Lois Lane Tells All

by Karen Hawkins

  Susan blinked. “What?”

  “Conflict of interest,” Mark said. “We can’t be the news and report it.”

  “It’s the biggest story yet!” Pat said in an outraged tone. She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Just think of the papers we’ll sell! An attempted murder right here in Glory!”

  “That was not an attempted murder,” Susan scoffed.

  Pat gaped. “Was too.”

  “Was not. And if it was, it was made by the lamest murderer on God’s green earth.”

  Pat stiffened, her face bright red. “Oh! You—you—I should have known you’d side with him!” With that infuriating statement, she huffed from the room.

  “That went well.” Susan closed the door and leaned against it. “Mark, we need to talk.”

  He frowned. “What happened to your neck?” Across one side of her neck, only visible when her hair moved, there was a deep pink streak.

  She grimaced. “The seat belt from the Jeep.”

  “I didn’t see that last night.”

  “It was dark. It’s no biggie.”

  “Like hell.” He moved from behind his desk and, with a gentle touch, tilted her head to one side. “Good God. Is there anything else I didn’t see?”

  She held out her right hand and turned it palm up. A bruise covered her palm.

  “How did you get that?”

  “I think I got it from hitting the horn so hard, but I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “Other than that, I’m just a little stiff. That’s it.”

  “That’s enough,” he snapped, suddenly angry. “When we figure out who did this—” There was a place in hell for the bastard who’d cut her brake lines, and Mark was going to be sure the asshole landed in it.

  Susan said in an impatient tone, “Now you sound like Pat.”

  “Except that I don’t want to write about it.”

  “Mark, we have to report it.”

  He regarded her somberly. “Why?”

  “It’s our job. Let Pat write the story, but with no drama. I was never in any danger.”

  “Even bruised, you refuse to admit how serious this is.”

  “Uh-huh. By the way, about last night—” She took a deep breath, which strained her shirt and his control.

  She’s going to bring up our encounter in the elevator. Is she sorry it happened? I’m not. I’m damn glad—

  “I really enjoyed our, ah, time in the elevator.”

  Phew. “I enjoyed it, too.” That has to be the understatement of the year.

  “But I know that you’re not here long, and I want you to know that’s fine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her cheeks glowed pink. “I’m a mature woman and you’re a mature man, and we both can enjoy our ‘elevator time’ without any ensuing drama.”

  How many times over the last few years had he made this exact speech: the I-don’t-want-to-give-up-the-physical-part-of-our-relationship-just-yet speech. Probably a dozen, at least. But this was the first time anyone had made the speech to him.

  She shrugged. “That’s all I had to say. I just wanted to get that out there.”

  Jeez, what did one say? He finally settled on, “Thank you. I feel the same.”

  She brightened. “Do you?”

  Actually, he didn’t. Oh, he wasn’t in love with Susan, though she was exactly the sort of woman a man could fall for. After Arlene’s rampage through his heart, he had no interest in another long-term relationship.

  Still, it didn’t seem right to downplay what had been the hottest sex he’d ever experienced. The memories of the night before were so vivid that he’d gotten an erection just getting into the elevator this morning.

  But could he admit all of that to her and not sound as if he was looking for something more? Probably not, so he’d just keep his thoughts to himself. Susan was right when she said he wasn’t long for this town; the second the paper was on solid ground, he had a very fulfilling life to return to—one away from Glory, the newspaper, and Susan. “I think we should—”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Susan opened it, and the sheriff strode in.

  “There you are,” Susan said. “Glory’s finest.”

  Nick grinned. “Hey, Susan. How are you?”

  “Perfectly fine, as I was just telling Mark.”

  “Good,” Nick said. “I would like to talk to both of you.”

  “Have a seat.” Mark gestured to the chairs grouped by the window.

  Susan crossed to a chair but didn’t sit. “Nick, tell Mark this is not a big deal and no one tried to kill me.”

  “Just sit down,” Mark instructed. “Let the man talk, will you?”

  Susan sniffed but sat.

  Nick took the chair beside hers. “Is your boss always like this?”

  “Most of the time.” Susan stretched out her long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “He’s uptight, just like Clark Kent. Sorta looks like a Clark, too.”

  Nick chuckled. “Well, Clark and Lois, tell me what’s happening here at The Daily Planet that might have someone riled enough to cut Susan’s brake lines.”

  Susan and Mark exchanged glances. “Susan stirred things up Sunday with an editorial about the Baptist Bake-Off, but I can’t imagine anyone would want to harm her over that.”

  “People mad?”

  “Hopping. Lots of threats to cancel subscriptions, but none that were personal that I remember.”

  Nick looked at Susan. “You agree with that?”

  “Yes. No one made any threats against me at all.”

  Nick scribbled something in a small notebook. “I heard some people were upset about the op-ed piece, but—” He shrugged.

  Susan replied, “I didn’t accuse anyone specific of anything. I just suggested someone should ask why the Baptist Bake-Off has changed leadership for the first time in twenty-two years.”

  Mark frowned. “Twenty-two years?”

  “Yup. Pastor MacMillan’s had the same committee chair the entire time, until this year. That’s a long tradition to break.”

  Nick wrote something else down. “So no direct threats.”

  Mark shrugged. “I don’t expect to be invited over to dinner to certain houses anytime soon, but that’s it. Susan, you?”

  “Not a one. In fact”—she smiled smugly—“I got some good leads from it. A few people have offered to talk to me off the record.”

  “Who?” Mark demanded.

  “I can’t say.”

  Nick shook his head. “You secretive types. Any other stories you’re working on that could be raising people’s ire?”

  “Nope,” Susan said. “Which leaves our supposed murderer with no motive—yet another reason to think this was just an act of random vandalism.”

  Nick’s expression grew serious. “I don’t know, Susan. Someone did cut those lines. It wouldn’t hurt you to be a bit more cautious than usual.”

  Susan opened her mouth and Nick held up a hand. “Before you start arguing, I’d like to point out that I haven’t had my morning coffee and I’m likely to get cranky real fast.”

  She gave him a reluctant grin. “I suppose I can wait.”

  “Deal.”

  Mark sometimes forgot that Susan had worked for Nick for years before she’d come to the Examiner, but the two shared an easy, comfortable camaraderie.

  “Thanks.” Nick looked at his notes. “Here’s what I have so far. The Jeep was in the parking lot. The worst thing that could have happened was that you might bump into another car—at a whopping five miles per hour or less. It didn’t even set off the air bags. No one was trying to kill anyone with that caper. However, just because whoever this was sucked at it, or perhaps was merely trying to scare you for some reason, doesn’t mean he or she might not try again—and make a more serious effort next time, too.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Mark said. “You have to take this seriously.”

  Nick’s cool gray gaze flickered to Susan. “He’s righ
t about that. You need to be on alert.”

  Susan grimaced. “What am I supposed to do? Hide under my bed while they try Part Two of their Evil Plan to give me a really, really bad day? What will their next attempt be? Rig a lightning rod to my toe while I’m asleep?”

  Nick chuckled and stood, tucking his notebook under his arm. “However you feel about it, wiseass, I’m going to investigate and you are going to keep your eyes and ears open, just in case.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. I’ll do anything if it’ll make the two of you stop badgering me.”

  Nick looked at Mark. “That’s as good as we’re going to get.”

  Mark sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

  “She’s stubborn as heck.”

  Susan plopped her hands on her hips. “She’s also right here, in hearing range.”

  Nick clicked his tongue. “Touchy little thing, isn’t she?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Susan put her hands in the middle of Nick’s back and propelled him to the door. “Out! How can you sheriff from this small room? All of the bad guys are out there.”

  He laughed and opened the door. “Fine. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

  “That’s not true, or you wouldn’t have come here in the first place. Go bother someone else with your theories and investigations.”

  Nick quirked a brow. “Does this mean I’m uninvited to poker night?”

  “Of course not. It’s your week to bring the beer.”

  “It’s always my week to bring the beer.” Nick gave her a hug. “Promise you’ll keep an eye peeled.”

  “For you, I’ll peel them both.”

  Nick said his good-byes and left.

  “Well,” Susan said in a sunny voice, “it’s time to get back to work. I’ll tell Pat to go ahead and write the story about the vandalism done to my Jeep. We have to print something; too many people have stopped by the crime scene.”

  Mark sighed. “OK. Give it a good quote, at least.”

  “Oh, I will.” She flashed him a grin as she walked toward the door. “I’ll complain that I was hoping the insurance would total it out, but noooooo.” She winked and left, and he watched as she crossed the hall to her office and settled in.

  He tried to work, but every time he glanced up, she seemed to be doing something suggestive: biting her soft bottom lip, bending over to pull a file from a drawer, tucking a silky strand of hair behind one ear. Everything she did made him think of the elevator and it was driving him crazy.

  Susan’s phone rang. She listened for a moment, her gaze flying to meet his. “Yes, I will! Of course. How much did you say? Wow!” She listened a while longer, her eyes sparkling. “May I bring someone else with me? No, no. Just Mark Treymayne, Roxie’s brother. He does our accounting. OK. I will. See you soon. Bye!” She hung up and grabbed her purse, her eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement. “Let’s go!”

  He was on his feet and following her out the door, his car keys at the ready. “Where are we going?”

  “That was last year’s Bake-Off chairperson. She says she’s tired of all the misinformation and she’s ready to talk, but only off the record. My hunch was right—there’s a lot more to the story! Last year’s proceeds went missing, and it was over thirty thousand dollars!”

  Chapter 10

  “Where are we going?”

  Susan buckled her seat belt. “To see Widow Rawlings. She lives in the white house beside Indian Springs Elementary School.” She rubbed her hands together. “I knew we’d get a break in this story!”

  Mark turned the Mustang out of the parking lot. “Your ploy worked.”

  “Yes. And we only had one cancellation of the paper, and that person reinstated it this morning.”

  “So we didn’t lose any customers?”

  “Nope.” She grinned at him. “Admit it was a brilliant idea.”

  He slanted her a look that told her not to press her luck. “It was an OK idea.”

  Susan chuckled. “Mark, admit it.”

  “We’ll see how things pan out.”

  She sighed happily, then pulled her notebook and a pen from her purse. “I’ll ask her if there’s ever been an audit of the Bake-Off proceeds.”

  “I can’t believe they made over thirty thousand dollars last year.”

  “I do. It’s far more than a simple bake sale. They do classes and sponsor women’s church groups from all over the state. It’s a very big deal. Last year, one of the bigger churches from over in Greensboro brought two chartered buses of ticket-paying, class-taking, bakery-sale-buying women. All in all, over four thousand people attended.”

  “I had no idea it was so big.”

  “Why do you think I keep pushing the story?”

  He caught her astonished gaze and realized he had no good answer. “I suppose I just thought you didn’t have anything better to pursue.”

  She cocked a brow.

  His neck grew hot. “It’s not like there are a dozen stories competing for attention.”

  “I’m not desperate for news, Mark. There’s plenty going on around here if you’ll take the time to look for it.”

  His gaze flickered to his rearview mirror and he slowed to turn.

  She frowned. “This isn’t the right road.”

  “I know. I want to see a little of the countryside.”

  “OK.” She regarded him for a moment, noting how his hands were so steady on the wheel. She liked a man who knew who he was and how to do things, and she sometimes wondered if Dad had ever been like that. According to some of his older friends, he was once an accomplished carpenter. Though he sometimes offered advice on her home improvement projects, his general observations were never accompanied by more specific instructions.

  Mark asked, “What set you on this story, anyway? Just the change in leadership?”

  “That and one other thing. When they changed the chairperson to someone off the board, I did a little research and looked up the articles we’d written on the Bake-Off in the last few years. Every year, after the sale, there’s always an article on the proceeds and where they will be spent—except last year.”

  “Never mentioned?”

  “Not even hinted at. And it’s a big deal for the church. They always posted a sign in front of the church that said thank you for your generosity! in large red letters.” She frowned. “I couldn’t remember them doing it last year. And after I thought about it, I was sure they hadn’t.”

  “That’s interesting. I wonder if—” Mark looked in the rearview mirror and frowned. “Hang on.”

  “Wha—”

  He swerved severely and yanked the car off the road onto the shoulder, dust kicking high into the air.

  Susan clung to her seat, coughing a little. “What’s wrong?”

  Mark undid his seat belt and threw the door open. “I’ve had it with those—”

  The rest of the words were lost as he marched back to a van parked almost directly behind them. Susan undid her belt and got out of the car, walking up to the van just in time to hear Mark demand, “Don’t tell me that! You’ve been following us since we left the newspaper, and I want to know why.”

  Susan could just make out the reddish curls of the driver: Ah, Tundy, from the assisted-living center. Susan leaned over and sure enough, pine hills assisted living center—where just living isn’t enough was emblazoned on the side. So, Tundy and her Murder Mystery Club had been following them. That was interesting.

  “Why, Mr. Treymayne,” Tundy said in a placating voice. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Me and the girls and C.J. here were just out for a nice ride—”

  “That’s right!” piped up Clara, leaning out the window behind Tundy. Clara had apparently just had her hair done, for a profusion of white curls were carefully frosted into a helmet around her wrinkled brow. “We’re just drivin’ along mindin’ our own business, when you screeched to a halt and almost made us have an accident. You really should get that tail light fixed.”


  Angular and tall, Rose Tibbons, the ringleader of the club, poked her head around Clara from the backseat, her bright red wig crooked. “Treymayne! What in hell do you think you were doing, driving like that? I know your mother, young man!”

  Mark crossed his arms, his expression grim. “If you hadn’t been following me so close, it wouldn’t have mattered how I stopped. You were tailgating.”

  Tundy puffed out her cheeks. “Tailgating? Mr. Mark, you know me better than that! I never drink and drive.”

  Mark had opened his mouth to retort, but this stopped him.

  Susan hid a grin. “Tundy, tailgating also means you were following far too close.”

  “Way too close,” Mark added. “When I looked in my rearview mirror, all I could see was your van grille and headlights.”

  “Oh. That’s because we were trying to write down your license plate. We hadn’t filled in that line on your dossier yet—”

  “Dossier?” Susan asked, reaching for her reporter’s notebook. “What dossier?”

  Tundy’s round cheeks turned bright red. “Nothin’! There’s no dossiers! Never heard of ’em!”

  “But you said—”

  Clara leaned forward, her bottle-thick glasses magnifying her pale blue eyes. “Fine, you caught us. We were following you. But only because we want to catch whoever is tryin’ to kill Miz Susan.”

  C.J., who’d been looking out the window, turned at this. “It wasn’t me.”

  Rose scowled. “No one said it was.”

  “OK. Just thought I should mention it.” He turned back to the window.

  Clara sighed. “We didn’t mean to bother you. We’re just sleuthing Miz Susan’s case.”

  Rose agreed, “We’ll find the killer or die with you.”

  Susan noticed Mark was having trouble not laughing. “Thanks,” she muttered to him before she faced Tundy and her gang. “I hate to think of you all wasting your time on a small case of vandalism, which was all it was.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Rose stated. “Don from Don’s Tow and Mow told us your brake lines were cut. That’s a murder attempt if I ever heard one.”

  “So we’re going to follow Miz Susan,” C.J. said, “And if she gets killed right in front of us, we’ll know who did it.”