by Diane Moody
“Nita must have been devastated,” Grant said.
“She was. Broke her heart. But she has the strongest faith of anyone I’ve ever known. She says those first few years after Uncle Rafe was killed, she had to rely on her faith just to make it through every day. And she did.
“I, on the other hand, didn’t take it as well. I adored my uncle. He had spoiled me rotten, for all kinds of reasons. And I took full advantage of him, of course.” Another slight smile. “I couldn’t believe God took my mother, then had the gall to take my favorite uncle. I was pretty convinced God hated me.”
“You don’t believe that now, do you?”
“Mostly I try not to think about it. Or God.”
Grant shifted on the bench, facing her. Some day he’d like to talk to her about that. But not tonight. “So tell me about this cup and saucer. What did it look like?”
“The design has all these intertwining lines in cobalt that look like they’re tied with tiny little bows in 22 karat gold. In fact it’s called Cobalt Net because it resembles netting.” She continued describing it in detail to the point he could almost see it. He couldn’t imagine how it must have felt to find out something so precious was gone now. Especially after a day like today.
“I could take one look at that cup and saucer and instantly feel close to my mother. I never knew her, of course, except for the stories Rafe and Nita told me. And Dad, when he could talk about her. Aunt Nita told me the light went out of his soul the day she died.” She tried to smile, her lips trembling. “But she always said I was the one who put it back for him.”
Grant merely nodded, not wishing to interrupt her.
He watched her face begin to crumble. A haunting moan from deep inside gradually grew louder until she could no longer hold it in. She sobbed, the sound of it breaking his own heart. Without thinking, he scooted to her side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She buried her head against his, the sobs still shaking her in his arms. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way.
As her tears began to slow, she pulled a few inches away from him. “I’m so sorry. I guess I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.”
“Like you reminded me earlier, ‘it’s been a day.’”
She wiped her face with the back of her hands. He handed her his handkerchief, another blue bandana.
“It’s clean. I promise.”
She wiped her eyes and nose, then refolded the handkerchief. “I still have your bandana from last night. I promise I’ll get these back to you. After I wash them.”
“No problem. Glad to help.”
“I guess that’s it. First the fire. Then finding out Dad could lose his company. Then he tells me Mom’s cup was smashed to pieces . . .”
“Wait. What do you mean, your dad could lose his company?”
Something flashed through her eyes before she looked down. “I probably shouldn’t say anything. It’s just a bad situation . . . apparently the Blankenship home was make-or-break for him.”
They sat in silence. Grant tried to imagine what it would feel like to lose so much in one day. After a lifetime already marred with loss.
“I’m sorry. Sorry for your dad. His business. And for you as well.”
“Me? Because I’m slobbering over a piece of china?”
“No, not that. I know you were counting on working for your dad.”
Keri stiffened her back and looked away. “Well, who knows, that could still work out. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Hey, why don’t we both just cut to the chase and admit it. We need each other.”
Her head snapped up as she looked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. I need some help. You need a job. Money is no object, so I know I can afford you. You’re interested in journalism. How better to learn the ropes than by jumping in feet first? We need each other. Plain and simple.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. Opened it again and shut it again.
“What’s so hard? Just say yes.”
She jerked her head, looking away from him. He watched her shoulders move up and down as she took several breaths. Was she trying to make a decision? Or was she trying to figure out how to say no? They hadn’t exactly gotten along very well.
At least not until now.
Chapter 5
A couple days later, Grant made sure he got to the office early. Keri would arrive at 8:00 for her first day on the job. He had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, he’d found himself thinking about her way more than he should. Even under normal circumstances. But something was still bugging her. Something about him. He still didn’t have a clue why she seemed to constantly bristle whenever they interacted.
Except for that night at the lighthouse.
A smile warmed his face as he remembered. The warmth of her tears against his skin. The scent of lavender in her hair, its silkiness soft against his hand as he’d gently stroked those curls as he tried to calm her.
“Knock it off, Dawson,” he said aloud to himself. He made a fresh pot of coffee and tried to gather his thoughts as it brewed.
On the other hand, she’s hurting. And she really does need a job.
Grant had called the sheriff on his way to the office.
“Arson,” Bud Tomlinson had said. “There was enough kerosene out there to burn the whole town. Which accounts for how fast it went up.”
“Have you talked to Tyler yet?” Grant had asked.
“Yeah, he was here when I got the call from the insurance folks. The investigation is still ongoing, but their initial findings left no doubt about the cause of the fire.”
He poured himself a steaming cup of coffee and headed back to his desk, trying once again to come up with a game plan. He wanted to help her out. He just wished his intentions were solely from a working point of view.
He heard the back door open. “Back here!” he called.
Keri appeared at his door, her expression stoic. She looked around like she was observing something utterly and completely disgusting.
Well, so much for a good start.
“Good morning. How are you?”
Sad eyes made their way back to him. “Fine. I had no idea this was such a tiny office. It looks bigger from the outside.”
And so much for trying to make a good impression.
“Well, for now it’s all the room we need. Some day, who knows, maybe we’ll grow into—”
“The L.A. Times? Somehow I doubt that.”
He bit his tongue. “Which is fine. Sometimes smaller is better.”
She made no attempt to hide the rolling of her eyes.
“Have a seat, Keri. Would you like some coffee?”
She took a seat. “No thanks.”
He sat back down, tenting his fingers, elbows planted on his desk. “Well, then, first I’d like to talk about the general operation around here, then I’ll show you around—”
“That should take, what—a minute? Two?”
He leveled his gaze at her, opting not to respond. When the silence grew uncomfortable, he continued, filling her in on the day-to-day routine, the weekly schedule with a Friday morning release, and an overview of tasks he’d like her to handle.
“I’m not five, you know. I was on staff for the WSN, the—”
“The Washington Square News. NYU’s campus paper. I’m familiar with it. Quite a prestigious college paper.”
“Then you know I have plenty of experience working for a major newspaper. At least, compared to this.”
It was the dismissive wave of her hand as she’d said it that set his teeth on edge. “Okay, fine. You’re a veteran reporter. I get it. I’m sure you know way more than I ever will. But this is a different beast. Yes, it’s smaller. But it’s MINE. And I’d like at least of modicum of respect if you’re going to work here. Unless it’s beneath you to waste your precious time.”
She held up her hands, closing her eyes. “Fine. I’ll keep my comments to myself. Let’s jus
t get it on with it.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
They stared at each other, unblinking, the tension crackling through the space between them.
Keri fought the urge to bolt. This was ridiculous. If he hadn’t offered such a ridiculously generous salary—which she jumped at, eager to fill her collegiate coffers and get back to school—she would never have stepped foot in this office. It wasn’t really that bad. In fact, she found it rather quaint and appealing. But she couldn’t fight the brewing anger as she watched him sitting behind that old, beat-up excuse for a desk, knowing he should never have walked away from a prominent paper like the Times. It irked her. To the core.
She knew her salary was way over the top, and she also knew he’d done it out of pity for her predicament. But she wasn’t stupid. If he was dumb enough to fork out that kind of money for a rookie reporter—WSN experience notwithstanding—then she would gladly take the money and run.
If I can just keep my mouth shut.
“As I was saying,” he continued, “I would like to get your feet wet, not just reporting, but in the production area as well. It’s a bit archaic at the moment. Though I’m hoping to upgrade next year.”
“Fine.” She studied the blue of his eyes, trying to decide if they were really that blue or perhaps contacts with some color added. Not that it mattered to her.
“And you never know. Some day you may find yourself in an even smaller town with an even smaller press, and you’ll need to know how to make it sing.”
Don’t roll your eyes. Make him think you’re falling for this line of bull. She wondered why his hair was so heavily sprinkled with gray. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It actually adds an air of class. Or something. He’s probably a lot younger than I first thought. Not all that much older than I am. She wondered if he’d ever considered Grecian Formula or one of those gray-removing hair products. Then she realized she was glad he hadn’t. She liked the touches of gray.
Then she wondered why she’d wondered at all.
“And then we’ll get you involved in distribution and marketing at some point. Let you get out there and sell some ads. Give you get a taste of that as well.”
“Wonderful.”
He shot a look at her, narrowing his eyes.
“What?”
He continued to stare at her.
“Look, let’s just get on with it. I’m sure you have a whole list there on that desk somewhere, an entire agenda of assignments you want me to cover. Real hard copy stuff.”
He blinked, saying nothing.
She stood up, rearranging her scarf. “Surely there’s a school bake sale that needs immediate coverage? Or maybe a load of mums arriving at Elizabeth’s florist shop across the street? Maybe a flapjack eating contest in the works? Oh wait, let me guess. A new shipment of Hardy Boy books getting the spotlight at the library? Want me to scoot right over and interview Myrla?” She mimicked a runner’s arms moving back and forth, keeping pace. “Hey, time’s a wasting, boss! Chop chop! There’s a whole big world of news waiting out there, so let’s get this party started!”
He tilted his head at a forty-five degree angle as he tapped a black Bic pen on his desk blotter. “Are you done?”
“Hey, I haven’t even started.”
He shoved his chair back and stood up, bracing both hands on his desk. “Keri? Knock. It. Off.”
His tone caught her short.
“I am one breath away from kicking those cute little sarcastic dimples of yours out that door. How DARE you come in here, mocking my paper! I offered you a job out of the goodness of my heart, mostly because your Aunt Nita asked me to months ago. Long before I stumbled into you at that fire last week. And let’s not forget that hefty salary I stupidly offered to pay you. A salary which, I might add, I am seriously reconsidering at the moment. I’m real sorry you’ve had such a rough time and things aren’t going the way you’d planned. But you either button up that smart mouth of yours and quit copping such an attitude, or you can go crawling over to Chandlers and see if Clara needs help washing dishes.” He straightened, holding up his forefinger and thumb less than a quarter inch apart. “Because I am this close to wishing I’d never met you, Keri McMillan.”
She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes felt like saucers plastered on her face. “I—”
His eyes pierced hers, obliterating every thought from her mind.
Finally, Grant slowly sat back down in his chair. She quietly moved back to the chair she’d occupied, sliding back on the seat while wishing she could somehow disappear beneath it. What have I done? How could I be so thoughtless? And when did I become so obnoxious?
“Now, if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to tell you what I had in mind for your first assignment.”
She lowered her head while nodding, unable to look him in the eye.
“I would like for you to immerse yourself in the investigation of the Blankenship fire.”
She raised her head, searching his eyes. Is he dishing it back at me? Is this some kind of joke?
“No one knows the situation better. No one knows this town like you do. No one understands the dynamics and the implications better. Can you be unbiased? No way. Is there anyone more motivated? Not a chance.”
She swallowed, a lump the size of Mt. Hood sticking in her throat. Emotion burned her eyes and she tried hard not to give in to the tears.
“I don’t know what to say. I—”
“A simple thank you would be really nice about now.”
She couldn’t believe he hadn’t made good on his threat to give her the boot. And now this? She took a deep breath and said the words, meaning them.
“Thank you.”
“Not so hard, was it? Okay, let’s get to work. Here’s what I want you to do.”
She sat in her car, her forehead resting against the steering wheel. The conversation with Grant played over and over in Keri’s mind. She vowed to offer him a serious apology. Soon. Okay, eventually. She hardly recognized that person who’d sat across his desk, hurling insults like some acerbic late-night comic. She cringed, promising herself to try harder. To cut him some slack.
But right now she had a job to do. He’d spelled it out: build a list of suspects.
He’d explained his background in investigative reporting. He’d offered tips and suggestions. She’d bit back some of the retorts that crossed her mind, trying hard to focus on the task at hand. At some point the realization hit her. If she could control her attitude and keep her mouth shut, she might actually learn something from Grant Dawson.
Whether she liked it or not.
She stepped out of her Jeep and made her way up the steps to the sheriff’s office. “Bud, can I have a minute?”
“Hi there, Keri. Come on in. My time is your time.”
“Thanks. I’ve taken a temporary job at the paper working for Grant Dawson. He’s asked me to look into the Blankenship fire.”
“Well, now. Never figured you to be the sleuthing type, but more power to you. How can I help?”
Bud Tomlinson pointed to the extra chair in his office. She took a seat. “If I asked for names, who would you consider at the top of the list of possible suspects?”
He sat down behind his desk. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you? I like that. Well, of course any time there’s trouble in Waterford Bay, Zack Clayton is always at the top of the list.”
“Zack?” she said, scribbling his name on her notepad. “He’s still causing trouble?”
“Did he ever stop causing trouble?” He quirked a smile.
“What kind of trouble?”
“Mostly small stuff. Nothing major. Petty theft, shoplifting, vandalism—”
“Wasn’t he the one who inked the indoor pool at the high school a few years ago?”
“Seems our boy had a problem with the P.E. teacher. And vice versa.”
“Must have been quite a problem. Anything in his file involving arson?”
Bud smiled at he
r as he reached for the file already open on his desk. “You don’t miss much, do you? Let’s see here. Shoplifting, shoplifting, vandalism—he has a real fondness for liquid soap. Likes to put red dye in it and dump it in the town fountain.” He continued browsing the file, flipping page after page. “More shoplifting—mostly cigarettes, mind you. He’s also quite the graffiti artist. Doesn’t even try to hide his tracks anymore. Messed up some buildings, cars, other private property. We’ve lost count on those.
“But no arson. Wait . . . I take that back. Looks like a couple of minor incidents way back. He was only fourteen at the time, so it’s not on his official record. Juvenile stuff. Suspect in a fire at an abandoned barn down at the end of Forest Lane. No charges were pressed. But his name showed up on the list of suspects.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, another case that was never solved. A small row boat in flames found adrift off the shore. Traces of kerosene were found on some of the charred pieces of its hull. Someone saw his truck near the marina shortly before. He said. She said. No solid proof.”
“Let me guess. He was under age. No official record.”
“Atta girl.”
“Have you spoken to him since the Blankenship fire? Does he have an alibi?”
“Oh, Zack always has an alibi. But they’re all his friends. Liars, every one of ‘em. But we’re checking it out.”
“Bud, do you think Zack burned down that cabin?”
He leaned back, hooking his ankle over his other knee. “I don’t know. It’s still early in the investigation. We’ll see what turns up.”
“Anyone else under suspicion?”
“No. Least wise, no one to speak of. How about I give you a call if I hear anything?”
“Fair enough,” she said, standing. “Thanks for your time.”
Chapter 6
“Hey Dad. What brings you to town?” Grant clicked on SAVE to make sure he didn’t lose the article he’d almost finished.
“Oh . . .”
“Take a load off. Want something to drink?”
“No. Thanks.”