“Great,” Lawrence said. “I’ll see you both in my office at one o’clock.”
*
AFTER HE’D TUCKED Sasha into bed that evening, Mark settled in his recliner with a cup of coffee. Satisfaction brought a smile to his lips as he thought about the day’s events, all fitting tributes to Seb.
Lawrence Prentiss’s insistence that he be present for a reading of Seb’s will left him scratching his head, though. Why would he be in Seb’s will? Then again, why not? Their relationship was more than boss and employee. They’d gone fishing together and played pool on Friday nights at Durango’s Tavern. Mark had become involved in some of Seb’s charity projects, such as helping out at the community center’s free Thanksgiving dinner.
Seb had often told Mark he was like a son. “I had a son…once,” he’d say. If they were in his office, his gaze would stray to the photos on his desk.
His thoughts returned to the will. Seb had probably left him a token of appreciation for his friendship and loyalty.
No surprise that Eva was in the will. Even though they’d been estranged, she and Seb were still blood. What a shame the two hadn’t spent Seb’s last years together in harmony.
*
“‘I, SEBASTIAN FRANKLIN SINCLAIR, of sound mind, do declare this as my last will and testament…’”
Seated at an oval table in Lawrence Prentiss’s office, Eva listened to the lawyer begin the reading of her father’s will. After waiting nearly half an hour for the meeting to get under way, and then having to sit through the lawyer’s small talk about the weather, she realized her nerves were more on edge than ever.
She glanced at Mark, who was seated across from her. His attention was on Lawrence, but he didn’t look any happier about being here than she was.
The first bequests were to charities, including the local hospital, the animal shelter and the University of Washington’s School of Journalism. The last designation didn’t surprise Eva; both she and her father were alumni.
The bequest to UCLA was puzzling, until Lawrence said to Mark, “I believe that’s where you studied journalism, isn’t it?”
Mark nodded. “That was nice of Seb to give them something.”
Lawrence turned to the next page. “‘To my daughter, Eva, I bequeath my property at 880 Oak Avenue and all structures thereon and all personal and tangible property contained therein.’”
The house she’d grown up in was to be hers? Why had Seb bothered to leave her the house? She didn’t want it and would never live there again.
She expected that to be the end of the reading, but Lawrence continued, “‘To my daughter, Eva, and to Mark Townson, I bequeath the entire holdings of the Willow Beach Herald. Each shall receive 50 percent of the total assets comprised by the newspaper…’”
Eva gasped, unable to believe what she’d heard. Besides the house, her father was leaving her 50 percent of the newspaper? Why, when she’d refused to work there or to have anything to do with his publication?
Lawrence cleared his throat. “‘…subject to the following provisions. One, that both Mark and Eva assume coeditorship of the newspaper for the period of one year.’”
“What?” Eva blurted and half rose from her chair.
Lawrence held up his hand. “Let me finish, please.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled and sank back into her seat.
“‘Two, if either party declines to accept the terms, neither inherits and the Herald shall be auctioned to the highest bidder. Neither party may bid on the Herald or in any way be associated with a bidding party.
“‘Three, after assuming coleadership of the Herald for the proscribed year, both parties are free to do as they please regarding their involvement with said newspaper.’”
“What on earth was Seb thinking?” Mark said, obviously as shocked as she was.
Eva shook her head in disbelief. “He must have been crazy. But it won’t work.”
“I’m afraid the will is ironclad.” Lawrence tapped the sheaf of papers with his forefinger.
“But the terms are impossible.” Eva looked from one man to the other. “I have a life, a career in Seattle. I can’t give up everything to come here for a year. It’s different for you, Mark. You already work at the Herald.”
He folded his arms. “I can’t see us working together.”
“Me, neither. No. Never. Not in a million years. Newspaper writing is not what I do.”
“And fluff pieces aren’t what I do.”
Eva drew back and stared at him. “I beg your pardon. Seattle’s Best is every bit as serious a publication as…as a rag like the Herald.”
“The Herald is not a rag!”
Lawrence spread his hands. “People, people, please. This is not the time to argue about who writes what.”
Mark leaned forward. “Okay, but are you sure there isn’t some way out of this?”
The lawyer shook his head. “You’re both free to obtain your own counsel, of course.”
“I intend to,” Eva said. “There is no way I will spend another year of my life in this town.”
“I understand your position,” Lawrence said. “But don’t forget that Mark’s future depends on what you decide. If you don’t accept the terms, Mark loses his inheritance, too, and the newspaper goes on the block. Is that what you want, either of you? Think about it.”
*
MARK STOOD OUTSIDE Lawrence’s office, scanning the adjacent parking lot for Eva. When she’d stormed out, he’d impulsively followed. He wasn’t sure why. What was there to say? That he didn’t want his half of the newspaper? That wouldn’t be true. The Herald and its future meant everything to him. From the day Seb had hired him, Mark had devoted himself to the newspaper and its success.
He ran a hand through his hair. What a disaster.
Eva’s blue outfit made her easy to spot. She marched along, head high, her straw purse swinging from her shoulder. A woman on a mission. He watched her for a moment, debating whether he really wanted a confrontation, and then he ran after her. Just as she reached her car, he caught up.
“Eva!” He grabbed her arm, jerking her to a halt.
She looked down where he gripped her arm and then up at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He let go of her and stepped back. “I, uh, look, I know you’re upset—”
“Upset doesn’t begin to cover my emotional state. I’m devastated. But Seb’s will isn’t going to happen. I’ll call my lawyer. He’ll know what to do.”
He was about to say he’d do the same, but before he could, she said in an accusing tone, “Were you in on this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you know Seb was going to leave the Herald to both of us?”
Her outrageous accusation left him momentarily speechless. “If you’re suggesting I somehow influenced him, you’re dead wrong. Why would I want a mess like this?”
“Half owner is better than being totally cut out, isn’t it?”
“Not if I have to work with you.” He turned and strode off.
CHAPTER THREE
“I HOPE YOU HAVE good news.” Eva was back in Seattle sitting in her cubicle at the magazine. She’d given a copy of Seb’s will to her lawyer, Nolan Cramer, and he’d finally called.
As he spoke, her spirits sank. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?” she asked when he’d finished.
“I’m afraid not, Eva. Sorry. My advice? Accept the terms. You might like the experience better than you think.”
Eva doubted that.
She ended the call and slumped over her desk, head in her hands. Nolan had just confirmed what Lawrence Prentiss had already told her—the will was ironclad. She’d held out hope that the will could be broken, but now that door had closed.
Was there no way out of this?
She sat there, her mind spinning, and sure enough, an idea popped into her head. If her boss, James Forsythe, would take pity on her, she could at least soften the blow. She picked up the phone and
called him.
Luckily, he had time to see her, and half an hour later she sat in his spacious office. As she waited for him to finish a phone call, she gazed around the room, taking in its warm brown-and-yellow color scheme, the desk, the credenza, even an armoire for storing coats. Someday, this office would be hers. She just knew it. Whenever she was in here, she mentally ran through the changes she would make. For starters, she’d replace the hydroplane photos—James’s son was a champion driver—with the colorful giclée flower prints she’d seen in a Pike Place Market gallery. Add a runner to the top of the credenza, and place her pewter umbrella stand, shaped like a half-open umbrella itself, by the door. Personal touches that would put her brand on the office.
Today she didn’t dare play her little game. Too much rode on convincing James to accept her plan. She knew her boss liked her and valued her as an employee. Surely he would help her through this crisis.
He finally finished his call and turned to her, his back to the picture window. The incoming sunlight glinted on the silver highlights in his dark hair.
“I’m glad you’re back, Eva. I’ve been thinking about you down there in Willow Beach and hoping everything was going okay.”
“I appreciate that, James. Yes, I think my father would have liked his memorial service and the reception afterward. But now I have a new problem.” Clasping her hands and leaning forward, she explained about her father’s will. “I don’t want to leave the magazine,” she concluded. “I like working at Seattle’s Best. I think I have a good future here.”
“You do, Eva.”
“So I thought if you could grant me a year’s leave of absence, then I could return when I finish my obligation in Willow Beach. I’ll miss out on any promotion this year, but at least I’ll still be in the game.” She leaned back and held her breath. He would accept her plan. He just had to.
But he shook his head and looked apologetic. “A year’s leave? Much as I’d like to help you out, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Her heart sank, but she wasn’t ready to give up. “Why?”
“A year is way too long. I might get the board to agree to a month, but a year? Never. I’m sorry. You know I’d do anything I could to help you, but my hands are tied.”
Her last hope crushed, Eva looked down to hide her reaction.
James rose, came around the desk and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re disappointed, but why not consider this an opportunity?”
“An opportunity?” she said. “Living in a nowhere town and working for a weekly newspaper? I don’t think so.”
Of course, James didn’t know about Brett and the terrible accident and the memories that haunted her, and she wasn’t about to tell him. She’d never brought her personal problems into the workplace. Absently, she reached up and ran her forefinger over the silver chain. As usual, the medal itself was concealed under her clothing, but she knew it was there.
James clasped his hands behind his back and paced to the window. He looked out at the Seattle skyline, then turned back to her. “You know where I started out? Writing restaurant reviews for a newspaper in California, in a town about the size of your Willow Beach. The experience was the best I could’ve had.”
“But I’m not just starting out,” she complained. “I’m five years down the road. And being exiled to Willow Beach feels like going backward.”
“Your life has taken a different turn. Look on the bright side. Running a paper could be a great opportunity.”
Eva shook her head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, James, but you’ll never convince me that this situation has a bright side.”
Instead of returning to her desk, Eva bypassed her cubicle and continued on to the large window at the end of the hallway and its sweeping view of Elliott Bay.
She folded her arms and leaned against the window frame, idly tracing the progress of a green-and-white ferry on its way to the Olympic Peninsula. Her last option was to refuse the terms of the will. But that would take away Mark’s inheritance, and if the new owner chose to not keep him on, his livelihood, too. He had a daughter to support. Sure, he’d be able to find work somewhere else, but, if she’d understood him correctly, the Herald meant a lot to him. And her father had wanted him to have a part of it.
Eva scrubbed a hand over her forehead. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she denied Mark his inheritance. She had no choice but to give up her own career opportunities and spend a year in her hometown.
With a resigned sigh, she returned to her cubicle. Lying on the top of her desk was the latest issue of Seattle’s Best. The cover featured the title of an article she’d written, along with her byline. A lump formed in her throat. She stared at the cover for a minute or two, then picked up the phone and punched in Lawrence Prentiss’s number.
*
AS SOON AS MARK received the news that Eva had accepted the terms of Seb’s will, and because his own efforts to break the will had proven just as useless as hers, he called an emergency meeting of the staff. Such as it was. Only four people worked for the newspaper full-time and the rest were freelance. The employees dutifully filed into the lounge, poured themselves coffee and sat at the vintage Formica-topped table.
The fragrant aroma of the coffee mixed with the sugary smells from Bon Ton Bakery’s doughnuts. Mark bought the pastries especially for the occasion, hoping to soften the news they were about to receive. He’d filled his mug and taken a couple sips, even though he had no desire for either coffee or sweets.
“What’s up, Mark?” Bernie Sanchez, in charge of advertising, gripped his World’s Greatest Husband coffee mug, a present from his wife, Maria.
Dora Winters, circulation manager and, at sixty, their oldest member, looked up from the multicolored scarf she was knitting. “This meeting is about our future, isn’t it?”
“I bet it has to do with Eva.” Underneath eyebrow-grazing blond bangs, April Hensen’s eyes shifted warily. In her mid-twenties, April did double duty as receptionist and compiler of the Police Beat column.
Their photographer and webmaster, Cody Jarvis, also a twentysomething, fingered the digital camera hanging around his neck. “I thought she went back to Seattle.”
“She did,” Mark said from his seat at the head of the table. “But she’s coming back.”
“What?” everyone chorused.
He held up his hands. “Simmer down and I’ll explain.” He launched into his prepared speech, beginning with Seb’s will and ending with, “Both Eva and I tried to find a way out, and neither one of us was successful. So she and I will be coeditors for the next year.”
A stunned silence filled the room, setting Mark’s nerves even more on edge. But maybe silence was a good sign, and they were only taking time to digest the news.
Bernie was the first to speak. He looked at Mark, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “I was kinda hoping you’d continue to be our leader. Why do we need two bosses?”
“The only answer I have for you is that it’s what Seb wanted.”
“I got the impression she doesn’t want to be here.” Cody folded his arms over his chest, covering the Herald logo on his T-shirt. “And if that’s true, then what kind of a boss will she be?”
“She has a job in Seattle that she really likes,” Mark said.
April flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “Yeah, she thinks she’s better than we are because she works for a big-city magazine.”
“Now, April.” Mark leveled what he hoped was a reproving look at her. “I think you’re being a bit unfair. She prefers the magazine because that’s the kind of writing she wants to do, not because that kind of writing is better than what we do here.”
April’s scornful expression indicated she wasn’t buying Mark’s lame excuse for the impression Eva had made.
Bernie took his mug over to the coffee urn for a refill. “Didn’t she and Seb have a falling-out?”
“My understanding is, yes, they did,” Mark said. “Dora,
you’re the only one of us who was working here at the time. Can you help us out?”
Dora put her knitting down on the table and smoothed a hand over it. “I was here. I’ve been working for the Herald for almost twenty years. I’m a real old-timer. Why, I remember when I hired on. That was when Seb and Boyd Carlstrom were partners, and, oh, my, did we have a time getting this operation off the ground—”
Mark cleared his throat. Sometimes, keeping Dora on track was a challenge. “I’m sure you did, Dora, but about Seb and Eva?”
Dora looked away. “A bad time, that was. It goes back to when Eva’s brother, Brett, died. He drowned in a boating accident, you know. On Pine Lake.”
“He was older than Eva, right?” Bernie slipped into his seat. “I heard some of the guys at Sam’s Garage talking about him. Said he was kinda wild.”
Dora nodded. “He liked a good time. And, yes, he was two years older than Eva. Seb had his heart set on Brett following in his footsteps here at the Herald. When Brett died, Seb went into hiding, and Boyd had to run the show. It was awful. Seb never got over losing his son. Never.”
“What happened to Seb’s wife?” Cody asked. “I’ve never heard much about her.”
“She died two or three years before Brett. Pancreatic cancer. Nasty stuff. Can take you just like that.” Dora snapped her fingers. “Janice was a lovely woman. Quiet and unassuming. Kept in the background. Seb definitely has been the boss in that family.”
“But what exactly caused Seb and Eva’s split?” Mark asked.
Dora shrugged and picked up her needles again. “Seb never wanted to talk about what happened with Eva. Maybe she just didn’t want to be second choice.”
“That doesn’t mean she has to take out her bad attitude on us,” April said.
“Not gonna be too good for morale around here,” Bernie grumbled under his breath.
“Remember, this is what Seb wanted,” Mark said. “And the terms are only for a year. We can handle it.”
A tension-filled silence descended on the group. Bernie drank his coffee and stared into space. Cody pulled a cloth from his back pocket and dusted the lens on his camera, while Dora concentrated on her knitting. April pouted and studied her fingernails.
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