“There’s no money owing now,” Mark said.
“Under Seb’s leadership, circulation and advertising increased. He put the paper in the black again.”
“Thanks, Dora,” Mark said. “Maybe that doesn’t explain everything, but it helps a lot. Seb told me that whatever happened, he didn’t want Boyd to own even a piece of the newspaper again.”
*
THE FOLLOWING DAY, as Eva worked on her Our Town column, a shadow fell across her doorway. She looked up to see Mark. His brows were furrowed and his mouth tight. She tensed. She didn’t need another confrontation.
“We need to talk,” he stated in clipped tones.
“Sounds serious.” Eva kept her voice calm. “But can it wait? I’m in the middle of something.” She pointed to the rows of text on her computer screen.
He folded his arms. “No, it can’t wait. We’ll use my office.”
She heaved a sigh. “Give me a minute to finish this sentence.”
Eva saved her work and then, nerves tingling, followed Mark down the hall. What could be serious enough to warrant a special meeting?
Once inside his office, she lingered near the door, shifting from one foot to the other. The faint smell of newsprint and fresh ink caught her attention and she noticed a stack of the latest edition of the Herald on the worktable.
He stepped behind her and shut the door with a firm hand, then waved at a chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”
She straightened her spine and stood her ground. “If this is a complaint, let’s get it over with.”
A scowl twisted his features. “It’s a complaint, all right—about your meeting with Boyd Carlstrom.”
She let his words hang in the air a few seconds. “Wow, the town’s grapevine is amazing. But, okay, so he and I had lunch together? Why is that any of your business?”
“If your meeting had to do with the Herald—and I’m guessing it did—it is my business.”
She lifted her chin. “You don’t need to worry about anything.”
“Just how much do you know about Boyd Carlstrom?”
Eva refused to be cowed by his intense scrutiny. “I remember him from when I was a little girl. He was always nice to me. I know he and my father went to college together and they bought the newspaper when the Drakes retired.”
“But do you know why they had a falling-out?”
“I, uh…” What was the reason? It dawned on her that she’d asked Boyd that very question over lunch, but he’d never answered her. “Let’s hear your version.”
“Have a seat, then.” He gestured again to the chair. “This may take a while.”
She would’ve remained standing, just to defy him, but the flats she was wearing pinched her toes. “All right.” She slumped into a chair, but not the one he indicated.
Mark strode to the window. His back was to her as he gazed out, but his firm tone traveled easily across the room. “When your brother was still alive, they argued over which of their sons was going to be the boss here when they weren’t around anymore. Might seem to have been a bit premature, but each was set on his son taking over.”
Eva clenched her hands into fists. “Do we have to discuss this?”
“Yes, we do. I want to get something straight with you. Anyway, after your brother’s death, your father sort of dropped out for a while.”
“I don’t need to hear what happened then,” Eva said through her teeth.
“And by the time he got himself together, Boyd and his son were running the show. Then Boyd got into financial trouble and Seb was able to borrow money to buy him out. But he said he never wanted Boyd to have anything to do with the Herald again.”
“We don’t have that in writing anywhere. It wasn’t in the will.”
“Okay, but he told me often enough, and you can take my word for it. I’m guessing that Boyd offered to buy you out when your year is up.”
“It’s none of your business what Boyd and I discussed. He might have asked me to lunch to say he was sorry about Dad’s passing and because he wanted to renew his relationship with me.”
“For an ulterior motive.”
“And you don’t have an ulterior motive in trying to poison me against him?”
He faced her and spread his hands. “No, my motive is clear and simple. I am honoring your father’s wishes. I don’t want Boyd anywhere near the Herald.”
“Your loyalty is admirable, but I don’t share it.”
He crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Why, Eva? What went wrong between you two? It’s more than your refusal to work here after you graduated college.”
Eva looked down at her hands still clenched into fists. Straightening her fingers, she laid her palms flat on her lap and took a deep breath.
“I have no control over where Boyd goes, and if he comes here and you want to throw him out, that’s up to you. But I’ll associate with whomever I please. He is an old friend. He hasn’t done anything to me, and if I want to have lunch with him, I will.”
“Despite what happened between him and your father.”
“I’ll have to hear his side before I make a judgment call.”
Mark propped his hands on his hips. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m being fair. Which is more than I can say for you!”
Striding to his desk, Mark sank into his swivel chair. He leaned forward and ran a hand through his hair. Several tense moments passed with neither saying a word.
Finally Eva stood. “Is that all?”
He didn’t look up. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“In that case, I’ll get back to work. I have a column to write.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVA DROVE ALONG Oak Avenue, her old neighborhood, gazing at the houses as she passed by. She easily recognized the two-story yellow house that belonged to the Halversons. Last time she was here, after her college graduation and just before she left Willow Beach for good, tricycles lined the driveway. Now two-wheelers had taken their place. The Halverson kids were growing up.
The Coltons’ house sported a new paint job, bright lavender with navy blue trim. Eva shook her head. That color combination might work for one of the Victorian-style homes up on the bluff, but down here? Uh-uh.
Her stomach tensed as she approached the next house—where she’d grown up and where her father continued to live alone after she moved to Seattle. The house he died in. A modest one-story frame home painted white, with nothing particularly distinctive about it. Unless you’d lived there, as she had, and then the memories stored inside made it special.
She’d been in Willow Beach over a month and she’d yet to begin cleaning out the house. She could hire someone to do it, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to involve strangers with something so personal. Yet, she had to get the place ready to put on the market. She’d driven by several times, armed with empty boxes but without the courage to stop and go in. Today being Sunday, and with no other obligations and no trip to Seattle, she decided she couldn’t put it off any longer.
She turned into the driveway and cut the engine. For a few minutes she just sat there, absently fingering the keys. Finally, she slipped them into her purse and, with a sigh, pulled out Seb’s house key, which Mark had given her the first night she’d come to town.
She stepped from the car and reached into the backseat to grab one of the empty boxes. As she made her way up the stone sidewalk leading to the porch, her gaze slid to the rattan chairs and table, then lingered on one of the chairs. Her father had often sat there in the evening, his feet propped up on the porch railing, the ocean breeze curling the pages of whatever he was reading, a fishing or a golfing magazine or, if it was Wednesday, the current issue of the Herald.
A lump rose in her throat and she quickly headed for the door. She slid the key into the lock and let the door swing open. Standing on the threshold, she wished she were someplace, anyplace, else. With a deep sigh, she stepped inside.
Suddenly, she was a child again, livi
ng here with her mother and father and Brett. She could hear their voices, her mother’s soft and sweet, her father’s bold and decisive. And Brett’s? Cajoling when he wanted something and laughing when he got it, which he usually did.
Pushing away the memories, she concentrated on the task at hand. Where to start? Not the kitchen. She couldn’t go in there. Not yet.
She turned to the living room, which was at the front of the house, and looked around. The furniture she’d either sell to the used-furniture store in Thornton or donate to charity. What needed her attention were the personal items. Her gaze landed on the bookshelf built into one wall. That would be a good place to start.
*
“MS. SINCLAIR?”
Eva looked up from her typing to see Luci Jordan, the Herald’s high-school intern for the coming school year, standing in the entrance to her cubicle. Mark had introduced Luci to the staff a few days ago. Eva instantly liked the young teen, and seeing her now boosted her spirits.
“Hey, Luci. What’s up?”
“Do you have a minute? If not, I can come back later.”
“Now’s good. Come on in and sit down.” She gestured to the straight chair by her desk.
Luci slipped into the chair, pushing her shoulder-length red hair behind both ears to reveal small silver hoop earrings. She met Eva’s gaze with a wrinkled brow. “I’m here to ask you for a favor. A big favor.”
“I’m listening.” Eva sat back and rested her hands in her lap.
“We want to have a fashion show.”
“We?”
Luci’s brown eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Our Home Living class. We want to have a back-to-school show, and we want you to be our announcer.”
Eva pressed her palm to her chest. “You want me to be the emcee?”
“Yes, to introduce the models and comment on the clothes.”
Eva nodded. “Your teacher is Fran Oliver, right? Is she agreeable?”
“Mrs. Oliver said I could ask you.”
“Mrs. Oliver and I went to high school together.”
“That’s what she said. She was going to call you but then decided I should do the asking.” Luci shifted in her chair and crossed her ankles. Her toenails, peeking out of her sandals, were painted a red that matched her hair.
“Anyway, you know a lot about clothes. You always look so nice. And you write such good articles about fashion for Seattle’s Best.” Luci nodded at the framed covers of the magazine that Eva had hung on her cubicle walls.
“You’ve read my articles?” Eva was amazed. She didn’t think anyone in Willow Beach even knew about the publication. “Is the magazine on sale here?”
Luci flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder. “No, but my aunt in Seattle buys it and sends it to me. I plan to go to the U and major in journalism. That’s where you went, isn’t it?”
Eva nodded. “That’s a good choice.”
“I figured it was when your father recommended it. He came to our journalism class last year and talked to us about making journalism a career. He was so inspiring.”
Eva sighed. Her father popped up in conversations all too often. Yet, why not? This was his territory.
“So, would you help us out?” Luci’s brown eyes radiated cautious hope.
An idea popped into Eva’s mind. “I will, but there’s a catch.”
Luci looked down at her hands. “Oh…”
“A fun one. I will be your emcee if you’ll write an article about the show for the Herald.”
Luci pointed her thumb at her chest. “Me? Write an article?”
“Sure. You want to be a journalist, don’t you? You’re working here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m opening the mail and running errands, not writing anything. Mr. Townson said that would come later.”
“This fall will be later.”
Luci raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Don’t we have to ask him first?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that. And Cody can take photos to go along with your article.”
“Cody? He’s cool. My best friend, Jaycee, has a crush on him.”
“Really?” The way Luci’s eyes shone, Eva guessed she might be harboring a crush of her own. “I’m sure he’ll be a good photographer. Why, the article might even make page one.”
Luci clapped her hands. “The front page? Oh, Ms. Sinclair, that’d be awesome!”
Eva reached for the printout on her desk of the Herald’s upcoming front page. She pointed to the photo that accompanied the feature article. “Can’t you just see, instead of this dull shot of…what?” She leaned closer to read the caption. “Can you imagine, instead of the city-council discussing proposed budget cuts, a big, splashy color shot of the models on the runway? It’d be eye-catching and very dramatic.”
“But we don’t have a runway. We’ll be using the auditorium’s stage.”
“That’s okay. We’ll make it look like a runway. You have a drama department, don’t you?”
A look of understanding crossed Luci’s face. “Yes, and they have stage props. I see what you mean.”
They spent a few more minutes discussing the show. Eva promised to call Fran and begin making plans. Luci fairly danced out of Eva’s cubicle, and Eva went back to her column with renewed energy. A fashion show. That was something to look forward to. Something that would benefit from her expertise.
Then reality set in and her shoulders slumped. She seriously doubted Mark would approve giving any newspaper space to a high-school event, let alone on page one. He’d consider the article “fluff.”
She wouldn’t approach him with the idea now, especially in light of the clash they’d had last week over Boyd Carlstrom. The show was a couple months off. There would be time to prepare him later.
*
THAT EVENING, MARK TOOK the latest issue of the Herald into the living room and settled into his recliner. Each Wednesday, he liked to peruse the latest issue as though for the first time. At his feet, Sasha played with her doll family. He watched her for a few moments, smiling at her voice changed as she spoke for the various dolls. Then he settled back and unfolded the newspaper, breathing in the ink scent.
Before he could read the headline, the scene he’d had with Eva last week over Boyd Carlstrom popped into his mind, along with a tension that tightened the back of his neck. Of course, he couldn’t force her to keep away from Boyd. By telling her of Seb’s wishes, he’d hoped she’d come to that decision on her own. He would bet a month’s salary that Boyd had offered to buy Eva’s half of the newspaper once the year of coeditorship was up. Well, he wouldn’t allow that to happen. Seb hadn’t wanted Boyd to have anything more to do with the Herald, and somehow, Mark would see that Seb got his wish.
He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to banish the negative emotions his thoughts churned up. Why was he worrying about the future now? This was his time to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
The article he’d written about the city’s proposed budget cuts, featured on the front page, presented both sides of the controversy, and Cody’s photo of the lively discussion at the council meeting captured the intense feelings of the debate.
He finished reading the paper and felt a surge of pride and satisfaction. Yes, sir, news, important community news, that was what the Herald was all about. He wished Seb were here to see the issue. He’d be pleased, too. A wave of sadness rolled through Mark. He missed his mentor every day. He’d never forget the man or the lessons he had taught him.
His chest tight, he put the newspaper aside and leaned forward to gaze down at Sasha. “How are the dolls tonight?”
She looked up from poking a flat-heeled shoe on a child doll’s bare foot. “Janie is sad.”
“Really? Why?”
“Well, she has a daddy—” she picked up a male doll dressed in a business suit and waved it at Mark “—but she doesn’t have a mommy.”
“Then who is that?” He pointed to the female doll dressed in a skirt and blouse lying nearby.
<
br /> “She’s just a friend. Not a mommy.”
“Ah, does Janie want a mommy?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.
Sasha poked out her lower lip. “’Course she does. I do, too.”
Mark’s heart wrenched. He slipped from the chair and sat beside her, laying a hand on her thin shoulder. “Sweetheart, you do have a mommy. She’s not here with us, but she’s still your mommy. We have a lot to remember her by. She even bought the chair I was sitting in.”
“But it’s hard to ’member her.”
“Her picture is over there on the mantel. And you have another one on the table by your bed.”
Sasha looked up at the photo. “That’s only a picture, not a real mommy.”
Mark straightened the collar of her pink blouse. “And you’ve got a daddy—me. I’ll be the best one I can be.”
She relaxed her pout into a smile. “I know. I love you, Daddy.”
He struggled to control his voice. “Love you, too, baby.” He put his arm around her and gave her a hug. Then, pulling away, he picked up the male doll. “So this dude is Janie’s daddy, huh? What kind of job does he have?”
“A job in an office, like you, ’cept he dresses up more.”
“I see that. Must be a banker or a stockbroker. So, where’s his office?”
“Over there, by the big chair.”
“Okay.” Mark hopped the doll across the carpet and propped him against the chair’s leg and then turned back to Sasha. “Hey, I know a little girl who’s having a birthday soon.”
Sasha giggled as she picked up the female doll. “Me.”
“Right. Have you decided who to invite to your party?”
Sasha hung a plastic purse over the doll’s arm. “Um, Bella, and Suzette, and Colleen. And Mary Lou…”
“All girls, huh?” He grinned.
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like boys.”
“Uh-huh. For now, you don’t.”
“What do you mean, Daddy?”
She slanted him a quizzical look, and he couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Never mind. That sounds like a good group.”
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