Deadly News

by Jody Holford

  “He gets a little grumpy without his coffee,” Elizabeth said.

  Clay snickered in between chewing on the cap. “Or if he’s awake.”

  Hannah laughed. Molly kept her expression neutral and tried to focus on the people who actually wanted her here.

  “Clara Phillips? Married to the mayor?” Molly asked, thinking back to her research.

  “She is,” Hannah answered. “Their daughter, Savannah, is my best friend.”

  Molly smiled. Hannah and Savannah. It was cute, just like the teen. Gears turned in Molly’s head. A fresh start. A fresh point of view and a good way to test out her staff’s capabilities. “How would you like to ask your friend a few questions for the paper?”

  Hannah’s eyes widened. She looked at her uncle and then back at Molly.

  “For real?”

  Molly laughed. “Completely. Might be nice to get a young person’s perspective on what it’s like to grow up in a family so well known in a small place. On top of that, she’s got the responsibilities that go along with being the mayor’s daughter. And she’ll definitely open up to you more than someone else. Why don’t you put together some questions, and we’ll go over them together and determine what you should ask. Once you do, I’ll work with you on writing up an article. It’ll give me a chance to see your writing.”

  Alan beamed at Molly, but his smile paled in comparison to Hannah’s. “I’d love that. Thank you. I’ve got to get to my second-period class, but I’ll start on the questions after school.”

  “Great. It was nice to meet you,” Molly said truthfully.

  “You too.”

  She kissed Mr. Benedict on the cheek and left the room. When she did, he checked his watch, his brows furrowing, forming little creases on his forehead.

  “I… uh, need to get to a meeting. I’ll leave the day in your capable hands,” Alan said, standing.

  When he stood, Elizabeth’s eyes followed him. Molly watched, fascinated as the woman tried to be subtle about her staring.

  “Elizabeth, in addition to running the regular classifieds next week, I’d like you to do a small piece on requesting some local opinions on a few different topics. Make sure they aren’t controversial issues for now, but let’s invite the town to take part in their paper. Maybe we could even run some fun polls.”

  Elizabeth nodded, but her eyes continued to dart to the open door Alan had left through. It didn’t surprise Molly when a moment later, Elizabeth excused herself from the table and said she had to get to work.

  Molly gathered her papers, hoping Clay would leave as well. She wasn’t quite ready to deal with his role yet, as she hadn’t figured out exactly what he did. The paper had a subpar website, a Facebook page with no information, and twenty-five followers on Twitter. Besides that, the way he looked at her made her skin itch.

  “So. You’re from California?” Clay pronounced the ‘i’ like an ‘e’ and Molly had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

  “I am.”

  She stood and picked up the work she planned on attending to first. There would be no issue with her doing her share. She’d always taken work very seriously, which was how she’d ended up here, at twenty-eight.

  “I could show you around. Lived here all my life,” Clay said, also standing.

  He wore dark jeans that hung too low and an oversized plaid shirt. Molly seriously hoped the sloppy style wasn’t the “it” thing among the men in Britton Bay. Not that I care. All work, no play. That was her new mantra. She’d bet from the meeting, work would be enough to keep her plenty busy.

  “I kind of like the idea of exploring the town on my own, actually. Thank you, though.”

  “No worries. You change your mind, I’m your guy,” Clay said.

  Not in this lifetime or any other. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She was grateful Alan had given her an office of her own, regardless of its small size. When she sank down into the inflexible chair, she let out the deep breath she’d been holding. Pulling a dark blue notebook out of her messenger bag, she made a note: Day one of new job: Not so bad. Every adventure has bumps. I have to start somewhere.

  Trying to stay in the moment and be positive was Molly’s newest goal. She figured it was better than plotting out ways to torture her ex. Though that had its appeal, she realized, after the shock wore off, she’d been more upset about her sheets and her pride than she was over losing him. It was eye-opening, not to mention disconcerting, to realize, at almost thirty, that she had no idea what she wanted out of life.

  She worked through the day, pouring over old editions of the paper, making notes of articles that drew her attention. She made a list of several article options for the next edition of the paper, highlighting ways to make the pieces interesting and relevant. From what she’d seen, they didn’t have a reporter, per se. Which meant she’d be taking over that role as well, until she could get Vernon or Elizabeth to take that on. The interesting thing about the Bulletin was despite the decline in popularity, it still survived financially. She’d been offered a decent wage and figured the others must earn enough to get by as well. Molly suspected Mr. Benedict’s personal accounts kept the paper afloat.

  Mr. Benedict would continue to handle the books, the final say, and the staffing, but most other things would fall under Molly’s domain. She wondered again about the personal issue carving chunks out of her boss’s attention and time.

  When Vernon slapped some papers down on her desk, Molly surfaced, glanced at the clock, and realized most of the day had gone by.

  “Story on the addition being added to the high school and my outline of the timeline. I’ll see if I can chat with Vanessa Phillips—Clara’s mother. Maybe she can tell me about her bridge club or garden society meetings.”

  Molly measured her words in her head before standing up and coming around the desk. Vernon shuffled backward, keeping space between them. She’d have invited him to sit down in one of the two chairs in front of her small desk if he wasn’t acting like he couldn’t wait to be away from her.

  “Thank you. I’m looking forward to looking these over,” she said, gesturing to the printouts. “I’ll have some notes to you in a couple days. Listen, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I’m really excited to be here and to be part of returning the paper to its former glory. It’ll take some hard work on all of our parts and an adjustment to doing things differently.” Such as actually reporting news.

  Vernon shook his head. “Nobody cares about what we write. We’re all here earning a wage. Who cares what we print? You’re young and looking to make your mark on the world. As soon as you get bored, you’ll move on and we’ll go back to printing flyers and obituaries. While you’re here, it’s just more work for us and we’ll end up back where we’ve been stuck for years.”

  He didn’t wait for her to respond. He walked out of her office and Molly frowned. She wasn’t sure what made a person so jaded, but she truly hoped it wasn’t contagious.

  Mr. Benedict returned by the time Molly was ready to call it a day. She said good night and walked out the back door to where she’d parked her bright blue Jeep TJ. Climbing in, she’d driven out of the lot and down a couple of blocks before a strange sound made her cringe. The car started bumping along like she had square tires. Nerves had her checking her rearview, grateful to see no one was behind her. She was on Main Street, which had shops and eateries littered along both sides. Remembering the service station she’d seen a couple of blocks down, she gritted her teeth and forced her Jeep to hobble through the stoplight and in that direction.

  Metal on concrete pierced her ears as she pulled into Sam’s Service Station. Molly didn’t even drive it all the way to the building, near the open bays. Once she was off of the road, she parked and turned the vehicle off. She was out of the Jeep and walking around it, irritation and worry duking it out in her chest as she looked at one flat tire
after another. What the heck?

  “Now that’s one way to make an entrance,” a thick, amused voice said from behind her.

  When Molly spun around, her breath caught in her throat. The man walking toward her, wearing a pair of dark blue coveralls and wiping his hands on a grease rag, was tall, with wide shoulders, and thick, dark hair. His smile had more wattage than the sun setting behind him. Her stomach flip-flopped like it had no memory of just being wronged by this very gender! Traitor. The closer he came, though, the more she couldn’t blame her fickle stomach for its leap. No harm in looking. Ha. She knew where that belief could lead.

  “Hi there,” he said, stopping close enough in front of her that she could see his happy eyes were green.

  “Hi.” Apparently words had disappeared along with her common sense.

  “You’ve got some tire trouble,” he said, nodding toward the Jeep.

  “Looks like it.”

  “You’re new in town,” he said, still smiling. Something about the way he locked eyes with her made it impossible to look away.

  “I am. Molly Owens,” she said, offering her hand.

  He glanced down at his before accepting. His grip was solid and warm. Welcoming with a zip of heat that traveled up her arm.

  “Sam Alderich. Welcome to Britton Bay, Molly. Mind if I take a look?”

  Her pulse kicked into high gear as she held his gaze and his hand. It took her one flustered second to realize he meant at the vehicle. She pulled her hand back and he chuckled as she moved aside. Heat warmed her neck and her face. Sam crouched down and made an “hmm” sound before going to the next tire. He walked all the way around the vehicle before coming back to stand in front of her.

  “Looks like you didn’t get the welcome you deserved,” Sam said.

  Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  He gestured to the Jeep. “I’d say someone let the air outta all your tires on purpose.”

  Chapter 2

  Molly only needed one guess to figure out who might have deflated her tires. She shook her head, wondering how a full-grown man could act like such a petulant child. She hadn’t seen him leave the office during the day, but she had been buried in newspapers. Who else could it be? She hadn’t had time to make anyone else mad. Not that she had plans to.

  “I can take care of this for you right now,” Sam said, his smile never wavering.

  “Are you sure?” She looked around him to where all three bays were busy.

  He arched an eyebrow. “It’s just air. I’m going to grab my portable compressor, though. Don’t want you on those rims any more than necessary.”

  She hoped she hadn’t ruined them. Watching Sam walk away, she tried to focus her thoughts on something other than the view or why someone would take the time to vandalize her jeep.

  Molly thought about what she needed to do that evening when she got back to the hotel. She’d checked in three days ago. It was quiet and comfortable, despite the lumpy bed. It would do until she had a couple of days off. The price was reasonable and there was free Wi-Fi. Her stomach growled, reminding her that food needed to be on her agenda. Soon. She’d checked out Morning Muffins on Main Street—which she’d definitely be visiting again, but so far, she’d stuck to the small greasy diner beside the hotel for her dinners. Maybe tonight she’d try the Come ‘n Get It Eatery.

  “So, where you from?” Sam asked as he rolled a red air compressor behind him. He walked and talked like he had all the time in the world. Molly never moved slowly. Even when she wasn’t moving, she tended to fidget—bouncing her knee up and down or tapping her fingers. She liked to move, which helped her fit in while in California. But the pace here was…different.

  “Lancaster, California. I’m working at the Britton Bay Bulletin,” she said, watching as he went to work on the driver’s-side tire.

  He glanced up at her after he’d attached the hose. “I heard Alan was looking for an editor.”

  Before she could respond, he flipped a switch and a loud, bumpy sound emanated from the machine. Her tire puffed back to life. Sam switched the machine off and pulled it to the next tire. He worked his way around and in under ten minutes, she was ready to go.

  “How much do I owe you?” she asked, wishing she could think of something better to say.

  He laughed and her stomach dipped again. “For air?”

  Her cheeks warmed and she nibbled on her lip for a second. “And your time.”

  Sam’s gaze held her still. “No charge for either. You find a place to stay yet?”

  Molly’s brain switched gears. She did like the hotel, but it would probably be a good idea to have a kitchen. “No. I haven’t had time to look.”

  Sam pulled a pen and a scrap of paper out of the top right pocket of his coveralls. He wrote something on it and passed it to her, the tips of his fingers brushing against hers. Geesh. Get a grip.

  “Katherine owns the bed-and-breakfast on LaMonte Street. She’s looking for a tenant for her carriage house. Nice area and the place is more than big enough for one person.”

  He paused, frowned at her and she thought it didn’t suit him. “Unless, you moved here with your boyfriend or… uh, husband or something.”

  His cheeks flushed a little, which Molly found endearing.

  “No. Just me. Thanks for this. And the air.”

  “No problem. Welcome to Britton Bay.”

  She climbed into her Jeep as he hauled the compressor away. Molly took a second to remind herself that she was all work, no play now. A new town, a new start. And dinner.

  * * * *

  Come ‘n Get It Eatery was snuggled between a gift shop and the post office. Just on the edge of Main Street, it was a great spot to people watch. The wall of windows looked onto the street with the ocean and the pier in the distance. Molly hadn’t driven by once without seeing a crowd in there. She parked the Jeep and walked up the patterned concrete, very aware that the newcomer would draw attention. Being an army brat, she was used to being the newbie, but flutters still niggled in her stomach as she pulled open the diner door. A bell jingled loudly, announcing her arrival.

  Inside, there were booths and tables and bar-style seating along the front window. Spinning stools with blue vinyl covering matched the booths. Old-style diner chairs were pushed in—or being sat in—at the round tables. Laughter rang out over the music that hummed in the background. Country. Small towns loved their country music. Behind the long countertop at the back of the restaurant, a woman with bright red hair, pulled up into a loose bun on top of her head, waved at Molly.

  “Go ahead and seat yourself, hon,” she called.

  Molly made her way to the far side of the restaurant, smiling at people as she walked by. She settled on one of the stools at the window so she could watch the sun sinking over the water as she ate her dinner.

  “You’re new in town,” the redhead said as she approached. She carried a plastic menu with her and plopped it in front of Molly.

  Up close, the woman’s skin was flawless. Pale, with bright blue eyes, Molly wondered if anyone could ever be sad in her presence. She pulled a pad out of the apron that hung on her ample hips. Dressed in jeans and a light blue top with ruffles on the sleeves. Molly stuck more to short-sleeve dress shirts and wondered for a half second if she could pull off ruffles. Probably not.

  “I am. I’m Molly Owens. I just started at the newspaper,” she said, knowing she’d only have to do this a few more times before people would just know who she was. Her father had been in the army most of Molly’s life and though they’d mostly lived in larger cities, she was no stranger to small towns or how they worked. Word of mouth was the fastest form of communication in any place with less than a dozen stoplights.

  “I’m Calliope Jacobs, owner, waitress, chef, janitor, you name it. Welcome to town, Molly.”

  “Thanks. Your restaurant has a g
reat reputation. What do you recommend?”

  Calliope leaned closer and pointed to the menu. “My personal favorite is the crispy fish burger. Comes with double-dipped sea-salt fries.”

  Now that she’d sat down without work in front of her, Molly realized she was exhausted and starving. Grateful not to put any thought into it, she nodded.

  “I’ll try it. And a cola, please.”

  “You got it. How’s the newspaper? Don’t you let Vernon scare you,” Calliope said.

  At least it wasn’t just her—that ought to be comforting, but she was still irritated over her tires. “I’m trying not to. Mostly, it’s good, but today was my first day.”

  “I mean it—don’t you let him bug you. That man could take the fun out of an amusement park.”

  Molly arched her brow, her lips twitching, which must have been all the prompting the woman needed to continue.

  “He was in here the other day arguing with Callan Blair. I had to tell the two of them to take it elsewhere, you know? Have you met Callan? Easygoing guy from what I’ve seen. But Vernon got him all riled up. That man could rile up a saint.”

  Molly shook her head, trying to follow along with Calliope’s quick pace. Apparently not everyone in the small town moved at a slower pace. Molly hadn’t had time yet to meet many people.

  “He owns the Sit and Sip a few doors down. Great place for a milkshake. My husband plays cards with him and Vernon and a few other guys. Good group, mostly.” She leaned close like Molly had earned the right to a secret. “Behind his back, the guys call him Vicious Vernon because he’s so grumpy, win or lose. So don’t you take anything he says or does personally. We’re a friendly place, but every town has its share of crab apples.”

  Trying to take it all in, letting the information roll around in her head, Molly decided she quite liked Calliope and her straight-talking ways.

  The redhead straightened. “Alan’s a good man. Sometimes goes about like his head is in the clouds, but you’ll like working for him. You find a place to stay?”