Third Time's a Charm

by Virginia Smith

  “Now you’ve done it, you dumb dog,” Ryan yelled. “You better hope she doesn’t catch you.”

  Tori couldn’t hold back her laughter as the dog, obviously having the time of his life, charged across the barnyard and right through the center of the black mud hole, the furious sow close behind. Where Shep’s hind claws had kicked up puffs of dirt a moment before, now chunks of mud flew as he dug in for purchase in the thick ooze.

  In the next minute, Tori’s laughter stopped abruptly. Wet, slimy mud flew through the air and landed with a sodden splat—right on her! Gasping, she looked down at her clothes. Big splotches of the oozy black stuff dotted her designer clothing.

  Beside her, the boys’ laughter rose to hysterical levels, while Ryan, clearly horrified, stood with his mouth gaping. Out of the corner of her eye, Tori saw Shep clear the mud hole, take a giant leap toward the fence, and scrabble over the top while the angry pig screamed and snorted from below. Tori dropped Ryan’s hand and flicked at the biggest chunk of wet mud to knock it off the front of her jeans.

  Ryan’s shirt had taken some of the splatter too, but the majority of the muck had hit her.

  “Tori, I’m so sorry.”

  Forcing a brave smile, she told him, “It’s okay. It’s just mud. Once it dries, I’m sure it’ll come right out.”

  He blanched, and Cody piped up with a giggle in his voice. “That ain’t just mud, Miss Tori. It’s got poop in it.”

  Tori’s breath stuck in her lungs. Poop? Her stomach gave a lurch as she turned a horrified stare toward Ryan. “Do you mean to tell me I have pig poop on my three hundred dollar jeans?”

  The boys dropped to the ground and rolled, gales of laughter filling the air. Disbelief creased Ryan’s forehead as he took another look at her jeans.

  “You paid three hundred dollars for a pair of jeans?”

  O-kay, that was so not the correct response!

  “They’re D&G,” she snapped, twisting sideways to point toward the leather patch on the waistband. From the blank look he gave her, he didn’t know what that meant. “Dolce & Gabbana,” she ground out through gritted teeth. “They’re made in Italy.”

  Ryan folded his arms, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was smearing splotches of muddy pig poop on his shirt. “Well, hopefully Italian jeans can handle a washing as well as the cheap domestic kind. Let’s go get you cleaned up.” He held a hand toward the house. “Shall we?”

  Tori hesitated. A moment before she’d been hoping he would kiss her, and now she was covered in disgusting filth. So much for her “dress to impress” strategy. The only one she was likely to impress in this condition was the dog, who apparently liked the smell of pig poop. Not only was Ryan not impressed, the disbelief hovering in his eyes as his gaze dropped repeatedly to her jeans held a faint note of disapproval.

  Ouch. That stung.

  Tori forced a smile. “Well, there is one consolation.”

  “What’s that?”

  She plucked at her splattered blouse with a thumb and forefinger. “At least I have a clean shirt to change into this time.”

  His laugh echoed off the wooden barns as they headed for the house.

  16

  The apartment seemed unusually quiet. Tori tried watching a DVD, but even Daniel Craig as James Bond failed to hold her attention, so she turned it off. Music used to draw her in for hours when she was in school, but tonight the stereo couldn’t distract her. She curled up in the corner of her sofa, her uneasy thoughts back on the farm she’d visited this afternoon.

  Being splattered with manure was revolting, of course, but why did she act like such a prima donna about the stupid jeans? In fact, what in the world had possessed her to wear D&Gs to a farm, anyway? A lame attempt to impress Ryan’s family, when they obviously didn’t know the difference between her pricey clothes and the ones they bought at Walmart. And what’s more, they wouldn’t care if they did know. Except, maybe, they’d think she was insane for spending so much money on an article of clothing, like Ryan did.

  At the memory of the disapproval she’d seen on his face, she launched herself off the sofa and paced to the patio doors. He had no right to disapprove of her! She had a good job and could afford to buy whatever clothes she wanted. Just because he had to scrimp and save, that didn’t mean everybody else did too. When he finished his degree and got a better job, his attitude would change.

  She stopped in the act of pulling the cord to close the vertical blinds. No, actually, Ryan’s attitude toward money probably wouldn’t change much, no matter how big his paycheck grew. He had worked hard all his life to earn his way. She couldn’t see him ever dumping a ton of money on something he’d consider frivolous, and his reaction today proved he thought her expensive clothes were frivolous. Now Mitch, on the other hand, probably had as much money in his wardrobe as Tori.

  With a jerk, she shut the blinds. She did not want to be compared to Mitch. Ryan was so much more fun, so much easier to be with. So much more . . . genuine. She grimaced at the word he’d used earlier to describe Ken.

  Ryan’s family was nice too. She liked them, liked being around them. Even Loralee, with her thick hillbilly drawl, was friendlier than most of the people Tori worked with. And Walt, who was building a house for her and their children with his own hands. And Tammy, who loved flowers and baking, and who loaned her a pair of baggy sweatpants to wear home. And Pop . . . Tori’s eyes misted as she remembered the familiar way Pop’s arm circled his wife as she perched on the arm of his chair, and the way he’d teased Tori about opening her gift like a girl. Pop would have welcomed her if she’d been wearing rags.

  A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Why couldn’t her father have been like Pop?

  She brushed the tear away, but another quickly took its place. They’d been there, waiting to spill over since yesterday afternoon when she searched for Daddy’s name on the Internet. She wouldn’t give in to them, to him. Wouldn’t allow him to break her control. Why should she, when he didn’t even care enough to call and let them know he was alive?

  If he was alive.

  Her throat tight, Tori started forward, then stopped, uncertain, in the center of the room. Why did the thought of Daddy being dead send her into such a panic? His absence wouldn’t be any more painful than it already was. There wouldn’t be any difference at all. She wrapped her arms around her middle and hugged. So how come she’d avoided telling Joan and Allie what she found on the Internet yesterday? How come she’d refused to even think about finding out more? What was she afraid of?

  She sucked in a quick breath. She was not afraid. He’s the one who ought to be afraid. Of her, showing up on his front porch and demanding to know why he’d deserted his daughters. Deserted her.

  Spine stiff with sudden determination, she marched across the room to the dinette table, where she’d set up her laptop. A few quick commands brought up the search box she’d seen yesterday, the one with Daddy’s name. And Mom’s. And Patricia Ann Parker’s. She clicked the View Details button, and the screen displayed the payment options she’d seen before. Moving quickly, before she could change her mind, Tori dug a credit card out of her purse and paid the fifteen dollars to get the expanded report.

  The first screen that opened included full addresses in Phoenix, Las Vegas, Dayton, Columbus, and—she gulped—Cincinnati. He’d lived in apartments most places, but the Cincinnati address looked like a house, with no apartment number listed. Snatching a pen and a piece of paper from her purse, she jotted down the address. At the top of the screen, a series of buttons offered the additional searches she’d paid for. She clicked the button to perform a marriage search, and entered Daddy’s name.

  A ton of Thomas Sandersons came up, as before. Tori scanned the column labeled Bride’s Name and quickly found Mom. The date of their marriage and the county was correct. Nothing new there. She looked for another marriage record for Daddy, but didn’t see one. Patricia Ann Parker was nowhere on the list.

  Interesting.


  The row of search buttons at the top of the screen drew her eye. People Search and Marriage Search she’d done. Property Search and Divorce Search didn’t interest her. But the other one . . .

  Her mouth dry, Tori’s finger slid across the touchpad. The mouse arrow glided across the screen and came to rest on the button labeled Death Search. Steeling herself, she clicked.

  Another list appeared on the screen, with columns labeled Name, Age, Year Born, Birth Date. Gulp. The last column held Death Date. A quick glance revealed the entries were sorted in order of that column, with the most recent dates on top. Tori’s breath caught in her lungs as, fearfully, she scanned the list of all the Thomas Sandersons who had died.

  Her eyes snagged on one.

  Thomas Alan Sanderson. Sixty years old. Born January 14, 1949.

  Died March 2, 2009.

  The screen disappeared in a blur of tears. The pain in her chest was vivid and sharp, as though someone had plunged a knife directly into her heart. Tori lowered her head to the keyboard and wept.

  17

  At eight fifty-four Monday morning, Kate led a man and woman down the hallway outside of Tori’s cubicle. She glanced over her shoulder and caught Tori’s eye with a nod toward the conference room.

  Fingers trembling with nerves, Tori opened her top drawer, pulled out a pressed powder compact, and glanced in the small mirror. Her eyes were still a little puffy from where she’d cried herself to sleep, but at least the imprint of the keys from her laptop’s keyboard had finally faded from her cheek. The news washed over her again—Daddy was dead!—and fresh tears threatened. By sheer willpower she forced them not to appear. No red eyes for her first meeting with the clients. With a quick dab of powder on the swollen skin beneath her eyes, she snapped the compact shut and headed for the meeting.

  Kate stepped out of the conference room as she approached. “Go tell Rita to let Dan and Stephen know the clients are here, and ask her to bring in some coffee.”

  Tori nodded, and glanced into the room where the couple stood by the window, looking down into Triangle Park. “They really aren’t expecting us to pitch any ideas, right? I don’t have anything ready to show them.”

  Her boss’s smile was cold. “Maybe if you concentrated on your own work instead of Phil Osborne’s, you’d have something to show for your time last week.”

  The room dimmed around her as angry blood rushed to heat Tori’s face. She clamped her teeth together to keep from snapping a response as Kate turned away and stepped into the room. Not a single hour had passed last week without a phone call or email from Kate, demanding numbers or updates that easily could have waited until she returned to the office. That woman was a micromanaging maniac! Tori ought to quit, that’s what she ought to do. Just walk in there and say the words. “I quit!” Watch Kate’s mouth drop open. If she had another job, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

  Mitch arrived at that moment, a notebook in his hand. He’d ignored her so far this morning. The memory of their encounter in Maguire’s parking lot lay uncomfortably between them as he edged past her into the conference room. He didn’t meet her eye, but mumbled, “’Morning, Sanderson.”

  While she walked around the cubicle maze toward Rita’s desk, Tori gulped deep breaths of air and tried to force herself to calm down. Puffy eyes, Kate, Mitch, and a pair of clients for whom she was totally unprepared. This was shaping up to be the worst morning of her life.

  “I assure you, Ms. Sanderson and Mr. Jackson are two of our brightest analysts. They’ll come up with a campaign that will knock your socks off.”

  The smile Kate flashed around the conference table held so much confidence that Tori almost didn’t recognize her boss as the same woman who’d insulted her an hour before. Mr. Connolly and Mr. Farrin had both put in an appearance early on, and then excused themselves, assuring the Maguires they were in capable hands.

  Mrs. Maguire, whom Tori immediately recognized as the woman she’d assumed was the restaurant’s manager when she and Ryan were there, nodded as she sipped from a white coffee mug. When she lowered it, a new lipstick mark decorated the rim. “I know they’re certainly on the ball. I’m impressed that you’ve already visited the restaurant.” Her gaze settled on Tori, and she gave a small nod. “You’ve been in twice, even.”

  Mitch shot her a narrow-eyed glance, but Tori ignored him. Instead, she focused on Mrs. Maguire, impressed. How many customers had dined in the restaurant in the past week? “You’re very observant of your customers.”

  She smiled. “That’s my business.”

  Mr. Maguire leaned forward, his fingers entwined before him on the table’s surface. “So, you two will put together some ideas and then run them by us, right? How soon will we be able to get a look at what you’ve come up with?”

  Kate answered. “We’ll have something ready for you to look at on July fourteenth. You can come back—”

  “That’s too long. I’d like to see something next week.”

  Beneath the table, Tori squeezed her hands into fists. She didn’t even have a solid idea yet, and it took time to work up sketches and graphic representations suitable for a client’s eyes.

  Kate’s smile didn’t change. “I assure you, this timetable is already accelerated. Some of our campaigns take months to create. We’re moving quickly on yours because we value you as a new client of Connolly and Farrin.”

  “Look, we’ve never hired an advertising agency before.” Mr. Maguire flattened his palms on the table. “You’re probably used to having people sit back and wait for you. But we don’t work like that. We’re used to doing things ourselves, not turning them over to someone else to do for us.”

  Tori glanced at Mrs. Maguire. She was apparently content to remain silent and let her husband speak for her, but her slight nod made it clear the two were in complete agreement. She picked up her mug for another sip, her eyes moving as she looked from her husband to Kate.

  “If this is the first time you’ve hired a marketing firm,” Kate told him, “you may not be familiar with the process involved in creating a highly effective campaign.”

  The man’s lips pursed. “You’re right. We don’t understand. And maybe we can’t have a finished product next week, but I want to see where you’re heading. That way, I can give my input before you get too far down a path I don’t like. Is that too much to ask?”

  Kate paused for only a moment. “Of course not. We’ll show you what we have next Monday.” She held up a finger. “With the understanding that the ideas will be conceptual, not final.”

  “Done.” Maguire sat back, a pleased smile on his face.

  Great. I hope she gives me time to work something up.

  Mrs. Maguire spoke. “Do you have any questions for us?” She gave Mitch an inquisitive look.

  He shook his head and indicated the notes he’d taken from their conversation thus far in the meeting. “I think we’ve got an idea of your expectations.” His expression became overly polite as he turned toward Tori. “What about you, Ms. Sanderson?”

  Tori mirrored Mitch’s polite smile, then allowed her expression to warm as she looked at Mrs. Maguire. “I did have one question. What interested you in the new location?”

  Mr. Maguire held up a hand and ticked off fingers as he answered. “It comes with a lot of the equipment we’d have to buy new elsewhere. It’s empty, so we can move in quickly. It has plenty of parking. The rent is cheap compared to some of the other places we looked at. And the owner is willing to sell sometime next year, if our business supports the investment.”

  She sat up straight. “So you did consider other locations?”

  He nodded. “A few. But this building is perfect. It has everything we’re looking for.”

  Tori started to ask what other locations they’d considered, but Kate’s expression had hardened. Aware of her boss’s eyes fixed on her, Tori smiled and told Mr. Maguire, “Thanks. I was just wondering.”

  “Well.” Kate rolled her chair back and stood. “If you
have no more questions for us, I think that does it. We’ll expect you at nine next Monday.”

  Everyone got out of their chairs. Mr. Maguire extended a hand across the table to Mitch. “If you have any questions for us in the meantime, give us a call. We don’t mind.”

  “Thank you, sir. I look forward to showing you my ideas. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  The brown-noser. Tori noticed that Mitch’s habitual smirk was absent, replaced by a confidence he projected toward the clients. He’d been calmly professional through the whole meeting, exuding competence. No wonder Mr. Maguire directed most of his questions toward Mitch instead of her. With a sinking heart, she realized Mitch looked like an account executive. Whereas she probably looked like an inexperienced analyst pretending to be an executive, even dressed in the new suit she’d bought just for this meeting. For the first time, new clothes weren’t giving her the confidence she needed. What was up with that?

  Now the meeting was breaking up, and Tori hadn’t asked for permission to conduct the research she wanted to do. Nor did she want to say anything that might tip Mitch off to the direction her ideas were heading.

  As she shook Mrs. Maguire’s hand, she was given an opening.

  “I’d like to use the ladies’ room before we leave, if you don’t mind,” the woman said in a low voice. “Can you tell me where it is?”

  “I’ll show you,” Tori said quickly. “It’s on the way out.”

  Mr. Maguire nodded a farewell to Kate and Mitch, and fell in beside them as Tori led the way around the cubicles toward the elevators and the restrooms beyond. She didn’t speak until she was sure they wouldn’t be overheard.