by Chris Chegri
Connie jotted her order in her pad. “Good choice.”
Kelly watched her walk off toward the kitchen. She was a bit odd but friendly, and it was evident she thought a lot of Steve—although, Kelly mused, how much could a waitress really know about any of her regulars?
As soon as Kelly arrived at work—tantalizing images of a night between the sheets with Steve playing games with her hormones—she called the utility in Summer Springs to reschedule her interview appointment with Howard Stovall, head of operations. They’d put her off once already, so she decided to take a more assertive approach.
“Mr. Stovall’s secretary, please. This is Kelly Pearson from the News Journal in Daytona Beach.”
Someone picked up right away. “Ms. Pearson. I assume you’re calling to reschedule.”
“Well, yes. Matter of fact I am.” She hadn’t expected getting an appointment to be so easy.
“Not a problem. Mr. Stovall is open next week. How about next Monday morning…say eleven o’clock?”
“Eleven o’clock would be perfect.”
She hung up and continued working on an article concerning the toxic legacy of the dry cleaning business. Perchloroethylene, a chemical used by the dry cleaning industry was responsible for polluting almost every town in America. Years ago, the scientific community found the chemical caused cancer, liver damage, neurological problems, and more. A thorough cleanup never happened, and contaminated water and soil were still a big problem, posing a continued health threat to anyone living near a dry cleaner. It continued to be a nightmare for the EPA. The subject was interesting since most citizens had no idea the problem existed, but it required in depth, lengthy searches for updated information of which there was little available. Nevertheless, someone had to write about it, or the EPA might try to brush it under the table. So, Kelly dove in and lost herself on the Internet until lunchtime.
Tina Aikins, the News Journal’s “Dear Abby”, finished her column early and asked Kelly if she wanted to go to lunch.
“Sure. I’d love to, Tina. Thanks. I’ll be ready in about twenty minutes. Can you wait?”
“I’ll find something to occupy me.” Tina winked and disappeared around the corner.
Tina Aikins stood about four foot eleven and had hips that mimicked the sway of palm trees when she walked in her stiletto heels. Bottle blonde hair framed her face, which was painted with more makeup than Tammy Faye Baker’s ever was. Despite the image, she was a Daytona Beach icon—saving marriages, making decisions for those who couldn’t make their own, and restoring order after chaos for the many residents who sought her advice.
Waldo with his big ears and tendency to eavesdrop told her, “Watch out for her. Don’t forget she’s the gossip columnist, so be careful what you tell her.”
“She’s not the gossip columnist. She gives advice. Right?”
“Wrong.” He spun around and, for a moment, said nothing then continued pounding his keyboard.
Kelly shrugged, not knowing whether to take him seriously or not. Her cell phone rang and Steve’s number appeared.
“Hey, are we still on for tonight?”
She grinned and her insides got fuzzy just hearing his voice.
“Hey. Hi there. I was just thinking about you.” It wasn’t a lie. For the past few days she could be doing anything and still have him on her mind.
“You’re sweet. I know you’re busy, so I won’t take up any more of your time. Are we on?”
“Sure. What did you have in mind?” she said, leaning back in her chair.
“Something a first grader and folks our age might both enjoy.”
She laughed. “Maybe after I’ve been here a while I’ll find someone I trust to watch Lacy, and you and I can have a real date.”
His voice thickened. “I look forward to that, Ms. Pearson. Until then, a threesome it is, unless we include Junker.”
“Too bad he can’t baby-sit.”
Steve chuckled. “I was thinking of a trip to the boardwalk.”
“Sounds fun. Games and taffy. I’m up for it, and Lacy will love it.”
“Okay. Your wish is my command. Have you thought about dinner?’
“We’re easy.”
“Yeah, I remember Lacy said she loved junk food. We can grab something at the boardwalk. What are you doing for lunch?” he asked.
“I’ve got a lunch invite from Tina Aikins.”
“Whoa. Watch out there. She’s the gossip columnist.”
“Wow. You’re the second person to warn me about her. Waldo told me the same thing.”
“Who’s Waldo?” he asked.
“One of the other writers. His desk is behind mine, so we’ve struck up a kind of friendship. I’m sure you’ll get to meet him some day. He’s a character but a nice guy.”
“If he can work for Willis, he must be made of steel.”
“Well, you wouldn’t know it to look at him.”
Waldo had left his desk and now approached her from the left.
“Oops, incoming. Gotta go,” she told Steve. “I’ll call you later.”
They both laughed and hung up.
“I thought you were leaving,” Waldo said. “Where’s Ms. Busybody?”
“She gave me a twenty minute reprieve, but it’s almost up.”
“I should probably go with you to protect your reputation. Stop you from saying too much about yourself,” he teased, his overbite visible.
“Not much to tell, yet. Remember I just got here. Maybe she’ll share some gossip about you.”
“I doubt it.” His smile faded. “I’m a closed book. You’ll hear no dirt about me. Unfortunately.”
“Well, that’s just boring.” She grabbed her purse. “I’ll suggest she try harder. I hear she’s good. I’m sure she can find something on you.”
“Don’t do me any favors. My dull life suits me.” He turned away and lost himself in a pile of paperwork.
She liked Waldo and picked up on a hint of loneliness in his voice—until Steve, something she and her fellow reporter had in common.
He glanced back at her. “See you when you get back.”
“I won’t be back. I’m doing a thing on dry cleaners and thought I’d stop by a few and get their take on the pollution problem. I’ll see you tomorrow, Waldo.” She wagged her index finger at him. “Behave! Or Tina gets your name and number.”
“Always behave. Trouble avoids me.” He saluted her.
Tina took Kelly to her favorite restaurant—a small Middle Eastern café famous for their piping hot mint tea and the usual Mediterranean fare—lamb kebabs, gyros, humus, and babaganoush. Oddly enough, a great tuna salad, too, which they both ordered with a side of lentil soup.
“Thanks for inviting me. I haven’t had much chance to socialize since I arrived It’s nice to talk to someone other than a six-year-old.”
“I hear you. I have two kids. A boy and a girl. Nine and seven. I think that’s one of the reasons I enjoy doing the column. I get letters from adults, but can respond as if they were children.” She giggled and took a bite of her tuna salad.
“Most advice is pretty simple. Common sense, really. Stuff even a kid could figure out. It keeps me content without overtaxing my mental skills.”
“Oh, come on. You’re obviously a smart woman. Your job isn’t easy, and not everyone can help others. It’s a gift, and I hear you’re very good at it.” Kelly swallowed a spoonful of lentil soup.
Feigning modesty, Tina shrugged. “It’s a job but thanks. I think you and I could be good friends.”
“Are you married, Tina?”
“Yes, where else would I get all this valuable ‘knowledge’,” she made quotations marks in the air and laughed, “to pass on to others. Twelve years married. My husband is as bad as one of the kids. I swear they’re all helpless. I don’t know what they’d do if I jumped off a bridge.”
Kelly laughed. “It must be tough for him being married to a super mom and a Daytona Beach icon. What’s he do for a living?” Kelly
hoped she didn’t sound too nosey. Connie’s openness had rubbed off on her.
“He works at the Space Center in Cape Canaveral. He’s an aeronautical engineer. I suppose that’s why he acts like a little kid. All left brain and no common sense, but he’s a sweetie. He’d do anything for me.”
“You’re lucky,” Kelly said, envy in her voice.
“From your tone I take it you’re single or divorced.”
The word “dumped” popped into her head, followed by the usual knot in her stomach. “Yeah.”
A motherly expression crossed Tina’s face. “Sorry. Reading people is my job. You want to talk about it?”
She didn’t. “That’s okay. I’ve been divorced six, almost seven years. Honestly though, it was harder to be married.” Changing the subject, she added, “Do a lot of people in Daytona work at the Space Center?”
“Quite a few, but most people who work there live in Cape Canaveral, so they don’t have to commute. Tom and I think Daytona is so much nicer. We’ve discussed moving somewhere in between, but he thinks it’s worth the drive.”
Kelly hesitated. “When I came out here the first time, I met a man on the plane who works there.”
“Oh? What’s his name? What’s he do?”
“Steve McCarthy,” she told her. “He’s a cryogenic physicist. He works with fuel management, I think.”
Tina’s eyes lit up. She was a true gossip queen. “Want me to look into him for you?”
Kelly regretted saying anything. “No. I haven’t seen him since.” She shouldn’t have brought his name into the conversation. If she wasn’t willing to share the details with her best friend, Jill, she wasn’t going to tell Tina Aikins about Steve, not after seeing the gossip’s glint in her eyes, and not until the Kelly/Steve story had an ending—whatever that might be.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I’m here to see Howard Stovall,” Kelly told the receptionist, her gaze dropping to the I.D. badge clipped to the woman’s collar. Summer Springs Lighting & Power, Esther Prindall.
The receptionist offered an artificial smile. “Your name, please.”
“Kelly Pearson of the Daytona News Journal.” Kelly matched the receptionist’s stiffness. She was always amazed by the authority some receptionists tried to convey.
Letting her gaze wander over the lobby, Kelly held her ground while the receptionist dialed Stovall’s office.
“There is a Ms. Pearson to see you, Mr. Stovall.” She hung up. “He’ll be right up, Ms. Pearson. Have a seat, please.”
Kelly settled into a chair and browsed through the magazines on the adjacent table. She and Lacy had spent the weekend with Steve, watching videos and gorging on popcorn. After tucking Lacy in bed, they’d continued the lovemaking marathon they’d begun the previous Saturday. Just thinking about it now sent shivers of delight skipping along Kelly’s spine.
Sunday morning, she’d asked Steve to stay for lunch, but he’d declined, claiming a previous commitment with Gary Benson. Kelly accepted his decline, but it bothered her the rest of the day. Old wounds. She tried hard not to think about it, but even now she wondered what Gary Benson had that she didn’t.
“Ms. Pearson?”
Kelly was jolted from her thoughts by a masculine voice.
Howard Stovall filled the doorway, his wide shoulders filling the jam.
Kelly crossed the room. “I’m so pleased you could see me today, Mr. Stovall.”
He gave her hand a brisk shake, then held the door open for her, motioning her into the adjacent hallway.
Kelly could tell a lot by a man’s handshake, and she knew right away, by the brevity of Stovall’s greeting, he was a man to get down to business.
“I’ve been looking forward to our meeting,” she said.
Stovall moved along at a brisk gait without comment, Kelly trailing behind, struggling to keep up with his pace. If she’d known she was interviewing an ex-track star, she might have worn lower heels.
“I don’t have much time for this sort of distraction, so I hope we can keep this brief.” He spoke over his shoulder, never slackening his pace. “I have a two o’clock meeting, and I don’t like to skip lunch.”
“Neither do I. Not a problem.” She didn’t let her disappointment affect her voice. She’d assumed the Summer Springs facility considered the manatees’ presence serious, as did most of the utility companies throughout Florida. It seemed this was not the case.
“Unfortunately, sir, the future of the manatee warrants more than mere distraction. Are you aware numerous power plants across the state have already improved the animal’s chances for survival by having their canals and the adjacent rivers declared sanctuaries for the manatee?”
“Of course I’m aware. This is Florida, and that’s their business. I’ve got a plant to operate. I don’t care how others operate theirs. This isn’t a zoo, and I didn’t invite the creatures in.”
Kelly rolled her eyes. This would be a challenge. “How long have the manatees been frequenting your canals?”
“They appeared about ten years ago but have grown in numbers. I’ve been swamped by naturalists, animal behaviorists, and reporters ever since.” He stopped outside one of the offices lining the long corridor. “I wish the darn animals would find somewhere else to swim. Sit down, Ms. Pearson.”
Certain they’d covered a distance of three blocks, Kelly followed him into his office, taking a chair beside the window, which afforded her a view of one of the utility’s cooling ponds. Stovall rounded his desk and sat down, leaned forward on his elbows and looked Kelly square in the eyes.
Kelly pulled a notebook from her briefcase and scribbled a few notations.
“Let’s get down to business, Ms. Pearson. What is it you want to know?”
Used to prying people for information, Kelly wasn’t in the least thwarted by Stovall’s no-nonsense approach. “Who first spotted the manatees? You? A worker?”
He considered the question. “One of our maintenance crew, I believe. You’d probably get more information from their department.”
No doubt, Kelly thought. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said about sanctuaries. She had a powerful hunch the man wasn’t native to the area, because her research suggested Floridians loved their manatees. Gesturing toward the plate glass window behind him and the cooling pond and discharge canal beyond, she said, “Mr. Stovall, are you fully aware of what you have swimming around out there?”
“Certainly! Big, homely things. Sea Cows. Sluggish, ugly beasts.”
Kelly groaned.
“What?” he asked, his tone defensive. “I’m not being politically correct?”
“You can call them whatever you like.” She was close to giving up but reminded herself she was a journalist here to get a story, not to convince Stovall of the value of the manatee.
Her printed article and increased social and legislative pressure would take care of the manatees. Besides, to be fair, a month ago she hadn’t known a manatee from a man-o-war. She would save her convictions for the story, but she already knew Stovall wasn’t going to appreciate the details when he read them in his morning paper.
“You and I both know manatee protection is important to the people of Florida, and depending on what you tell me and—”
“And how you choose to spin it,” he added, interrupting her.
She ignored the comment. “The surrounding population might be disappointed to find out their local power plant views the lovable, harmless beasts as little more than homely, sluggish creatures clogging the utility’s discharge canals.” Kelly suppressed a laugh. Summer Springs’s telephones would ring off the wall after her story hit the sidewalks.
He sighed in defeat. “All right. What do you want to know?”
Giving Stovall the benefit of the doubt, she briefed him on the Manatees’ history, attempting to enlighten him, without offending his delicate ego, on the animal’s prolific past and the dim future the species could expect if people like him didn’t do their part. She kne
w he’d heard it all before—it was nothing new—but he listened, no doubt praying for a favorable write-up.
“So you see, the manatee is seeking the warmth of your warm water out-falls for reasons of comfort and breeding, and because there are no speed boats zipping back and forth, tearing their backsides wide open with propeller blades, the most grave danger to them in lakes and rivers which are not protected habitats.”
“It’s very logical,” he said. “I have no doubt they’re quite happy in the canals. That’s my problem.”
“Could someone show me the ponds they frequent? I’d like to take some photographs and talk to some of the employees familiar with the manatees’ activities.”
Stovall glanced at his watch, his reluctance obvious. “It’s beginning to look pretty grim out there.” He eyed the thunderheads rolling in from the south.
She knew he hoped to end the interview, but she needed more meat for her story. So far, all she’d accomplished was to discover the utility company’s disinterest in the endangered animals. So, why had he agreed to an interview? Did he really expect to get off so easily?
“You have my promise, Mr. Stovall. You’ll be early for your meeting.”
“Well, we’d better hurry. Those clouds may open up on us any minute now.” He searched in his desk drawer and fished out a key ring. “We’re in for a big one. This storm has been brewing off the coast for days, just waiting to dump a ton of rain on us today.”
“Really?” Kelly’s regard switched to the black clouds gathering outside the windows. “It was overcast on the drive over, but I was listening to cassettes and missed the weather report.” Being from San Francisco where the bay area was often overcast and foggy, the cloud layer hadn’t drawn much of Kelly’s attention.
“Well, if I were you, young lady, I’d get myself home as soon as we finish up here.”
Kelly agreed.
He continued, “I hope it’s not too late. The roads around here flood during heavy storms, and reports coming up from Ft. Myers sound bad. Trees down, telephones out. We don’t often get severe storms this early in the year, but the Lord’s pulling the strings, not the weathermen.”