Cover Story (17 page)

“Finally.” I heard the smile in his voice. “I was beginning to think we’d never connect again. In fact, I hear you’ve become quite good friends with my receptionist.”

My heart was running far too fast for banter. “Er, yes. Look, I only have a minute, but I promised that I’d call and—”

“Tobi, you don’t owe me anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to call. It’s just that I’ve got the story of the year on my plate and I need a little time …”

“I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here afterward.”

“Thanks, Simon.” But I still felt like I’d let him down.

Whenever I had a spare second—which wasn’t often—I called my mother. Kevin hovered as I left messages on both her home answering machine and her cell’s voicemail. I suspected she was avoiding me—her answer to problems had always been to ignore them, and frankly that suited me just fine with the amount of work I had on.

The only person from Los Alamos Court I spoke to at length was Rafaella—who’d come forward as the whistleblower to huge shows of support—and that was over the phone.

Then, two weeks after Rafaella’s interview, I got a call from another advertising agency wanting to use the “famous Los Alamos Court” gnomes in a TV campaign for pineapples (two of the photographed gnomes were carrying pineapples). Still in the thick of covering the political and criminal fallout, things eased enough that I took a couple of hours off to visit Valentina. I could have discussed the offer with her by phone and popped the information in the post, but I needed to get out of the office. The intensity was exhausting and a trip to Los Alamos Court sounded peculiarly appealing.

I pulled up in her driveway—still not thinking even a little bit about Simon’s deli-declaration … or Simon himself … or his kisses—and grabbed the paperwork. But before I could open the driver’s door, I heard a thud on the car roof. Instinct made me freeze but then my rational brain kicked in. It was broad daylight in a quiet little dead-end street—what sort of threat could there be? It was probably a branch from an overhanging tree.

I opened my door and leaned forward to get out but jumped back in when something sharp hit my forehead. I slammed the door closed and I lifted a finger to the injury site. Blood. Oh, this was one step too far.

“Winston! You get off my roof!”

No movement. No noise.

I opened the door again but leaned back, keeping all body parts clear of the opening.

Fast as lightning, a black paw swept down in an arc of menace, then retreated again.

I thumped the ceiling. “Winston! I mean it. Get off my roof or I’ll … I’ll …” What exactly did I have to threaten him with? What did cats fear? Dogs? I thought of Remington and Deefer. Nope, not going to work. A large blunt object? A vision of Winston taking the blunt object from me and bashing me over the head leaped to mind. And that’s when I made a terrifying realization.

Winston was top of the food chain. My place in the chain was to scurry away like a little bunny rabbit when a roaring lion prowled through the jungle. And if Los Alamos Court had taught me nothing else, it was that I needed to pick my battles. Sometimes putting up a fight was nothing more than a waste of energy.

Time for plan B.

I scooted over the gear stick to the passenger seat and hastily flung open the door, but the black paw appeared, claws at the ready.

I thumped the ceiling again. “Winston! Get off my roof!”

Nothing.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement further up the driveway.

“Winston, darling, there you are,” Valentina called out. “I’ve got a little cream left over from filling the layer cake”.

Two paws appeared on my windscreen followed by another two, as he elegantly slid down the glass and swaggered across my bonnet. As he passed Valentina, he circled her legs, making the briefest of eye contact with me, then strutted into the house, tail high in the air.

Heart racing, I collected my things and let myself out the passenger door. Newsflash: important political journalist rescued from suburban housecat by
Beverly Hillbillies
character. I suppressed a groan as I walked over to meet Valentina.

“Tobi, dear, I thought I heard your car. Would you like a cup of tea?” She turned down her Scooby-Doo hallway with the eyes in the pictures probably watching me, and I followed.

“You know what, Valentina? I think I would. Have you got any White Earl Grey? The organic one.”

We reached the kitchen and she smiled before retrieving her red rose-shaped teapot and spooned in the tea leaves.

“You said on the phone you have another advertising offer, dear?”

“From another agency. I thought I’d just give it to you and you could talk to the street about it?”

She laid out some homemade cookies from a tin and brought them over to the table. “I’d be happy to.” She paused and frowned. “Of course, it’ll be hard to work out what we should do about Martin and Beverley for this one.”

I scanned the cookies, looking for the crunchiest. “Why?”

“Well, they’re still officially residents of Los Alamos Court now, but by the time this deal comes together they’ll be gone.” She continued with the tea preparation as if she’d announced nothing of significance.

“They’re moving?”

She paused and turned to me, her expression surprised and a little confused. “Why, yes, dear. You haven’t heard? I thought Simon would be keeping you up to date with our goings on.”

“Er … I’ve been a little busy.” I turned away to hide my blush—embarrassed they knew about me and Simon, and that I’d been so incommunicado with him lately. I really needed to set some time aside soon to think about him—just not yet. “Tell me what I missed.”

The kettle boiled and Valentina filled the teapot, then turned it twice clockwise then once anticlockwise before carrying it to the table. Instead of rolling my eyes, I found myself trying to remember the routine. I winced. I was beginning to lose hope for myself.

“Well, apparently,” she said in a stage whisper, “Martin has been having an affair with that lovely Liz at the end of the street. All the neighbors were shocked.”

I poured myself a cup, not meeting her eyes. “How did they find out?”

Valentina stirred in her sugar, practically bursting with excitement. “It was the most awful thing. Last Wednesday morning, the Sinclairs had an argument practically on their sidewalk. Seems Beverley had caught Martin coming back from Liz’s house and she’d had enough. Young Rafaella told me afterward he’d been down there yelling at Liz about letting the cat out of the bag. Cookie, dear?”

She offered me the plate without missing a beat in her story. I took the crunchy one I’d been eyeing.

“Well, Beverley found him coming back and met him in the front yard. And did
she
tell
him
what for!”

“Um, did she?” I nibbled my cookie.

“My word, she did. He tried to round her up inside, but she wouldn’t have it. I’ve never seen a woman angrier—I’d say she’d been storing it up for years. Told him she’d had enough of his behavior. And did
he
do some groveling!”

“Um, did he?” I smiled, hoping so.

“My word he did. Told her he’d do anything. So she said he had one more chance. He was to take a transfer to San Francisco he’d been offered and pull his socks up. Not her exact words, you understand, she was a little too cross to be using polite words.”

I grinned, imagining the scene. “Of course.”

“So the next day, a For Sale sign appeared in front of the house. Another cookie, dear?”

“Er … no thanks.” I’d never been a fan of Beverley’s, but I wanted to get up and cheer for her. She hadn’t chosen the solution I would have—i.e., hitting him over the head with the closest frying pan and throwing his clothes on the street—but she’d found her power. Good for her.

Then another thought struck. “Davo? He’ll be leaving too?”

“I’m not so sure about that.” She flashed a conspiratorial smile. “Within an hour he had four offers of a room.”

“Four?” My mind flicked through the list of residents.

“I have a spare room just filled with my sewing things. Didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t use it. Jazlyn, Simon, and the boys on the corner all offered as well.”

“Good for them.” Despite it having nothing to do with me, the damnedest thing happened. I felt warm and fuzzy all over.

I stood. “Anyway, here’s the paperwork for the offer. If you have any questions call the number at the top, or call me.”

“Thank you, dear.” She stood as well and we walked down her hall. “Do you mind if I don’t walk you out? I’m expecting a call from my grandson, Adam, and I can’t hear too well from the driveway.”

“No problem. And thanks for the tea and cookie.” I hesitated for a second, wondering if I should give her a hug. Not my usual salutation of choice, but for some reason, a smile and a wave seemed inadequate. Maybe I was coming down with something?

I smiled and waved and closed her door behind me. Then saw Davo sitting on my hood. What was it about this car that seemed to attract teenage boys and psycho cats?

Then I remembered the turmoil in his home and I had that warm fuzzy thing again. “Hey, Davo.”

“Hey, boss chick.” They were classic Davo words but the cockiness was missing.

He moved to get down, but I held up a hand then hopped up beside him on the bonnet.

“I heard your parents are moving.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at the concrete driveway in front of us.

“You’re not happy about it?”

He shrugged.

I looked down at the concrete as well. “Valentina told me the most amazing thing today.”

I sensed his interest catch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She told me that four houses on this street have offered you a room if you want to stay.” Without moving, I watched him from the corner of my eye.

He grinned but tried to bite it down. “So they said.”

I nodded in mock contemplation. “If I were you, I’d be pretty proud right now.”

“You would?” He swung around to face me.

“Absolutely. No one’s ever offered me a room in their house.” Not that I wanted them to—I liked living alone. “These people must think you’re pretty special to invite you into their homes like that.” I shook my head, as if in wonder. “
Four
of them. And I bet it would’ve been five if Gerald had all his marbles.”

His face betrayed a desperate need to be wanted and in that moment I wanted to take him home myself.

He swung his legs back and forth, forgetting to be cool. “You really reckon they like me?”

I winked. “Sure of it.”

He smiled so wide that it was beautiful. A kid feeling loved. My breath hitched and I smiled too.

“So, have you thought about taking any of them up on the offer or are you going to San Francisco with your parents?”

A scowl replaced the smile and he looked back at the concrete. “They don’t really want me.”

“Your parents?”

He nodded.

“Course they do.” Though I had doubts myself. Both seemed a little too self-centered to care about Davo.

“S’okay.” He shrugged. “I know where I stand with them. They love me, they just love themselves more.” He glanced over his shoulder at his parents’ house and I wondered if Davo was smarter than I’d given him credit for.

“So what are you going to do?”

He jumped down from my bonnet and surveyed the street. “I’ve been thinkin’.” He grinned and the old cocky Davo was back.

I grinned back. “What have you been thinking?”

“I might move in with the guys on the corner.”

I laughed out loud. “You know what? If I was a seventeen-year-old guy like you, footloose and fancy free, I think I’d do exactly the same thing.”

He winked and made that bizarre clicking sound that seemed to be his new favorite. “Later, babe. I gotta pack.”

As he sauntered off, I thought for the millionth time that someone needed to give that boy some instruction.

The answer dawned with clarity and brilliance. I whipped out my cell and dialed the number I needed.

“Hey, it’s Tobi. Can you meet me tonight?”

I opened the door on the first knock. Grace stood on my doorstep with no make-up and her long black hair in pigtails. She looked about twelve years old. Was that the age we’d started to grow apart? No, it would’ve been younger. Seeing her look so young brought a rush of the feelings we’d always shared, despite everything. We’d just forgotten about them for a while.

“Hey, Tobi!”

Before I could reply, she pulled me into a hug. I resisted for a second, then a wave of emotion crashed over me, not only for her now, but also for what we’d lost over the years. We’d been close as children but somewhere along the way, we’d lost that. I couldn’t remember when we’d last spent time together just because we wanted to. Had we ever? Certainly not as adults.

She let go and I stumbled but quickly recovered. For a moment there, I’d lost myself in a hug. Weird.

I led her into the kitchen and opened my new—three-hour-old—wooden tea box, with separators between the twelve varieties of teabag. But no loose leaf. I figured you had to crawl before you could run.

“Like a cup of tea? It’s organic.”

“Oooh, nice. I’ll have a … Darjeeling, please.”

I put the teakettle on to boil and got out the cups.

“I’m glad you called, Tobi. I wanted to ask your advice about something.”

“Yes?” I couldn’t think when she’d asked my advice before. I’d certainly offered it freely in the past, but that wasn’t the same. But then, asking for seduction advice was probably the first time I’d asked for hers as well. It felt nice.

Grace hopped up on the counter. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my life lately.”

The retort I would have given only months ago floated into my mind but I smiled instead. “Did you come up with anything?”

“I want a job.” Her words were certain but her tone was far from it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. The thing is,” she twirled her hair around a finger, “I do want one, but I can’t see anyone wanting to employ me.”

She had a point. She’d never had a job before, had no qualifications or training. But I figured my role was to be supportive. “Of course they will.”

She laughed and released her hair. “You’re a really bad liar, Tobi, but thanks for trying.”

I blushed, which I hated, so I busied myself taking the cups over to the table. “Have you had any ideas about what you’d like to do?”

“Well, the divorces left me enough that I don’t have to worry about how well it pays. But beyond that, no. That’s why I wanted your advice. Tell me what I’m qualified for.”

I grinned, more retorts coming to mind, but I rejected them all. It’d be like taking candy from a baby. Besides, I didn’t want to ruin the fledgling sisterly bond we’d created—I liked it. “Hmm, a professional gift-buyer?”

She nodded, considering. “That’s not bad.”

“An image consultant?” I carried the sugar and milk to the table. “A personal shopper?”

She rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, I like the way you think. What else?”

“Um, I don’t know, but I promise I’ll give it some thought.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it. I’ve been thinking I might buy a house too. I’ve been renting that apartment since I left Joe and it’s time I settled down. You know, put down roots somewhere.”

I turned to have a good look at her. This didn’t seem like Grace at all. Or maybe I’d never paid proper attention to who she really was? “Where?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. I just want to do some things that are about me, Grace Fletcher. Not Joe’s wife. Not John’s wife. Not mini-Mom …” Her voice trailed off and she laughed as she saw my jaw drop. “Did you think I didn’t know you called me that behind my back?”

My stomach fell to the floor. “Grace, I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, I know that’s what I was, but I want to be me now. I don’t want to get married again—well, at least not for twenty or thirty years. I just want to be me. I want to buy my own house and have a job. What do you think?” She bit her lip as if my opinion really mattered.

I was bursting with pride and just narrowly avoided reaching over to hug her. “I think you’ll do great.”

The tension in her shoulders fell away and she looked as if she’d bubble over with enthusiasm. “I’m in no rush, either. I’ll take my time and find the best job for me.”

I poured the teas and took them to the table. “I’ve got an idea for something that could keep you occupied in the meantime—the reason I called you, actually.”

She blew on her tea. “Sounds intriguing.”

“There’s a boy on Los Alamos Court. Well, he’s not really a boy, he’s seventeen, but his parents have basically neglected him and he really needs someone to take him under their wing …” I left it dangling, hoping she’d catch on.

She cocked her head to the side, pigtails swaying. “Wouldn’t he be better with a man?”

“Maybe, but I was thinking you could coach him in how to talk to girls, that sort of thing.”

“My own little protégé?” Her eyes blazed with life. “I could mold him into the perfect man!”

I thought of the raw materials she’d be working with. “Er … sure.”

She sat up straighter, hands gesturing. “It’ll be just like
My Fair Lady
, but I’ll be the professor and he’d be Eliza Doolittle.”

“Um … right.” It seemed I’d created another monster. There was something of a horror movie about that—creating one monster to deal with the first one I’d made.

I shook my head and remembered the other issue I needed to discuss. “By the way, have you spoken to Mom lately?”

She nodded. “This morning. Why?”

I knew it!
“I think she’s avoiding me. I haven’t been able to get hold of her for two weeks.”

“That’s strange.” She frowned. “I’ve spoken to her a few times since then.”

I rubbed my temples. My mother was causing migraines without speaking to me now. Powerful woman. “I’m pretty sure she’s screening her calls.”

“But why would she do that?”

“One word: Kevin.”

“Oh, that’s right—she mentioned she’d broken up with him. Hey, do you want to call her on my cell?”

I thought about it. I really didn’t want to have the Kevin conversation with her, it was far from my favorite topic. But what I wanted even less was to turn up the next day at work and face the man himself if I hadn’t found Mom. He was already starting to suspect that I’d lied about not reaching her. The man who held both my job and the page location of my future stories in his hands was not a man I wanted annoyed with me.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Grace retrieved her bag and handed me the cell.

My mother answered on the second ring. “Grace, dahlin’, so lovely to hear from you.”

“It’s Tobi,” I said, not hiding the cynicism.

“Ah. Tobi. Fabulous to hear your voice, but really, I’m in the middle of—”

“Oh, no, you don’t. I only need two minutes—you owe me that. You knew when you decided to date my boss it could cause problems for me, so I won’t let you fob me off now the problems are here.”

She sighed melodramatically. “All right, I have about a minute.”

Now I had her I realized I didn’t actually have a question. “Um … I need to know what happened with Kevin.”

Her bracelets jangled and I pictured her sinking into a chair. “Sugah, he’s a lovely man, but we just weren’t suited. You probably think I’m wicked, but honestly, he bored me to tears.”

The echo of my treatment of my former editor—who I’d dated then dumped when he bored me—hit me between the eyes. “But, I think he really likes you,” I stammered.

“That’s very sweet, but I’ve moved on, dahlin’. Speaking of which, would you like to meet Bradley? Perhaps I could give a little dinner party …” She continued with her plans but I was no longer listening. I handed the cell to Grace and jumped up to get a glass of water to ease the ache in my throat.

I’d dumped my ex-editor the same way
and for the same reason my mother had dumped my current editor. All these years I’d thought I was nothing like her—and now this. I leaned against the sink for support.

And even more scary—I’d always defined myself as being the opposite to Grace and our mother, so … if Grace wasn’t who I thought she was … and I wasn’t the reverse to Mom … then who the hell was I?

And how did whoever-I-was feel about that?

*

The next morning I rapped on Kevin’s door.

“Come in.”

His head jerked up when he saw me, a touch of wildness in his eyes. “Fletcher, did you speak to your mother?”

“Yes, actually, I did.” I perched on the edge of a chair.

“Did she mention me?” When I hesitated, he fired off more rounds. “Does she want to see me? No, otherwise she’d answer my calls. What does she want? I can be different—did you tell her that? How is she? Does—”

“Kevin,” I said gently.

His voice was getting louder and more insistent, and my heart squeezed for him that he was working himself into a state when I had nothing to offer him. But he didn’t seem to have heard me. “—she look well? Did you tell her I miss her? Of course you did, you’re a good girl. Why—”

“Kevin.”

He was turning red, but didn’t falter. “—did she dump me? Did she tell you that? The real reason? Because that crap she told me—”

“Kevin!”

“What?” He frowned as if surprised by my interruption.

“I don’t know any more than you.”

The phone on his desk rang, interrupting us. He answered it then said, “Yes, she’s here. Put it through to her desk.”

He hung up then looked back at me. “Fletcher, a call for you. It’s long distance so scoot on back to your desk. We’ll finish this later.”

“Okay, thanks.” I dashed out. Since the Frank Porter stories I’d been getting calls from all over the country—very different calls to the ones after the gnome stories. No one laughed in these calls. Some were congratulatory, some researching their own articles. The former senator was now a bona fide celebrity across the globe.

I slid into my chair and picked up the ringing receiver. “Tobi Fletcher.”

“Good morning, Ms. Fletcher. This is Rene Michaels from
Under the Microscope
.”

My jaw dropped and I was glad she couldn’t see me. This woman was my hero. She had a distinguished career in stories that Made a Difference. She’d broken too many huge stories to count and she had worldwide respect for her journalism. She had two Pulitzer Prizes. It was rumored this woman could get an interview with God himself if she wanted. And she had the cherry on top of any journalist’s career—she was editor for
Under the Microscope
—bigger than
Time
magazine and higher circulation than the
New York Times.
This woman was the closest thing to royalty that the industry had—and she’d rung me.

“Er, hello,” I said, displaying my mastery of the language.

“I’ve been reading your articles on the Frank Porter matter. They’re great pieces of reporting.”

Think of something witty and wise to say.
“Um, thanks.”

“I also read your gnome articles.”

Uh oh. My excitement dipped. “You did?”

“I loved them. In fact, they’re what made up my mind. I’m looking for a new staff reporter and I want you.”

“Me?” I squeaked.

She laughed. “Yes, you. We cover major political issues across the globe. I need someone who’s up to the heavy topics but also has the breadth of ability you displayed with those quirky human interest stories.”

“Oh. My. Lord.” I could barely let myself believe it.

“The position is located here in New York, but will involve some travel.”

“Er, okay, that sounds good.” I had to force my mind to absorb the words. I was still stuck on “I want you.”

“The salary is generous but the work is challenging. Are you up to the challenge?”

Up to the challenge? My spine stiffened and I had a strange desire to salute and call her ma’am. “Yes. Yes, I am. But … when do I need to give you an answer?”

“I’m really sorry, but I need to know within twenty-four hours. Life goes on whether we have staff to cover it or not.”

“Okay, thank you, Ms. Michaels. This is a dream come true. Such an honor. Thank you.”

She gave me the number of her direct line and we hung up.

I sat staring at the phone, wondering if it’d been a dream. The number I’d written on my blotter stared back at me confirming the truth. Would I take it? Why on Earth wouldn’t I?

I drifted over to the coffee machine and poured myself an espresso, still in a fog.

Reasons for staying flicked through my mind. Family. Not my parents or Grampa Jack, though: Grace. I’d just connected with her. Did I want to leave that? Friends—Cameron, Sofia … oh, no. Sofia. How would she react to me being offered this and not her? We’d worked on those stories together.

I stirred in three sugars, figuring I needed the extra verve.

Simon.
Could I leave Simon? Though, hadn’t I decided to have a short-term fling with him? This job would be the perfect get-away excuse.

My stomach clenched. No, I didn’t want to hurt him. I mightn’t have been my most communicative with him lately, but I wouldn’t make up an excuse to leave him. I’d honor him with absolute honesty when I ran away like a scared little field mouse.

A punch registered on my arm. “Hey, Fletcher, you gonna hog the coffee maker all day? The rest of us have addictions, too.”

I stepped aside. “Sorry, Matias. There you go.”

He reached for a cup then stopped. “You said sorry. Is something wrong?”

I knew he meant it as a joke, but I didn’t laugh. I was still swimming in the waters of stunned-and-surprised. “Nothing wrong. In fact, something may be right.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Care to share?”

I bit my lip and looked at him. “You know what? I would. But not here.”

“Supply closet?” he asked, deadpan.

A grin tugged at my mouth. “Perfect. Bring your coffee.”

I walked ahead and waited for him. When he came in I said, “Lock it.”

“Ooh, I’m getting a flashback.” He waggled his brows and I let myself grin this time.

“Okay, Fletcher, spill.”

I tapped my nails against the coffee mug. “I just got another job offer.”

He leaned back against the door. “I’m not surprised—they were damn good articles you filed.”