound like a posse was on my tail,” I said, annoyed at her characterization of purely coincidental plans to leave the state.
”Well, Manny's Aunt Mo sure tracked you down, didn't she? All the way to the Caribbean. That's one highly-motivated individual.”
Motivated and...scary.
”Face it, Calamity Jayne,” Shelby continued. ”You're destined to be an outlaw. Or did you let someone else la.s.so you on your little getaway?”
My face grew hotter.
”Where did you hear that?”
”A skinny little guy with bird legs so white they could blind you.”
Great. Grandville's resident Ye Olde Town Crier, Joe Townsend was already out trumpeting all the news that wasn't news and sure as heck wasn't anyone's business.
I shook my head.
”Senility. Such a sad thing,” I said.
”Then you didn't play 'find the bootie' with Rick Townsend?”
”I'm more interested in whether she can play 'find the story,'” editor-in-chief and publisher of the Grandville Gazette, Stan Rodgers, barked from behind me.
I whirled around in my chair, surprised to find myself in the rather unique position of being grateful for Stan's growling interruption.
”Hey. Show a little respect,” I said. ”Remember, I'm your ace cub reporter. Newshound extraordinaire. The sultan of scoops. A-”
”A pain in the a.s.s,” Stan interjected. Then, for some reason, he looked like he wanted to laugh.
I bristled. ”Nice. What other journalist has brought you the plethora of sensational stories I have in the short time I've been employed here?” I asked. ”So, forgive me if I'm feeling a tad bit unappreciated here.”
I did have an impressive resume. From a murder no one even believed happened, to a carnival caper turned deadly and a campus crime spree where failure was not an option, I'd delivered.
Stan stuck the cigar his wife had forbidden him to light in the side of his mouth. ”Unappreciated! Are you forgetting the top of the line office furniture and the high tech upgrades you're enjoying as a result of my generosity?”
”Top of the line?” I snorted. ”You got this desk and chair at a hotel auction. And correct me if I'm wrong, but the laptop, while admittedly a step up from the dino desktop I had before, was your son's hand-me-down. By the way, I won't tell a soul about the, uh, er, questionable websites little Stan Jr. visited,” I said with an exaggerated wink. ”That's strictly between us.”
For a second, the Stan Rodgers I knew returned. His brows lowered to form a dark, furry vee above his nose. He peered at me over the top of his half-gla.s.ses and looked like he was fixing to bite clean through his cee-gar.
I waited for the gasket to blow.
Stan's customary, ”Tell me, Turner. How much does it cost to keep a horse again?” broke-girl reminder.
Curiously-very curiously-Stan's thunder brows cleared, and the side of his mouth-the side without the cigar hanging out-lifted in just the suggestion of a smile.
I suddenly felt very uneasy.
”Oh, my. I see I've interrupted a discussion of, shall we say, a personal nature,” Stan said, removing his gla.s.ses and sticking them in his s.h.i.+rt pocket. ”I apologize. Please. Shelby Lynn. Feel free to continue your minute dissection of our newshound's rather complicated love life. And once you ladies have probed and a.n.a.lyzed it to your mutual satisfaction, would it be possible, Ms. Turner, for you to spare me a brief moment to discuss a special a.s.signment I have in mind for you?” He removed his cigar and performed an abbreviated bow. ”Ladies.”
I watched him walk away.
”Did you see that?” I asked Shelby.
”See what?”
”That...that spring in his step.”
”Spring? In Stan's step? Are you nuts?”
”Something's wrong,” I said, my gaze narrowing in on a spot in the middle of my boss's retreating back. ”I sense a disturbance in the force.”
Shelby frowned. ”Huh?”
”Stan's up to something,” I translated.
”How can you tell?” she asked.
<script>