Lois Lane Tells All

by Karen Hawkins

  Mark nodded. “That’s a heck of an investigative method.”

  “You can’t beat a van full of eyewitnesses,” Clara said sagely.

  Susan wondered if any of them could even pass a basic vision test. She snapped her notebook closed. “Mark and I’d love to stay and chat, but we’re off to visit Widow Rawlings.” It was better to put their destination out there, or the Murder Mystery Club would begin to suspect all sorts of weird things.

  Tundy’s gaze sharpened. “Is she a suspect?”

  “Nope. She’s been feeling ill and Mark’s mother made us promise to stop by and visit her.”

  Susan felt Mark’s approving gaze.

  “Miz Treymayne do like playin’ lady of the manor,” Tundy agreed. “Did she make you bring soup? She always made me take soup to sick people, which was a pain, because it spilled in my car. To this very day, my car smells like onions.”

  “We didn’t give her the time.”

  “Smart move.”

  “About this following thing, Tundy.” Mark looked hard at her. “I know a bad idea when I see it, and this is one.”

  Rose snorted. “Mark Treymayne, don’t you lecture Miz Tundy about knowing things. Why, look at you, going all over town with Miz Susan here, both of you smelling like roses and weddings, and neither one of you knowing it.”

  Susan stiffened. Smelling like roses and weddings? She didn’t dare look at Mark. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rose. Mark is my boss, so of course he and I work together.”

  “He don’t hang about Pat like he does you,” Rose pointed out.

  C.J. looked up and said in a remarkably lucid tone, “He don’t watch her ass the way he watches yours, either.”

  Susan turned to look at Mark, whose neck was a telltale red. “You’ve been staring at my ass?”

  Rose snorted. “He stares like he’s never seen one before.”

  Mark held up a hand. “I’m not going to discuss this anymore. If you want to talk, it had better be about why you’re following us and why I shouldn’t call the sheriff and put a stop to it.”

  Tundy sighed. “Gang, I guess the gig is up. Mr. Mark ain’t goin’ to let us off the hook. Guess we’ll all just go home and let him and Miz Susan be. Yup, you’ll never see us again ’cause we’re going back to the center and take a nap—”

  Susan burst out laughing. “Tundy Spillers, you are the worst liar I’ve ever seen! You aren’t planning on going back to the center at all.”

  Clara looked disappointed. “That’s too bad. I really need to pee.”

  “Me, too,” C.J. said, peeking over Rose’s shoulder.

  “Didn’t you all go when we went to the gas station?” Tundy demanded. “All of you went in!”

  “We didn’t have time to use the restroom,” Clara said. “We were busy getting these.” She held a pack of Red Hots.

  “They make your tongue red.” C.J. stuck his out to demonstrate. “But they don’t help you much if you need to pee.”

  “In fact,” Clara said, “because I had to guzzle so much root beer to put out my mouth fire, I’d say the Red Hots made me have to pee worse.”

  Tundy looked disappointed. “Guess we won’t be following you anymore. We’ve got to get to a facility.”

  “Good thinking,” Mark said.

  Tundy put the van in reverse, then pulled out onto the road.

  Susan looked at her watch. “We’d better get back on the road or we’ll be late.”

  As she returned to the car, she sneaked a peek back to see if Mark really was checking out her posterior.

  She caught him in midgawk.

  He grinned unrepentantly. “If I’m going to get blamed for it, I might as well do it.”

  She patted her rump. “I’m just glad it’s worth checking out.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s go before the club comes back and tries to discover all of our secrets.” He went to her door and opened it for her.

  She enjoyed his old school manners. There was something incredibly sexy about a man who was comfortable enough as a man that he didn’t have to bully his way into your life; he just opened the door and stood back.

  It wouldn’t do to like it too much, though. Once Mark had the paper back in the black, he’d return to his fancy accounting practice in Raleigh.

  And that was the way it should be. Or the way it had to be, anyway. If there was one thing she’d learned from working so closely with Mark over the last few months, it was that he had a big city view of life, one that didn’t fit well in a small town like Glory. Oh, he might get along great with most of the residents, and he might look comfortable sitting at his perfectly clean desk at the paper, but the truth was, he would soon tire of living in a town where things were so slow that citizens were forced to start up Murder Mystery Clubs just to stay busy.

  That was a good thing for her to remember. While she was content to live in Glory for the rest of her life, Mark wasn’t. It was an excellent reason to keep their relationship at the heavy flirting level.

  She snuck a glance at him as he turned the car back onto the road, his movements sure and damned sexy. It was a pity that her greatest goal—to turn the newspaper around—was also the thing that would send him racing back to Raleigh. If she didn’t love the paper so much, she might be tempted to slow her plan down a little and savor him a bit more. But this job was her dream-come-true and she wouldn’t compromise it for anyone.

  With a bit of a sigh, Susan settled back in her seat and reopened her notebook. “I suppose we should come up with some interview questions for Mrs. Rawlings. Any ideas?”

  Chapter 11

  An hour later, Susan and Mark emerged from Widow Rawlings’s house and climbed back into the Mustang. For a long moment, they sat in the car, staring straight ahead.

  “Wow,” Mark said. “I did not see that coming.”

  “Me, neither.”

  He frowned. “Do you think she’s telling the truth?

  “Yes.”

  “Me too.”

  Susan shook her head. “Who’d have thought such a crime could go unreported like that?”

  Over thirty thousand dollars missing, and when the board members noticed the gaps in the deposits and planned to meet to request an audit, they were summarily informed they’d been replaced.

  Mark rubbed his chin. “I can’t believe no one came forward and said anything.”

  “They trusted Pastor MacMillan, and he assured them that he would personally see to it that an audit was done—”

  “Which wasn’t.”

  “Not that Widow Rawlings knows about. But, to be fair, she hasn’t been on the committee this year and all of their meetings were closed.”

  Mark frowned. “You think an audit was done?”

  “Who knows? Pastor MacMillan assured the old board members that if the money was indeed missing, as it appeared, that every penny would be returned.”

  “And they just believed him.”

  “They have so far. That’s why none of the other ex-board members have come forward to talk to us.”

  “All that money gone, and no one can explain it.”

  Susan nibbled on the end of her pen. “Embezzlement is the obvious answer, and yet … who? Widow Rawlings didn’t have an idea.”

  Mark shook his head. “We don’t have enough to go with a story.”

  “Not yet.” She sighed. “The pastor is a fixture in this town. A lot of people have been sad to think of him retiring.”

  “Even my mother thinks he walks on water. The new pastor doesn’t have a chance. She’s already called him an ‘upstart’ and ‘pretentious,’ and she hasn’t even met him yet.”

  Susan tucked her pen and notebook into her purse. “This story is huge. It’ll cause such an uproar!”

  “I hate uproars.”

  She sent him an amused glance. “You really aren’t cut out for the news biz, are you, Clark?”

  “Probably not.”

  Susan leaned her head back against the seat. “We ca
n’t print this story without two more sources corroborating it, but now that we know what questions to ask and who to ask …”

  Her brows knitted and her blue eyes fixed unseeingly straight ahead. Mark could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

  He drove back to the newspaper office, letting her think. Her instincts had been right once again. Perhaps it was time he began to trust them. He glanced at her, noting that she was now biting her lip. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. God, he loved it when she did that. It made him think of—

  “Clark?”

  He gave a reluctant grin. “Yes, Lois?”

  Her smile was as bright as the sun breaking through a rain-drenched sky. “Thanks for coming with me.”

  “It was good to see how you guys operate. When I first arrived, I thought that by reading a few articles, I knew enough to make decisions for the paper. I’m beginning to see I was mistaken.”

  “You?”

  He regarded her with a flat look. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you. But, I probably deserve it. I guess I was a little arrogant when I started.”

  “A little?”

  “Hey, I’ve already admitted you were right. You’re not getting anything more from me today, unless—” He shot her a direct look that let her know exactly what “unless” he was talking about.

  She blushed, looking adorably pleased.

  Mark pulled into their parking lot and turned off the Mustang just as someone came jogging down the street.

  Susan recognized the woman immediately. “Well, well, well. I guess the mayor is in a meeting, since his secretary-slash-girlfriend is out running.”

  Mark assessed the woman jogging toward them.

  Susan didn’t much like Robin Wright—few women did—and with reason. Robin collected men the way a hunter collected trophies. Susan wouldn’t be surprised to find that Robin decorated the walls of her lake house with the stuffed underwear of all the men she’d conquered, mounted on wooden plaques like deer heads.

  Robin was jogging in her usual scant short shorts and a jog bra that barely held her augmented assets, with her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail that swished sexily as she pranced down the street.

  Susan started to make a comment to Mark and saw his gaze locked on Robin.

  Aware she was being watched, Robin slowed her pace but bounced even more, so that it truly seemed as if she might escape her top. As she came level with Mark and Susan, she flashed a smile directly at Mark and said in a purring voice, “Hello, Treymayne!”

  Susan bit her tongue against the “Tramp!” that tried to escape.

  Mark lifted a hand but didn’t say anything, no doubt because his tongue was now tightly wrapped around his tonsils.

  If there is any justice in this world, Robin will fall and get a full-body road rash.

  Susan got out of the car, slamming her car door a little too hard, hoping to jostle Mark from his reverie. He followed her, pausing only to lock the doors, his gaze still on the performance being played out before them.

  Robin jogged on, looking perky and annoyingly healthy, leaving Susan aware that both of her breasts wouldn’t equal one of Robin’s munificent mammaries. She simply didn’t understand the male psyche. Here she was, supportive and intelligent, capable and reasonably attractive, yet Mark was panting over a fake like Robin Wright. At least he looked at my ass today.

  Well, Robin had just better back off. Mark was her flirtation, damn it! Simmering, Susan walked to the newspaper building beside him.

  Just as they reached the door, she grabbed his hand, yanked him into the bushes, and planted the most heated, passionate kiss she could on his astonished mouth. With a groan, he grabbed her close and indulged her in the longest, sexiest, most desperate kiss she’d ever experienced. Hands seeking, breath mingled, they clung to one another, pushing aside clothing in a desperate way, tasting and testing, tempting and trying. If it hadn’t been for the sound of a car pulling into the parking lot they might have gone further.

  Susan suddenly realized that Mark’s shirt was almost completely unbuttoned while hers was twisted at the waist.

  As they began fixing their clothing, Mark sent her a quizzical glance. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that?”

  “It was a reminder.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of the elevator.”

  His blue gaze locked on her. “You think I need a reminder?” He slipped an arm around her waist and yanked her close. “Every time I get into that damned elevator, I remember our time in it. Every. Single. Second.” He kissed her nose and released her. “Now fix your hair. The band is coming out.”

  Oddly pleased, she did as he’d told her.

  Susan finished righting her clothes. Mark did the same, straightening his glasses as he sent her a grin that told her it wasn’t over yet. “Ready, Collins?”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Ready, Treymayne.”

  He glanced around, then stepped out of the bushes. He pulled Susan into the building and they quickly made their way to the elevator. Susan noticed that his hand trembled a bit when he punched the up button.

  Suddenly the entire day seemed brighter, warmer, and far more exciting.

  Chapter 12

  The next week, Mark watched as Susan did her best to get the former board members to talk, but to no avail. Even Widow Rawlings refused to answer more questions, seeming worried that someone might find out that she’d spilled the beans on the much-loved Pastor MacMillan. According to her, she’d said all she was going to say and that was that—and if anyone dared use her name or quoted her directly, she’d sue them all.

  Mark had to give Susan credit; she hadn’t rested since their interview with Mrs. Rawlings, even managing to pursue other stories at the same time. She was exhibiting a delightful tenacity that left him aching for a taste of far more than her reporting skills.

  At this morning’s weekly meeting he noticed that she seemed thoughtful, as if a new idea had occurred to her overnight. He’d hoped she might say something, but he was left to wonder what was going on in that fascinating mind of hers.

  The day dragged on and on for Mark. Every time he turned around, he saw Susan. She was on the phone, laughing and talking in a way that made him wish he was on the other end of the line, or sitting at the computer, nibbling the tip of a pen in a way that made him think of other things she might nibble. Everything she did—no matter how innocent or unaware—sent him on an imaginary journey that always ended the same way.

  He even faked a lunch appointment just to get a break from his own imagination. When he returned, Susan was at her newly repaired Jeep.

  As he got out of his car, Mark watched her slip a hand into her jeans pocket and fish out her keys. The movement lifted her T-shirt and gave him a flash of her flat, tanned stomach. His senses went into overdrive, his heart thudding hard against his ears. She has to be a runner to be in such great shape. He realized she was looking at him curiously, so he quickly asked, “Where are you off to now?”

  “To the county animal shelter. I have to follow up my interview with the shelter director about the coming budget cuts.” Susan reached into her purse and pulled out a camera and checked the battery life. “It’s difficult to get in touch with Mitzi. She’s a volunteer so her hours are unpredictable.”

  Mark eyed the camera. “Is that ours?”

  “Nope. The paper’s camera is vintage. It needs film and the batteries have to be changed every ten or so days.”

  “We need to fix that.”

  “Yup. Until then, I’m using mine.” She sent him an amused grin. “I thought a cute puppy shot would be good for the front page.”

  He didn’t look impressed. “You’d better be careful or you’ll end up coming home with a pet.”

  “Not a chance in the world. I don’t have room for a pet. Besides, my dad is allergic.” Or claimed he was, anyway. In all of the years Susan had taken care of Dad, she couldn’t think of one time he’d sneezed except when he’
d had a cold. But that was Dad. Susan suspected that because he couldn’t control the big things—like his drinking and how to keep a job—he was fanatical about controlling the little things, like whether they had a dog.

  “Hmm.” Mark looked skeptical. “I’d still be careful if I were you. The bleeding hearts who run places like that are natural con artists. They know how to work your weak areas, appeal to your overgrown sense of sympathy.”

  “My sense of sympathy is fine. The only cute and cuddly thing in my home is a picture of a puppy.”

  “Not the traditional hot dog, baseball, and apple pie type of gal, eh?”

  “Oh, I’d say I qualify. Not to brag, but I do own the fastest bass boat in the county. In fact, I’m going out on it tomorrow afternoon if I can get away from the office.”

  He grinned, which crinkled his eyes in the most endearing way. “I’m impressed. You are all of it—baseball, hot dogs, and apple pie. In fact—” to her shock, he leaned forward, his cheek against hers as he said in a low voice—“you sort of taste like pie.”

  Shivers raced through her and she jerked away, sure he could see that her nipples had just perked to attention. Somehow, someway, she had to make her heart stop shivering to a halt every time he touched her.

  She nervously tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear. “Must be my vanilla bean lip gloss. Works every time.”

  His smile dimmed. “Every time? How many times have you used it?”

  That wasn’t quite the way she’d meant it, but she couldn’t find a graceful way to retract the statement. She shrugged. “It’s my secret weapon. Everyone in town knows about it.” Which was true because Teresa sold it at the Stuff and Fluff, the only hair salon in town.

  “How many men know about it?”

  “Hundreds. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an article to write.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the door, cutting off her access to her vehicle. The movement pulled his sleeves tight on his bulging biceps. “No,” he drawled, “I don’t think I will let you leave. Not yet, anyway.”

  She tried not to look at his arms; she really did. “What do you mean, no?”