by Diana Palmer
Nelson clasped Mirri’s hand warmly, frowning after Amanda. “Something’s wrong there,” he murmured.
“It’s Josh. Again. She’ll never get over him, and he’ll never want marriage,” she told him. “I feel sorry for both of them.”
“I feel sorry for me,” he murmured dryly to lighten her mood. “I haven’t slept with you since the night you proposed. I ache all over.”
Her eyebrows lifted gleefully. “That was your idea, you prude! You felt guilty that we’d jumped the gun and kept me at arm’s length for weeks!” She leaned into him, amazed at the ease and comfort of being intimate with him. “I’ve got half a mind to push you down in the grass and ravish you right here.”
“Go ahead,” he challenged, grinning.
“Oh, Nelson,” she said adoringly. “I do love you so!”
“Same here, kitten. Let’s go back to my apartment and legalize the ceremony.”
She chuckled as she slipped her hand into his. “Lucky, lucky me,” she murmured.
“Double that on my account.”
* * *
AMANDA TOOK HER time getting back to the office. It was almost lunchtime, so she stopped for a sandwich and coffee on her way. When she got there she learned that Ward’s wife had died and he wasn’t expected back for several days.
“Did anyone send flowers?” she asked when Lisa and Tim and Dora were gathered around.
“Well, no,” Lisa asked.
“I’ll call them in. How about assignments for the rest of the day?” she asked Vic and Jenny, the part-time reporters.
“He didn’t give us any,” Vic murmured. “Sometimes he forgets.”
“Advertising? Do we have the ad copy in hand?”
“We’re missing four,” Lisa said. “They usually come in at the last minute, though.”
“They won’t this week,” she replied. “Write down the names of the sales managers and their telephone numbers for me. Vic,” she added, “isn’t there a rally today at the civic center for one of the returning Desert Storm officers?”
“Why, yes,” he replied. “But we usually pick up that kind of story from the dailies.”
“Take a camera and go cover it,” she told him.
He beamed. “Actually report a story?”
“Get out of here,” she muttered.
He laughed and ran for it before she could change her mind.
“How about me?” Jenny asked.
“Don’t you people listen to the news? An archaeologist is digging up a site over at Taggart Lane. They found some prehistoric bones in a construction area. See what you can find out. When you’re through, there’s always something going on at City Hall. Make friends. Ask questions.”
“I thought you weren’t a reporter,” Tim mused when the others had gone about their business.
“I associated with a lot of journalism majors in college.” She grinned. “I kept my ears open, too. While Mr. Johnson is away, we’re going to implement a few more quick changes,” she added shrewdly. “Game?”
“You bet!”
Like a whirlwind, she tore into the job at hand. She taught Dora how to paste up ads and use ready copy from the news services to fill holes around them. She called the tardy advertisers and diplomatically manipulated them into getting their ads to the paper a day earlier than usual. She noticed the date, figured a seasonal campaign for advertising, and began calling local businesses, while Lisa, for once, had a structured series of tasks at the word processor. By the time Amanda went home, she had enough copy for the front page and more than enough ads to put up two new pages.
She fell into bed that night, and it was a good thing. She didn’t have time to worry about Josh or grieve over having been thrown out of his life. She was too tired to think.
Dora had been restless around the office that day. When she went home she began checking windows and looking out them. Edgar puzzled over her behavior.
“Is something wrong?” he asked her after supper.
She gnawed her lower lip. Beside her, Tommy and Sid stared at her with the curiosity of preadolescent boys.
“Yeah, Mom,” Tommy agreed. “You sure are dizzy lately. You even forgot us at ball practice last week.”
“Yeah,” Sid muttered. “You forgot us.”
She had to still her trembling hands. “Things have been very busy at the office,” she said to excuse her behavior. “But they’ll be better now that I’m learning my job.”
“I heard that Ward Johnson’s wife died,” Edgar said. “Tragic woman. She drank, they say.”
“Yes.”
“Well, he has a son. That should be some comfort to him. Dora, this coffee is much too weak. Can’t you make it stronger? And you forgot to salt the peas.”
“Yes. I’ll take care of it.”
She went into the kitchen, listening halfheartedly to Edgar’s patient voice explaining homework math problems to the boys. She glanced back at him. He was a kind man, a good man. He wasn’t exciting, and she wasn’t passionately in love with him. But he’d provided for her and given her a good life and two wonderful sons. Now she stood to lose it all, because she’d been selfish and greedy.
A sudden thump at the back door made her jump. Slowly she went toward it, her hand at her throat. Was it Ward’s drunken son, come to kill her? She peeked out the curtain.
“Hi, Mrs. Jackson!” A redheaded boy grinned at her through it. “Can I come in? I’m going to do my homework with Tommy and Sid.”
“Of course, Billy,” she said. She opened the door and let him in.
“Gosh, you look funny, Mrs. Jackson.” He frowned. “You okay?”
“I wish people would stop asking me that!” She laughed nervously. “Of course I am. Go right in, Billy.”
He shrugged and went on into the dining room with his books, greeting the boys loudly. Dora leaned against the cabinet and took deep breaths. She had to get herself together!
But the next day she was all thumbs at work. Amanda took her to one side.
“This won’t do,” she said quietly. “What’s wrong, Dora?”
The older woman started to prevaricate.
“I know about you and Ward,” Amanda said, cutting her off. “Your private life is your own concern, but when you put my business at risk, you make it mine. I want to know what’s going on.”
Dora didn’t question the self-command in Amanda’s voice. The younger woman was strong and efficient, and it seemed so easy to lay her burden on those slender shoulders.
“Scotty is threatening to kill me,” she confessed shakily. She pulled at her fingernails. “He says it’s my fault his mother killed herself, because Ward and I...well, he drinks, like his mother did, and he’s crazy mean when he does it. He takes dope, too, Ward says.” She looked at Amanda with desperate eyes. “I wanted a little attention. Ward said I was pretty.” Tears rolled from her puffy eyelids. “Edgar never noticed me at all. Now I’m going to die, or maybe my boys are, and I brought it on all of us. Gladys Johnson would be alive except for me!”
“Stop that,” Amanda said, refusing to let the other woman give way to hysterics. “Stop it immediately. You’re a grown woman. Certainly you’re old enough to know that you can’t play with fire and not get burned. Have you sworn out a peace warrant against Scotty, so that he can be arrested if he comes near you?”
Dora gasped. “I can’t do that! My husband would have a fit. He’d want to know why!”
“You don’t think he’ll find out?” Amanda asked quietly. “You can’t be that naive. One way or the other, your affair is no longer secret. Everyone on the staff knew weeks ago, Dora. If you don’t realize that, you’re fooling yourself.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Dora put her head into her hands and cried brokenly. “No!”
“Listen to me,” Amanda said, tugging the woman’s hands from her cont
orted features. “You have to tell your husband the truth. I know it won’t be easy. But if he loves you, it won’t matter.”
“He’ll take my children away,” she whispered.
Amanda didn’t remind Dora that she could have taken time to think about her children before she leaped into Ward Johnson’s arms. The woman was distraught enough already.
“Maybe not,” Amanda replied. “But your life may be in danger. And not only yours,” she added. “Everyone who works here and everyone who lives with you could find themselves right in the line of fire. First you have to tell your husband. Then you have to go to the police.”
“He might be bluffing,” she cried, grasping at straws, “he might just be saying it!”
“You can’t afford to take that chance,” Amanda said. “Neither can I.”
At last Dora relented. “All right,” she said weakly, drained. “I’ll tell him tonight. And first thing in the morning I’ll go to the police.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said, her green eyes sympathetic. “I know what it is to love without hope. But you’ve run out of options.”
“I suppose I knew that already,” Dora replied. She went back to work without another word.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AMANDA HAD THE office running smoothly by the end of the week. She’d doubled the advertising revenue and the content of the newspaper in one edition. Leaving Dora to post bills, she’d sent Lisa out to take the rate cards and printing samples door to door down just one city block of San Rio. The response from the community at large, and advertisers, was exciting. In fact, she decided, it would pay to replace Lisa on typesetting altogether and turn her into a full-time advertising person. Now all she had to do was convince Ward Johnson that it was a good idea—a thought that rankled.
She’d put Ward and his son to the back of her mind. The staff had sent flowers, but she hadn’t gone to the funeral. She’d sent Tim instead, so that she could get the paper out with the help of the other employees. Wednesday was the day it was mailed. Papers had to be stamped and single-wrapped and taken to the post office. It had to be done quickly and efficiently, or all the advertising revenue would be wasted. Ward would know all that already, she rationalized, and understand her absence at the funeral. Despite her dislike for the man, she could still feel sympathy for his situation.
Dora had promised to tell her husband about her affair and swear out the peace warrant against Ward’s son. But while she’d managed to make Amanda believe that she’d done both, she’d done neither. Her nerve had failed when she’d tried to explain her betrayal to Edgar. She couldn’t make herself hurt him. So the trip to the police was out, too. She just prayed that nothing would happen and that she wouldn’t be found out.
Meanwhile it was business as usual. Ward came back to work early Friday morning, looking older and in need of comfort. Dora ached to pull him into her arms and give him solace, but there was no opportunity.
“What the hell have you done to my newspaper?” Ward exploded. He’d called Amanda into his office after he’d thumbed through the paper he hadn’t yet had the time or presence of mind to read. “We’re a weekly, not a daily, we aren’t supposed to be competing! And I told Bob Vinson he could have the page two spot that he’s always had! You’ve moved him to the obit page!” He looked at the sheets, horrified. “My God, you’ve taken out Tartoni’s Pizza Parlor ad!”
“Indeed I have,” Amanda said, leaning back against the desk with her arms folded. In a neat gray pantsuit, and her hair in a chignon, she looked every inch the executive. The contrast between her and Ward Johnson in baggy slacks and a frayed knit shirt was blatant. “Tartoni hadn’t paid for his ad in six months.”
“He was having financial problems!” Ward exclaimed.
His proprietorial attitude, and the vicious anger he was showing toward her, put an end to her sympathy for him. It was her newspaper, and he was trying to tell her she had no right to run it!
“You might not have noticed,” she began, “but we’ve been having financial problems ourselves. And no wonder. Did they teach you in journalism school that you can give free advertising and keep the doors open?”
He flushed. “I didn’t go to journalism school. I got my education in the school of hard knocks!”
“Then you weren’t knocked hard enough,” she said angrily. “You run this office like a weekend hobby! You wouldn’t raise prices, even when every other newspaper in the state did. You very nearly let the job press die because you wouldn’t update your printing prices. You wouldn’t make clients proofread and okay printing jobs before they were put on the press. We lost money hand over fist because of that. Worse, you kept old paper for printing that was worthless in spots where new paper should have gone, and you practically gave away photocopies. You probably had to, because nobody knew how to get the machine to put out decent copies. Even if they had, you were too cheap to buy toner to keep it running properly. It does now, and you’re going to notice that we’re attracting a lot of new customers. You wouldn’t add new people, you wouldn’t give raises to the old ones...my economics professor in college would have loved you as an example of every ‘don’t’ in business!”
“This is my business,” he began hotly.
“This is my business!” she flashed back. “It’s been in my family for a hundred years, and I’m going to own forty-nine percent of it year after next! On paper you work for me, mister, and don’t you ever forget it! I have enough legal control even now to kick you right out the door if you don’t show a profit. And I will. Josh and I agreed that we need two managers. When we get the details sorted out, you’ll manage the newspaper, and I’ll manage the job press. But believe me, if you don’t hold up your end, I’ll get someone who will!”
“Who do you think you are?!” he raged, red-faced.
“Harrison Todd’s daughter,” she said with cool insolence. “Your boss.”
“I’ll go to Josh Lawson,” he threatened.
“I already have,” she replied, and watched him melt. “Josh and I are of one mind on your recent behavior,” she said meaningfully. “You are now here on sufferance. I suggest you get into your assigned slot and do the job you were hired to do. Run the newspaper to show a profit, not as a charity.”
His fists clenched by his side. “You’ll regret this,” he said, his voice rasping.
“No, I won’t. But you might, if you don’t straighten out your life. Just one more thing. There will be no more late working hours here, Mr. Johnson. The doors close at five. For everyone,” she added.
He swallowed. His eyes darted through the open doorway to Dora, who stood there, hesitating to interfere. She turned away and avoided looking at him. He’d had a hell of a week. Scotty hadn’t stopped drinking and popping pills since his mother’s death. He’d made threats but, fortunately, had been too drunk to carry them out. Still, there had been something ugly in the way he’d looked at Ward that morning, and he’d made a very odd remark about how he would “get Daddy where it hurts.”
Now he had Amanda Todd on his neck. He still could hardly believe the change in her, from frightened bookkeeper to manager. She was more than a match for him now. She was like her father, and he’d only just found it out.
“All right,” he said stiffly, swallowing his pride. He couldn’t afford to lose his job, and she’d all but ousted him. “All right. I’ll make a few changes.”
“I have every confidence in you, Mr. Johnson,” she said politely. Pushing away from the desk, she returned to her office.
She sat down behind her desk and breathed rhythmically for five minutes, trying to slow her heartbeat. She’d never been so scared in her life, but apparently you could bluff anyone if you worked at it. At last she grinned, pleased with herself as she’d never been before.
Later there were a few heated glances from Ward and nervous looks from Dora. But by and large it was business as
usual for the rest of the morning.
Ward had an unexpected visit from a Georgia newspaper editor he’d met at a conference earlier in the year. The man, along with his wife and two teenaged sons, toured the operation, remarking that it looked well run and prosperous.
Amanda was hard-pressed not to thank him for the compliment that Ward accepted.
“We have a weekly newspaper up in the Georgia mountains,” the visiting editor murmured, smiling through his mustache. “My mother-in-law owns it, but it’s sort of a family operation. One of these days, though, I’m going to get out of the newspaper business and write books.”
“I think anyone who can run a weekly newspaper can do anything,” Amanda said, grinning.
“They tell me it has something to do with full moons,” the visiting editor said, and he and his wife exchanged loving smiles.
Amanda excused herself, touched by the obviously happy relationship the visitors had. She would never know those secret smiles that loving couples exchanged or the joy of a marriage that lasted for years and years. She would grow old alone. And all because Josh couldn’t settle for less than perfection.
She was still brooding about Josh as it neared lunchtime. Ward had shown his visitors out and gone to the back to check on some negatives with Tim. Amanda was standing up at her desk, looking out into the reception room, when the opening of the front door caught her attention. She glanced toward it curiously just in time to see the same disheveled young man she’d met several nights back waving a gun around the office.
She started to move. He jerked around and pointed the gun right at her, leveling it shakily with both hands.
“C-come out of there!” he ordered. “Quick!”
She edged around her desk and out the door past him on unsteady legs. His pupils were dilated. He was shaking. He was on something, and his eyes told her that he meant business. This was no bluff. She thought almost hysterically that Josh could forget the arguments now, because the whole staff was about to be murdered here.
“Scotty!” Ward burst out when he saw the boy. “You fool, give me that gun!”