by Patrice Lyle
Piper's sculptured eyebrows shot to her hairline. "Seriously?"
I nodded. "Of course I wouldn't drop the story, and the day before I planned on turning over my findings to HR, I got fired. My computer and all my notes were confiscated."
"Holy shiz."
"My head's still swimming from how fast it happened. And when I got home that night, Scott was already—"
"Ugh." Piper cut in. "That guy was a moron. So what if he dumped you? The two times I met him, I wanted to ring his scrawny neck."
"He was a fixer-upper," I admitted, chewing my thumbnail. Honestly, I didn't think about Scott anymore. He was kind of a moron and a major asshat for ending our six-month relationship the way he had…with a note scribbled on the back of a Chinese food takeout menu. I hadn't been able to look at a carton of moo shu pork since.
"It's been over a month," Piper said while making a left turn, cutting off a cop car that didn't bother to follow. "By now, you should be wailing Taylor Swift songs about how much you hate his face."
"I will," I promised with a laugh. "First chance I get."
"And what's Joey's problem? Why did your best friend turn all passive-aggressive and freeze you out? She should be grateful you told her about her lying, cheating fiancé."
I bit down on my nail. Scott was one thing, but I was not going to cry about Joey. I'd done the right thing. "She still doesn't believe me—that's the problem."
"When's the last time you spoke in person?"
I swallowed hard at the hot tears creeping up my throat. Maybe someday I'd stop missing Joey like I'd already stopped missing fixer-upper Scott. "The day before Scott and I broke up, which very much sucked because not only had I just been dumped, but fired. I really needed my best friend."
Piper turned to me while we idled at a red light. "Jeez, Mare. What the hell did you do to Karma?"
"Something extremely heinous, evidently." I pressed my forehead against the window. Adding to the gloom, the clouds had cracked open and it was showering like mad, which felt about right for the sulky mood trying to weigh down my spirits.
"It doesn't matter now." I pushed back my hair and sat up in my seat, trying, despite my fatigue of body and attitude, to display positivity. "This is a new beginning for me—totally fresh. How many people get to start their lives over?"
"By writing for The Standard?" My sister's voice went monotone. "You won't find an exciting news story to save your life. Nothing ever happens around here. Trust me." She uttered this so matter-of-factly that I felt a block of ice swish around in my stomach. "Though I did hear from this one guy that something weird is happening at the paper. Like an internal shuffle, new rules, new management. Honestly, I was surprised they hired you."
"Yeah?" A rock of dread replaced the ice in the pit of my stomach.
"It's probably just gossip. You know, small town."
I blew out my held breath, but the rock didn't go away. "Yeah, I know."
As far as it potentially sucking here? My brain had already come to terms with that. Ten years ago, I'd fled Eureka three days after high school graduation and spent four years at NYU waiting tables and writing for the Washington Square News, the university's student newspaper.
While working at The Standard, the best I could hope for was a story about a new color of seaweed washing up on the beach at high tide. My organs lurched when Piper shifted to second gear, ready to pull into the parking lot of my new office building.
"Be honest. Do I totally reek of bus?" I asked, ignoring the wretched glob of nerves writhing in my gut.
Piper pulled to a stop then leaned toward me and sniffed the air. "Surprisingly not. But I can't believe you have to work already, and we can't hang out. You just landed—or, you know."
"Today's the date my boss and I agreed on." I yanked down the visor mirror and gave myself a quick check. "I didn't think it would take five frickin' days to get here."
"Mom offered to fly you, but that delightful stubborn streak of yours wouldn't allow it."
I rolled my eyes. "I know."
"She was coming to meet you too, but she had some exercise thing—tap dancing, this time. She's letting you drive the Taurus until you get your own car."
"That's thoughtful," I said, though I wasn't surprised. Our mother was extremely unselfish, just kind of…a handful.
"You and I are hitting the town tonight," Piper added.
"Do you really think I'll be in the mood to go out?"
"Precisely why we are." She hit a button, and my door unlocked. "Text when you're done for the day, and I'll pick you up. Good luck." She lifted a bright, genuine smile. "I know you think this place is a drag and everything, but I love living here—it's special. I wish you could see that. Mare, I'm so glad you're home."
A rush of heavy, mixed emotions made it hard to speak, so I simply nodded, took one last deep inhale, and climbed out of the car. "Thanks for the ride."
"Don't forget, it's going to suck!" she called as I shut the door. "Nothing wicked, corrupt, or evil ever happens here!"
I didn't realize it at the time, but neither of us knew how deathly wrong she was.
CHAPTER TWO
I dashed through the drizzle to the building entrance, a wide awning sheltering me from most of the rain. I stared at the double doors with the words The Standard etched across the glass, not quite able to grasp the handle. Piper was already pulling away, I was completely out of money, so really, what other choice did I have?
Time to start your new life, I thought, giving myself one more pep talk as I stepped up to the door.
Before I entered, a movement caught my attention. Someone was off to the side, no more than twenty feet away, watching me, or at least watching the entrance. It was a man, no coat, no umbrella, though he did have the hood of his black sweatshirt over his head, which did nothing to keep him dry. The image of him hanging out in the rain gave me a chill, reminding me of scenes from one of the movies I'd watched and re-watched on my road trip, that slasher film about the hook-wielding dude in fisherman's garb who hunted down all those college kids. Cheery thought, Maren.
On second glance, he might've been homeless, and I was about to dig for change in my purse when he produced a cell phone and snapped a picture of me. Then another.
"Hey!" I shifted my weight to cross the parking lot and demand his phone. But before I could even blink, there was only mist where he'd been standing. I moved to the edge of the awning, as far as I was willing to go, but he'd disappeared into the foggy morning.
Or…had he been there in the first place?
Stupid horror movie messing with my brain.
I inhaled, surprised when my lungs shook. Now was not the time to start questioning my sanity, so I cinched the ties of my trench coat and sucked in a deep breath, a calming one this time. Then I pulled open the door of The Standard.
An armed guard stood just inside the lobby. Who needed security in a town like this? I told him who I was, and he picked up a phone, spoke to someone, then let me through, pointing down the hall.
Mac Gardner had interviewed me twice over the phone, and we'd emailed back and forth about the job last week. He expected me at 7:30 on the dot. I passed by a few dark offices housing stacks of file boxes. I wondered if they'd been reducing staff, like most other broadsheet papers.
Piper's words came back to me. Though I was dying to be one, I'd still yet to be a proper investigative journalist. I was, however, born overly curious, and I suddenly questioned how I'd managed to land a job in the middle of a downsize.
I wasn't allowed to wonder for long, because around the next corner I arrived at the open bullpen. The room was smaller than I was used to, but it appeared similar to The New York Times space…just on a much smaller scale. There were clusters of desks with no dividers, laptops, coffee cups, people running around or standing around, everyone talking. Instant energy.
I let out a huge breath. It already felt like home.
Thanks to the Nevada pit stop, I wore what I hope
d was an appropriate outfit for my first day as editorial reporter at a daily newspaper with a circulation of 12,000—white collar shirt, dark gray pencil skirt that hit my knees, tall black boots with a sensible heel, and khaki trench coat tightly belted to keep out the chill.
The managers' and editors' offices were around the perimeter of the bullpen. I scanned the names on the doors for Mac Gardner.
"Excuse me—sorry. You passed right by my desk. Can I help you?" A young woman with red hair and bright green eyes touched my sleeve. "I was behind the coat rack, so you didn't see me." She gestured at her short stature.
"I'm here to see Mac Gardner. It's my first day!" I flashed a semi-nervous, ta-da! kind of smile. "I'm Maren Colepepper."
"Oh. Hi. Ummm…" She sucked in her bottom lip to chew. When a guy rushed by, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. "Robby, she said she's new today, and is here to…to see Mac." She spoke the last few words slowly while staring ominously into the guy's eyes, like she was trying to convey a message telepathically.
Robby deciphered her mental memo and replied with, "What about—"
"That's what I'm saying," the redhead said. "What should I…?" She cocked her head, pointing infinitesimally toward the corner office.
"I don't know, take her to him."
My head swiveled back and forth like I was watching a tennis match. So cloak-and-dagger, these two. "I'm Maren," I said, stepping up to the guy and sticking out my hand for him to shake. "Nice to meet you, Robby."
He blinked at me, then at my hand. Then he shook it, a ghost of a confused yet polite smile on his face. "Hi. Sorry, it's a crazy morning. I'm Robby Porter, and you met Kim?" He gestured to the redhead.
"Not officially. It's nice to meet you." I took a beat and smiled. "Officially."
"I love your trench," Kim said. "Is it Burberry?"
"Thanks!" My grin widened. "And no. It's a knockoff from Canal Street."
"The one in New York?"
"It's where I'm from," I said automatically but then backtracked. "I mean, I'm from here, actually, Eureka, but I moved to New York ten years ago."
"And you came back?" Kim puckered her lips and exhaled a bemused sigh. "Wow."
We stood for a few silent moments. Neither of them seemed to know what to do next. "Anyway," I said, taking the lead. "Where is Mac's office? I don't want to report late on my first morning. Just point the way."
"Okay," Kim said after glancing once more at Robby, who shrugged and walked off. "It's over here." She led me toward the corner office she'd gestured to a minute ago. She stood in the doorway and cleared her throat. "Mr. Brady?"
Someone within corrected her.
"Sorry." She tittered softly. "Eric, I mean. There's someone here to see you. It's her first day, she said Mac hired her." Kim glanced at me, dropped her eyes, then slowly backed out of the office.
Who was in there? A redhead-eating ogre? And why did it feel like the eyes of everyone in the bullpen were boring into my back? I sucked in a quick breath and crossed the threshold.
It wasn't an ogre at all. Just an ordinary guy. Well, not that ordinary, actually. He was cute, in a boyish, curly-haired, Ferris Bueller kind of way. He sat at a huge desk, halfway hidden behind one open laptop computer, one desktop computer, and two additional screens.
"Hello there." He stood and moved to the front of the desk. There were bags under his eyes, and yet he lifted a pleasant smile. He wore a dark suit, but the shirt underneath was rumpled, and there was a spot on his tie.
Shiz, even cuter.
"Eric Brady," he said. "Managing editor. And you are?"
"Maren Colepepper. Sorry, I'm not sure what happened. Is Mac—"
"No longer at the paper?" He shook his head. "Regretfully, no. We had a change in staff only three days ago."
Hmm. So Piper's gossip was correct.
"Your personnel file must be lost in cyberspace. Please." Eric gestured to a chair, and I sat while he moved behind all his screens and pushed a button on the desk phone. "Kim, would you have HR email me Ms. Colepepper's sheets?" He focused his eyes on me, looking small behind all that desk, rather like he was playing "office" in his daddy's chair. "While we wait for that, tell me about yourself and your experience."
I hadn't expected to do the show-pony routine today. But I launched in, describing my first assignments at the student paper right here in Eureka, my editorials at NYU, and then my job writing for The Book. He seemed impressed, and I was more than relieved when he didn't ask why I'd left my last job.
If I could help it, I didn't want to mention that to anyone ever again.
After a few minutes, he glanced at one of the computer screens. "Ahh, okay, here you are." He started clicking his mouse, reading, I suspected, an electronic copy of my résumé. He nodded every once in a while, and I tried to push out of my mind that I was interviewing all over again—for a job I thought I already had, for a job I traveled three thousand miles for.
"I see." Eric typed for a few moments then leaned back in his chair, his eyes studying my face. They were sky blue and kind of twinkly. Something about his lingering gaze made me want to giggle and blush. "I lived in New York, too," he finally said. "You actually remind me of someone there. A friend. A good friend." He winked.
"Oh?" I asked, not only because that should've been interesting but because his steady stare and flirty smile were starting to fluster me. Before I could say more, Eric was on his feet, leading me by the elbow out of his office.
Damn, I blew it. I couldn't believe I blew it. Would Dad let me live at home even if I didn't have a job? Or would he turn all "tough love" and kick me to the streets? I didn't know how homeless people managed here. The town was so small. Where would I go when it rained? It rained a third of the year in Eureka! I'd never get dry!
"We'll put you here for now," Eric said, stopping at a desk a few feet outside his office door. "Kim emailed that we've got an extra laptop and tablet. IT will set up your email and security pass."
I was so stunned that I didn't know what to say.
"Chip Davis is the chief editorial editor," Eric added. "You'll get your assignments from him."
Though my heart still pounded from the leftover burst of panic, I nodded and grinned, doing my best not to reach out and hug the guy.
Eric scowled at his watch. "I wish I had more time, but I've got a meeting." He was about to walk away, but turned back and flashed that Ferris Bueller smile. "Welcome aboard, Maren Colepepper. I know you and I will get along just fine. I can already feel it."
An hour later, I had a desk phone, a brand new white tablet, a temporary security badge, press credentials, and a parking spot for my future car, aka Mom's blue Taurus. Meeting with Chip Davis, my immediate supervisor, was the next order of business.
"So you've done…" Chip's scruffy, gray-bearded chin jutted out as he read the computer screen through bifocals. "Looks like your most recent experience was at a magazine." He removed his glasses and eyed me across his desk. "Is that what you're interested in? Op-Eds?"
"At NYU, I was the deputy managing editor for two years. At the beginning of my senior year, I advanced to Investigations. That interested me the most, by far. My career in editorials just kind of happened, but…"
"Ahh, you fancy yourself a sleuth?" He chuckled and steepled his fingers. "Didn't we all at one time?"
I smiled back. At least he hadn't laughed me out the door.
"Investigative gigs eventually come up. My advice is to always be ready. If you've got the chops, you'll get the chance." He grinned, good-naturedly. "In the meantime, browse the online archives and see what our paper's all about."
I nodded like a good worker bee. "Sounds great, Chip. No problem."
Later, as I was clicking through screens of past articles, I noticed a theme. Weather reports: rain. Sports recaps: rained out. Other local news like someone's granny was having a yard sale, and another's tabby cat was still at large, and the merchants of Arcata were in an uproar last Halloween because of t
he mess vandals left at the plaza.
I sank into my chair, wondering what I'd gotten myself into and halfway praying for a lovely little earthquake to report on, or maybe being super lucky and stumbling upon a nice homicide.
Mom always said to be careful what I wished for.
"Maren." Chip leaned halfway out his office and crooked a finger. "I've got something for you."
I scraped back my chair and grabbed my tablet.
"It's not much," he said before I'd even made it through the door, "but since Iona is on press releases, we might as well give you a chance, see how you do with writing about an event."
"Really?" I perked up. I didn't think I'd be assigned a story for weeks. "Thank you so much. I appreciate your confidence in me."
He chuckled and rubbed his jaw. "Don't thank me yet. It's covering a protest at the lumber yard."
"Beaver Lumber or Sierra Pacific Industries?"
"SPI."
I tapped info into my tablet.
"Protesters have been there since sunrise, not much action. Word on the street is they're going to list their grievances today." He slumped in his chair and exhaled, a bit jadedly. "Probably the same old song and dance: pollution, planet, children, puppies." He broke off to laugh, so I laughed along, politely.
Growing up on the North Coast, people usually fell into one of two sides, namely, pro-environment or radically pro-environment. Even when the two sides wanted the same thing, there was still civil unrest.
"Head over there, see if you can get any quotes," Chip suggested. "Nothing too cuckoo, though—don't want to give credence in case it's not a proper demonstration. Most of the time it's down-and-outers wanting a reason to gather and complain. We don't need another Occupy Eureka."
I was nodding and typing one-handed, while inner-laughing at Chip's conservative position, quite uncommon in this liberal neck of the woods.
"When do you want it?" I asked, already imagining the title of my article: "Superstar reporter breaks strike. Brings two sides together in successful negotiations."