by Diana Palmer
The reporter sighed. “You make me feel like a heel for asking. I know how dangerous it is. I’ve had my share of threats, too. Okay, if you can’t tell me, send me to somebody who can.”
Leroy sipped his coffee. “Now you make me feel like a heel.”
“It isn’t deliberate,” Peck said with a smile.
The policeman took a deep breath and looked around at the sparsely peopled cafe. His eyes came back to Peck. “I’ll deny it if you finger me as your informant.”
Peck looked vaguely insulted. “Have you forgotten that I stood a thirty-day jail term two years ago when Judge Carter tried to get me to tell who gave me information in the Jones murder?” he asked.
Leroy laughed. “Yeah, I had. Sorry.” He leaned forward on his forearms. “You go ask James White who helped him ramrod that land deal through the city council, and you’ll get your man.”
Chapter Eight
Carla and Bill Peck wore ruts in the city park as they walked. A rally protesting the low wages paid garbage collectors was going on around them, part of the sanitation strike plaguing the city, but they ignored the peaceful marchers.
“He’s right,” Peck said finally, turning to Carla under a leafless oak amid the crunch of dead leaves underfoot. “The best defense in the world is a good offense. We may still be able to pull our acorns out of the fire.”
She blinked at him. “I don’t understand.”
“We’ll go to see James White. We’ll carry along a file folder of documents incriminating him. We’ll allow him to give his side of the story before we print the whole disgusting mess.”
“But we don’t have any incriminating documents!” she burst out.
“We will have,” he grinned. “Come on. Time’s a-wasting. We may save your job yet, and Eddy’s, too.”
“Let’s go to it, then,” she agreed, smiling as she hadn’t felt like smiling for days. Maybe she could clear Moreland’s name. That would make up for so much, even if he never forgave her for what she’d already done. If only she’d listened to her heart. If only she’d been suspicious of Daniel Brown’s eager help. If only she hadn’t been so determined to get a scoop, to make Bill Peck proud of her. She sighed as they walked briskly back toward the newspaper office. Oh, if only…
The paper had already gone to bed for the day when she and Peck left again, armed with an impressive folder of information. They still had not mentioned a word to Edwards whose face was almost as long as his legs.
Carla had already called to make an appointment with James White on the pretext of purchasing some land. She knew the foxy little man wouldn’t be eager to meet with the press, especially after his honorable mention in the story on Moreland.
They were ushered into his private office by a young, buxom blond secretary whose smile was as empty as her pale eyes.
White rose, gray haired and thin, with astonishment plain in his pale face when he suddenly recognized Bill Peck.
“Reporters!” he burst out. He glared at them. “Don’t sit down,” he warned, reaching for the telephone. “You won’t be here long enough!”
Carla felt suddenly nervous and unsure of herself, but Bill Peck was not taken aback at all.
“Dial,” he warned the older man, “and you’ll be on the front page tomorrow afternoon.”
White gazed at him warily, but he hesitated, his finger still on the dial.
“We came armed this time,” Peck added, holding up the file folder. He smiled confidently. “I think you’re going to want to cooperate, Mr. White. That way, you just may escape a long jail term.”
White put down the receiver and laughed self-consciously. He whipped out a spotless handkerchief and wiped his perspiring brow. “Jail?” he said. “Surely you’re joking, Mr. Peck. I’ve done nothing illegal. In fact, the only crime I’m guilty of is getting my client better than fair market value for a piece of land.”
“And crucifying a blameless public official in the process,” Carla broke in, feeling her advantage. She moved forward, and Bill Peck sat down, letting her carry the ball. She took the file from Peck and lifted it in front of James White’s nervous face. “It’s all here, Mr. White. Everything. How you arranged a five-hundred percent profit out of that worthless land. How you set up Bryan Moreland, you and your co-conspirator, to take the blame for it by sending him a check for his revitalization project just in time to make it look like a kickback from the land deal. We know all about it. We even know,” she added narrowly, “about Daniel Brown’s role.”
White sat down, suddenly looking his age. He leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. His spare frame seemed to slump wearily.
“I engineered it,” he admitted quietly. “There’s no sense in denying it any further.”
Peck pulled out a pocket tape recorder and turned it on. “I’m recording, Mr. White,” he advised the man, “and I think it would be in your best interests to give the truth.”
“Why not?” White sighed. “I’m ruined now, anyway, you’ll see to that. Yes, I engineered the airport land deal. I got Ed King to present it to the City Council and convince his friend Moreland that it was the best site available.” He nodded at Carla’s shocked face. “Moreland had so much on his mind with the sanitation strike and that downtown redevelopment scheme that he wasn’t able to check into the site too closely, so he left it all up to Ed, whom he trusted.” He laughed shortly. “Bryan and I have been friends for a long time, he had no reason to distrust me or Ed. We had it made. We sold the land to the city for five times its true value. Then I had Daniel Brown start making noises about Moreland accepting a kickback, right after I sent my good friend a donation for his downtown redevelopment. It was flawless. Absolutely flawless. Until you people came along and started poking around,” he added bitterly.
“Who actually owned the land, Mr. White?” Carla asked.
“The deed says, Will Jackson,” he replied.
“But isn’t it actually owned by Daniel Brown?” she persisted, smiling at White’s shocked expression. “Yes, I made some phone calls to Florida. Brown used Will Jackson as an alias when he purchased that land, at your instructions.”
“At Ed King’s,” White corrected gruffly. “Why the hell did I ever get mixed up with that little snip? If I’d handled it by myself…”
“If,” Carla sighed, closing her eyes momentarily as a wave of unbearable grief and tiredness washed over her. She turned away as Bill Peck moved to call the police. It was too much, too soon. All her suspicions, all her digging, and it hadn’t been enough to save Bryan Moreland from a public crucifixion. She’d finally gotten at the truth, and all it had cost her was the one man she could ever truly love. A single tear rolled down her cold cheek, trickling salty and warm into the corner of her mouth.
“It’s great,” Edwards laughed as Carla and Bill Peck played the tape for him and summarized White’s arrest. “Just great! We’ll scoop every paper in town with this, even the broadcast boys! We’ll save face!”
Carla stared down at her black boots. “You’ll print everything, including how Moreland was set up?”
Edwards looked at her with a compassionate smile. “Yes. And it might be enough to convince him to drop the lawsuit. We’ll run another banner headline. ‘Moreland Innocent of Kickback.’ How’s that?”
“Will it please you-know-who?” Peck asked, tongue-in-cheek, gesturing toward the ceiling.
Edwards frowned. “God?” he asked.
“The publisher!” Peck burst out.
“Oh, him.” Edwards shrugged. “Nothing ever has before. I’m not sure it will. But it may save my job, and Carla’s.”
Peck grinned. “I’ll settle for that.”
But, it appeared, Bryan Moreland wouldn’t. Edwards called Carla into his office two hours after the paper was on the streets, looking uncomfortable and vaguely ill.
“Sit down,” he said gruffly.
She perched herself on the edge of her chair and sat up straight, her hands clenched in
the lap of her burgundy plaid skirt. She could feel the ominous vibrations, like the growing chill of the weather.
“Get it over with,” she murmured. “I hate suspense.”
He jammed his hands in his pockets and studied his feet. “Moreland called me.”
Her heart jerked, but she didn’t let the emotions dancing inside her find expression in her face. “Oh?”
“He’s willing to drop the lawsuit, especially in view of our efforts—your efforts—to clear his name. But I couldn’t get across to him that it was your investigation that cleared him,” he added apologetically. “When I mentioned your name, he blew up.” He sighed. “What it boils down to is this. He’ll drop the lawsuit if I fire you. That’s my only option.” He shuffled angrily. “Johnson says if I don’t fire you, we’ll both get the boot.”
She felt every drop of color draining out of her face, but she forced a smile to her lips. “I expected it, you know,” she said gently. “I was looking for a job when I found this one.”
“Yeah,” he said curtly. His eyes studied the expression on her pale face. “I’m sorry as hell.”
She shrugged. “It’s been an experience. How long have I got to clean out my desk?”
He sighed bitterly. “Until quitting time. I’m giving you two weeks’ pay, maybe that’ll get you through to another job.”
She tried to mask her apprehension with a smile. “I’ll be okay. If things get too tight, I can always go home to Georgia,” she reminded him. “The editor of Dad’s old paper would give me a job on the spot. All I have to do is ask.”
That, at least, was true. But how was she going to leave this city, and Bryan Moreland behind, when the picture of them would haunt her until she died? If only she could see him once more, touch him…
“I said, you might have a shot at the radio station,” he repeated, interrupting her melancholy thoughts. “I hear they’re looking for a leg person.”
She smiled and rose, offering him her slender hand. “Thanks, Eddy. I’ve enjoyed working here.”
“You’re one hell of a reporter,” he said with grudging praise. “I hate to lose you. If it weren’t for that damned lawsuit—the truth is, our budget won’t stand it, and he’s got every law in the books on his side.”
“It was my fault…”
“And mine,” he said firmly. “Nobody held a gun on me and made me print it. The evidence was there. I didn’t know it was engineered any more than you did. By the way,” he added, “there’s every indication that Ed King is going to be recalled even before his case comes up,” he grinned. “That ought to make you feel a little better.”
She returned the smile. “It does. See you around, Eddy.”
Bill Peck sat, perched on the edge of his chair, watching Carla clean out her desk, an enigmatic expression on his face. He ignored the phone that was screaming insistently beside him.
“Where will you go?” he asked gruffly.
She shrugged. “Back to my apartment to wallow in self-pity.”
He chuckled in spite of himself. “Hell, does anything get you down?”
“Crocodiles,” she murmured as she put the last of her notepads into a brown bag with her other possessions. “I never go near swamps for that reason.” She closed the bag and turned, her eyes soft as they met his. “Thanks for everything, my friend.”
His face tightened. “Thanks for nothing,” he grunted. “I helped cost you your job. If I’d interfered at the beginning…”
“I believe in fate,” she interrupted. “Don’t you?”
“Suppose I called Moreland, and told him the truth?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she replied, turning to face him. “What happened between Bryan and me…it’s nothing to do with anyone else,” she finished weakly. “If he wants to think that it was all my fault, let him. I’ll be gone soon, anyway.”
“Gone where?” he asked.
She smiled. “Home. I’ve missed it.”
“Not a whole hell of a lot,” he replied doggedly, “Or you wouldn’t have stayed this long.”
“I’ve learned things here that I could never have learned in a small town,” she reminded him. “And you’ve shown me the ropes. I’ll never forget you.”
“Don’t get mushy,” he growled, moving forward to perch himself on her desk. “When are you leaving?”
“I’ve got two weeks before I have to make a definite decision,” she told him, grateful for her own foresight in keeping up her savings deposits. It would give her a little more leeway.
“Then you may stay in the city?” he probed.
She looked down at the brown bag, testing its weight and rough texture. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it right now. It’s been a rough week.”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you for helping me do it,” she said fervently.
“I like the guy,” he said, and his pale eyes smiled at her. “Keep in touch, okay?”
“Okay. If you hear of any openings around town, let me know.”
“I’ll keep both ears open.” The smile went out of his eyes. “I’ve gotten used to you. I won’t want to look at this damned desk for a week.”
“Have Betty sit on it,” she suggested with an impish grin.
“Two-ton Betty?” he groaned. “Who’ll pay to replace it?”
“Definitely not me,” she told him. She took one last look around the busy office, its rushing reporters and ringing telephones and editors calling over the din. “How quiet it is here,” she sighed.
“Good thing you’re leaving,” he replied. “Working here has deafened you.”
“Don’t take any wooden tips,” she cautioned.
“You, too.”
She turned and walked out the door into the lobby. The temptation to cast a farewell glance over her shoulder was strong, but she didn’t yield to it. With her head high, she walked out onto the busy sidewalk and merged in with the crowd.
Not going to work was new to Carla. Since her eighteenth birthday, she’d had a job of some kind, even if it was only a summer one working for her father. But to see four walls day after day, no new faces, no people, was like slow torture. She kept the television on, but the soap operas were more than she could bear, and the radio got on her nerves after the second day.
There was too much time: time to regret her behavior, time to think about Bryan Moreland and his ultimatum that the paper fire her. How he must hate her. Not only had she betrayed him falsely, but he even thought her declaration of love was part of that betrayal, that she’d pretended affection for him solely to get a story.
She almost laughed at the thought. And he’d said that no normal woman would be interested in a middle-aged man. Didn’t he realize how very attractive he was? How strong and charming and exciting he was to be with? Didn’t he realize that she’d have loved him if he’d been totally gray and walked with a cane? Age didn’t matter. Time didn’t matter. She’d have given anything for just a few years with him—to love him, to bear his children, to grow old with him.
Tears blurred her eyes. The firing was a message, as surely as if he’d given it in person. He was telling her, in the most deliberate way possible, that he wanted her out of his city. And she had a feeling that if she approached any other news media for a job, the doors would all be closed.
It must have come as a tremendous shock to him, realizing that two of his most trusted friends had set him up as the scapegoat for their land deal. And to top it all off, to think that a girl reporter would lead him on and flatter his vanity just to get the goods on him…
“But it isn’t true,” she whispered tearfully. “Oh, Bryan, it isn’t true!”
She dropped down onto the soft cushions of the sofa and cried like a lost child. It was the first time she’d yielded to tears since her firing, but it seemed to ease the hurt a little.
By the end of the week, she was regaining some of her former spirit. She’d already decided that her only course of action was going home, but she wanted to
wait until her father returned. That would be just another three or four days, and she couldn’t spend them sitting in the apartment staring at the walls. She became a sightseer, taking buses all around the sprawling city to visit the park, the museums, the historic landmarks. It was all new to her suddenly, as if she’d gone around blind as a reporter and was just now seeing the city without her blinders.
The days went by quickly, and on the very last one she found herself retracing her steps through the ghetto she’d visited with Bryan Moreland. The slums were already being bulldozed down now, and signs were going up heralding the construction of new, modern apartments for low-income groups. She couldn’t help feeling a surge of pride for the man who’d fought so hard to bring this dream to fruition. If only she could tell him how very proud she was.
Her slender figure looked even thinner than usual in the gray suit she was wearing. A pale green scarf around her throat emphasized her green eyes, and the braided coil of dark hair seemed even darker against it. The black coat and boots she wore seemed to fit in with the darkness of her mood as she walked aimlessly back toward the downtown business district, her sad eyes on the dirty, cracked sidewalk. She felt so miserable, so lost and alone. Her chest lifted in an aching sigh and she didn’t notice where she was going until she ran head-on into another pedestrian. Strong hands came up to grip her arms, and she looked up with an apology on her lips. Then her heart leapt inside her chest.
Bryan Moreland’s dark, angry eyes were looking straight down into hers, and she couldn’t even manage a weak greeting, the shock of seeing him was so great.
Chapter Nine
She stood there looking up at him like a slender statue, without life or breath or strength.
His face was hard, haggard, and she searched its leonine contours with a drowning hunger, lingering on the curve of his mouth, the darkness of his narrow eyes.
“Excuse me,” she said finally, breathlessly, moving back as if the touch of his hands scorched her.
