Lois Lane Tells All

by Karen Hawkins

“Yeah,” Susan said, “they do it to Ethan’s house all of the time.”

  Ethan’s brows had snapped together. “What?”

  “You need to close your curtains when you take a shower. They park across the street from your house at least twice a week.”

  Jeff slapped Ethan on the back. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a fan club!”

  Ethan’s face couldn’t have been redder. “I don’t want a fan club.”

  “What you need,” Susan said, “is a curtain.”

  “I’m remodeling and I haven’t replaced the rod yet! Guess I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

  “Crazy club.” Doc settled his Braves ball cap on his white hair. “Before I could walk down my drive to ask them what in the hell they were doing, that Tundy woman peeled out, flattened the trash can, and spun off. Took me the better part of thirty minutes to collect all of my trash.”

  “I’m going to have to have a word with my Aunt Clara.” Nick pushed his chair back and stood. “Might as well go by now even though it’s late. Apparently that doesn’t mean anything to her.”

  Susan decided to have a talk with Tundy. What had the mystery club been looking for at that time of the night?

  Doc headed for the door. “See you all next Wednesday.”

  Susan waved and everyone else chimed in. “G’night, Doc!”

  As the door closed, Ethan turned to Nick. “I hope you can rein your aunt in; someone could get hurt running around late at night.”

  “I like Tundy and was glad when she became the assistant activities director out at the home, but truth to tell, she has no more sense than my Aunt Clara.” Nick stopped by Susan’s chair. “I’ll let myself out, but good luck on making your proposal with the numbers guy. When you going to do it?”

  “At Monday’s meeting. It’ll take me a while to get everything together. I haven’t made a PowerPoint presentation since college.”

  “Check with Deloris at the library; she’s good with stuff like that.” He winked at her and then headed for the door. “G’night, all.”

  Everyone else began gathering their things, then René, Jeff, and Ethan helped move the poker table to the back of the garage and stacked the chairs in a corner.

  Soon, Susan was back in her own home. Dad was gone again—who knew to which bar—so she had the place to herself. She put on her pjs and made herself a cup of tea.

  So the guys thought Mark would respond to a more structured approach? Well, she could do structured. She would dazzle Mr. Cold and Hard Facts with his own weapons—logic and numbers.

  “This had better work, Collins,” she told herself as she carried her tea upstairs, flicking off the lights as she went. “Or you’re going to feel like every sort of fool.”

  Deloris Fishbine leaned over Susan’s shoulder. “Click on the box with the picture of a chart and— There you go!”

  “That was easy.” Susan shifted on the hard library chair and stretched her back. “Only four more charts to import and I’m done.”

  “Mr. Treymayne will be impressed.” Sixty-seven years old with dark brown dyed hair that she kept in a careful bouffant, Deloris possessed a sheer gusto for life that always made Susan grin. “You’ve worked on it for three days and it looks fantastic.”

  “I hope Mark thinks so. This has to impress him.”

  “Forget Mr. Treymayne. If you were my employee and turned in such a great concept as this, I’d give you a raise, at least.” Deloris slid her glasses down from the top of her head. “Remember to save your work. I’m going to check in with the front desk staff and see if there are more books that need to be shelved.”

  Susan stretched. “You need to do something about these chairs; my butt’s numb.”

  Deloris glanced at the library’s computer sign-in sheet fastened to the clipboard she’d placed on the desk beside Susan. “You’ve been here two hours, so your time’s almost up, anyway.”

  “I think I’ll log out and finish up tomorrow.”

  Deloris consulted the schedule. “Hmm. We only have one hour open tomorrow and that’s at nine.”

  “All of the computers are taken?”

  “You’d be surprised how many people use the computers here; some of our patrons come every day.”

  “I guess that’s why you have a two-hour limit on each use.” Susan glanced at the clipboard. The first few names were familiar: Mr. Rickers, who used to own the local Safe–Co and now spent his time hanging out on a bench in front of City Hall with his fishing cronies; Joe Bob, owner of the local repair shop; and Lucy Carpenter, the church secretary. Susan gave a silent whistle. “Lucy’s in the library almost every day—”

  Deloris snatched up the clipboard, twin pink spots on her cheeks. “That is privileged information.”

  “No way.”

  “Oh, yes. The American Library Association is very explicit about it. I have a duty to protect the patrons from unnecessary infringement.”

  Susan exited the computer and slipped her thumb drive into her satchel. “Deloris, you’ve known me since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. I’m too lazy to unnecessarily infringe anyone; I was simply being a busy-body.”

  Deloris’s lips twitched. “I still have to comply with the ALA and protect the computer usage logs.”

  “Protect them from whom?”

  Deloris looked over her shoulder before she leaned over and whispered, “The government.”

  “Ohhhh. I never knew—” Something rolled across Susan’s peripheral vision and she turned just in time to see Clara’s wheelchair disappear behind a bookshelf. Seconds later, C.J. stuck his head out from the shelf across the aisle, his white hair disheveled as he looked around. He caught Susan’s gaze, gasped, and ducked back behind the aisle.

  “That darned club.” Deloris’s gaze narrowed on the spot where C.J. had disappeared. “That’s the third time this week they’ve—”

  “Pssst, C.J.!” Clara’s whisper was loud enough to be heard across the entire library. “Get your ass over here!”

  C.J. dashed between the aisles, his hands on his waistband as if he feared his pants might fall down, jingling with each rapid step.

  Deloris shook her head. “They’ve been digging through the county archives for days now, photocopying this and that.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  Deloris started to answer, then clamped her mouth closed.

  “Oh, right—the ALA. Don’t worry about it; I’ll ask them myself.” Susan swung her satchel to her shoulder and grinned at Deloris. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m needed in the suspense aisle.”

  Deloris grinned back. “If you need anything more, I’ll be up front.”

  “Thanks, Deloris.” Susan made her way to where C.J. had disappeared. As she turned into the aisle, she caught a glimpse of his bright white tennis shoe disappearing around the corner. She hurried after it and saw C.J. scurrying along, hunched low and pushing Clara’s chair while Tundy scampered along in front, bent almost in half, a lime green purse swinging in front of her, her hot orange sweatpants revealing a good inch of plumber’s crack.

  “Hold it right there!” Susan ordered.

  The trio froze, then slowly raised their hands in the air.

  “What are you all doing skulking around the library?”

  “Can we put our hands down?” Clara asked. “My fingers go to sleep when I hold them up like this.”

  “No one told you to put your hands up.”

  Clara looked over her shoulder. “Whew! She ain’t packin’. Y’all can put your hands down, too.”

  “Of course I’m not packing,” Susan said, trying not to laugh. “Why would you think I was?”

  Tundy shrugged. “I’m packin’.” She reached into her large green purse and pulled out a huge handgun.

  Susan took a step back. “Tundy! Put that away! Do you even know how to use that thing?”

  “Not this one.” Tundy reluctantly stuffed the gun back into her purse. “It’s a .357 Colt Python and a lot bigger
than my old .45, but Rose is going to teach me how to shoot it.”

  Susan looked around. “Where is Rose?”

  “She’s back there.” With a liver-spotted hand sparkling with some of QVC’s biggest gemstone rings, Clara waved in a vague direction toward the back of the library. “In the morgue.”

  Susan blinked.

  Tundy let out an explosive sigh. “Miz Clara, I done tol’ you that non-cop personnel don’t get all those words.”

  “Oh, wait,” Susan said. “You mean the morgue like we used to have at the newspaper—the old clippings and such?”

  Clara nodded. “Yup. Now it’s all on computer and micron fish.”

  “You mean microfiche.”

  “That’s what I said,” Clara replied. “Now we got to go and help Rose with the photocopier.”

  “I have quarters.” C.J. jangled his pockets and Susan could see that they were weighing down his pants.

  No wonder he was holding his waistband. His pants really are about to fall down. “By the way, Tundy, Doc Wilson told me you guys were on his road in the middle of the night and—”

  “Got to go!” Tundy grabbed Clara’s chair and started rolling her down the aisle. “Bye for now, Miz Susan!”

  “But wait! What are you all photocopying—” But they had already disappeared around the corner.

  Susan shook her head and left the library. Whatever they were into, it wasn’t as important as her presentation Monday. That would be the beginning of a new relationship with Mr. Clark Kent–Treymayne.

  Chapter 6

  Monday’s meeting got off to a rough start. Susan was late coming to work, Pat showed up dressed in coveralls reminiscent of a serial killer movie Mark had seen in college at the dollar theaters, and the elevator was once again acting wonky, stopping between floors as if too tired to continue.

  Pat dropped into her seat. “Can we get this show on the road? I put a taco in the microwave and it’ll be ready soon.”

  Mark surpressed a scowl. “We can’t begin until Susan arrives.”

  Pat looked around as if just noticing her one coworker was gone. “Where is she?”

  “She called and said she’d be a little late.” But she hadn’t said why, even when he’d asked, which irritated him. Over the last week they’d settled into an uneasy truce, punctuated on her side by a faint mistrust and on his with an abundance of lust.

  Though she’d been out of her office most of every morning, she’d return at lunch and inundate him with questions, obviously trying to understand the paper’s true situation. He’d found himself looking forward to finding her in his doorway, a sheaf of papers in her hand, a perplexed look on her face as she asked yet another question. She was a fast learner, too; he wished some of the employees of his accounting firm were so quick to grasp the intricacies of corporate finance. None of them looked as unconsciously sexy as Susan did while pondering spreadsheets, either, her jeans lovingly hugging the world’s most perfect ass.

  It took all of his self-control to maintain a proper distance, which had left plenty of awkward silences. Better to seem awkward than to make a fool of yourself.

  It fascinated him that she was passionate about so many things, and wished circumstances were different so that he could be one of those things—at least for a little while. A pity it couldn’t be so.

  He heard the elevator doors creak open, followed by the click of heels coming through the reception area. Susan came around the corner. Mark’s heart stopped, stuttered, and began pounding furiously. Gone were her jeans, T-shirt, and hiking boots. In their place was a trim, short-skirted gray suit. Her hair was piled on her head, small pearl earrings dangled from her ears, and a pearl necklace rested against her throat. But what really stole his breath were her legs, which went on and on.

  A man could get lost between a pair of legs like that.

  Susan cleared her throat, and he jerked his gaze to her face, his neck prickling with heat at her frown.

  Pat snorted. “What’s up with you? Got a job interview in Asheville?”

  “No. I came to present an alternative solution to Mark’s ad sales plan.”

  He fought to get his fuzzy mind in gear. Her lashes had always looked long, but now they were positively luxurious, sweeping her cheeks when she blinked and framing her amazing blue eyes. Was she wearing mascara?

  “I brought a PowerPoint presentation,” she announced.

  Pat gave a silent whistle.

  Mark struggled to follow Susan’s words. “What?”

  “A PowerPoint—”

  “Did you hear the microwave?” Pat jumped up. “That’d be my taco. Susan, just send me a copy of your PowerPoint.”

  She was gone before Mark could say a word, leaving him and Susan alone.

  For a moment, they just looked at one another.

  Susan shifted from one foot to the other and cleared her throat. “Shall I make my presentation?”

  “Sure, sure! I don’t suppose Pat has to be here.” When Susan hesitated, he hurried to add, “Unless you want her here, of course.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she has to be here. I mainly did this for you. Well, not for you but because of you. I thought you might understand this format better.” She bit her lip, looking as if she might bolt from the room.

  Mark couldn’t look away from her plump, glistening bottom lip where her even white teeth were pressed. He imagined biting that lip himself, ever so gently before he—

  “Mark?”

  Heat flooded his face, which was a good thing as it moved the heat from elsewhere. “Sorry. I was just thinking— Of course, give your presentation. I’m all ears.” He was far more than ears, but he refused to name body parts that were not cooperating with his desire to remain in control.

  She pulled a thumb drive from her briefcase. “Can I stick this in your USB slot?”

  If only she would.

  Mute, he pushed his laptop across the table.

  She inserted the thumb drive, clicked a few keys, then turned the laptop toward him. The first screen said, “Facts About The Glory Examiner.”

  Susan took a breath before pasting a smile on her face. “We share a goal here at the paper, and that’s to see it succeed.” She clicked the remote and the slide changed to add “Succeed” to the screen. “However, we have differing philosophies on a few key issues.”

  She clicked the remote again and “Higher ad costs = ?” appeared.

  “We already know we can’t increase ad sales, because of the current downturn in the economy and given the nature of the area we live in.”

  A bold graph appeared, showing numerous lines. Mark knew he should pay attention, but he was too fascinated with Susan. Had her legs always been so long, or did her short skirt just make them seem that way?

  She clicked the remote and a new slide appeared. “So increasing ad sales would ultimately result in a loss of revenue.” Her gaze met Mark’s. “Would you agree?”

  He nodded. She was wearing lip gloss, too, and he wanted to taste it—and her. His groin tightened as he thought of all the ways to kiss off her lip gloss.

  She turned, and her crisp white shirt gaped at the neck and he caught a hint of a white lace bra. White lace bra, a white lace thong, and those heels … if she’d worn just those, he’d be—

  “That leaves us with only two other options.”

  He didn’t know what her options were, but his were to tear off her clothes and assuage his burning lust right there on the conference table.

  She caught his gaze. “You want to increase the number of ads without adding pages. The problem with that is that the purchasing value of the paper is reduced.” She clicked the remote and a pie chart appeared. She began to expound on a cost analysis of ad space in relation to content.

  Mark tried to listen; he really did. She was speaking his language, and she was doing it wearing his familiar armor, a business suit. But on Susan, that suit looked damnably sexy.

  She clicked the remote, her face flushed, her ey
es sparkling. She was warming to her presentation, enjoying the logic of it, the way she was making point after point. To be honest, he was, too. He loved the way her primly pinned-up hair was already falling in wisps about her face, and how she was glowing with enthusiasm.

  He wiped a hand over his eyes and forced himself to listen.

  “So we need to increase the readership. Then, we can charge more for the ads we do sell.”

  That caught his attention, and he looked at the chart on the computer screen. “You really want to raise ad prices? Will the market bear it?”

  “Most of our advertisers already pay higher prices to place ads in the Asheville paper. If we can prove our readership is strong and growing stronger, I think we can adjust our prices as we go, little by little.”

  He leaned forward. It was a thought. Actually, it was a good thought … if they could pull it off. His mind began to kick around the numbers and he opened his folder and flipped through some papers, finally pulling one out. “The subscription numbers.” He looked through them. “They haven’t dropped the way many of the nation’s larger publications have.”

  “That’s because there’s no coverage of this area in any other paper.”

  He began jotting down numbers, locating his pocket calculator and running the figures. Finally, he put down his pen.

  “Well?” Susan sat on the edge of her chair, her gaze fixed on him.

  “We can do it if—”

  “I knew it!” Susan’s face was pink, her eyes shining.

  “If we increase subscriptions by twelve percent. That’s not realistic.”

  “Yes, it is.” Susan clicked through two screens on her PowerPoint. “These are our subscription rates. See the increase here?”

  “Fourteen percent in just one month? But then it went back down.”

  “Yes, but not all the way. We retained eleven percent of those subscribers.”

  “What caused that leap?”

  “That was the month Clara’s Murder Mystery Club solved their first case.”

  Mark looked grim. “And Ty Henderson kidnapped my sister.”

  Susan hurried to add, “But she wasn’t injured and Ty was apprehended and he confessed.”