by CF Frizzell
“Sorry, Mel,” his wife added, “but we’ve got go drag our son out of the candy aisle.”
Mel chuckled. “Okay, I won’t hold you up. Good to see you both.”
Chuck pushed the cart along behind his wife, but looked back before turning the corner. “Mel. Our quitting time is four o’clock.”
She nodded. “Gotcha.”
She stared after him, puzzled by his mood change and his emphasis on the site, but there really was no need to go traipsing across acres of dirt again. For what, she asked herself, more wasteland pictures? Admittedly, details of what she’d seen that evening on site with Shay weren’t as sharp as she needed, and she shook her head at how distracted she had been.
Within the hour, she found herself back at the office, determined not to get snared by unwritten articles awaiting her attention, or the advertising proofs that needed printing. She just wanted to drop off the coffee and cases of bottled water she’d bought, survive supper and another round with Nana, and relax. And think.
Out of habit, she scooped up the snail mail from her desk and headed for the door.
The sleigh bells jingled loudly as she swung it open—just as the Chronicle’s plate-glass window exploded inward.
Shards of glass sliced into the room, and she spun away, slamming into the door. Her left cheek and shoulder met the door’s edge hard, and her initial screech of surprise turned to one of pain.
She staggered back, stunned, and heard her sandals crunch glass against the old hardwood floor. Heated wind blew in through the gaping window, carrying music from a car radio, and several passersby stopped and stared. She looked around at her feet in disbelief, and outside at the growing crowd on the sidewalk.
“Whoa! Are you all right in there?”
“I’m dialing nine-one-one, Mel!”
“Miss Baker! You okay?”
“Don’t touch anything till the cops come, Mel!”
“Dear God,” Mel sighed, and brought a palm to the pain in her face. A headache was arriving like a locomotive. Her right calf itched, and she found a sizeable gash bleeding down her leg. “Shit.” The sight melded all her shock, frustration, and pain into anger. “Any of you see who did this?”
“A black pickup just flew by,” a young woman offered, and looked to the little girl clinging to her hand, “but I wasn’t watching, really. We were talking.”
“Yeah. I saw it,” a man added. “A Silverado with chrome wheels, but I didn’t see who was in it.”
“You’re looking awfully pale, Mel. You better sit down.”
Mel nodded vacantly but didn’t move. She hadn’t moved an inch since bouncing off the door. A cell phone camera clicked twice and Mel searched the small gathering for the owner.
“Send me copies, would you please?”
“Sure, Ms. Baker.” The teenager blushed.
Still standing in place, Mel finally remembered her own phone.
“Mike. I need you at the office right now. Faster. No fire, just one hell of a mess.” She leaned back against the counter, wondering if the Chronicle had gone too far and how many other townspeople were this mad. “I guess we’ve lost the popularity contest.”
*
Shay tried to put on an agreeable face for the Five Star workers who milled around outside the mechanics’ barn, but ending a very pleasant Saturday this way made her mad. Contrary to what Sorvini had claimed when he phoned Sonny’s an hour ago, there was no emergency here. Another one of his games, she knew, because oil changes on three pickups didn’t have to be done at four thirty on a Saturday afternoon. She’d had to close the garage early and go to the barn.
She heaved open all the bays, ordered the trucks onto lifts, and systematically worked each one while the guys waited, talking to each other and to her.
“Too bad you didn’t get in on the big bucks, Maguire.”
“A few hundred extra in your pocket,” another driver added. “You know how to run the rigs, so how come Angie didn’t loan you to Chandler like he did us?”
Shay snorted as she rolled the recycling barrel beneath a truck and released a stream of oil. “He’s too much in love with me.”
The guys chuckled.
“We were only supposed to be out there for a week, but the change in the plans might keep us working the site till Wednesday or so now.”
Shay grunted as she fought to unscrew an oil filter. “Must kill him to dish out more money.”
“Hell, in the end he’ll make it back. Where they’re setting that leaching field now will save them a ton of time.”
“Yeah,” another man added, “I was hoping they’d break out the dynamite, but evidently, they didn’t want to make such a huge mess.”
Shay stepped out from under a truck. “Dynamite?”
“Yeah. You should see the granite we hit. No fucking way we can dig that shit out.”
“So, Chandler’s going around it?”
“He wanted to haul it out. There’s good money in stone like that, but Sorvini told him it would take too much time.”
A driver shook his head as he threw his empty soda bottle into a trash barrel. “We started on the new location today. Della’s hot to trot about speeding things up. I heard him tell Chandler.”
One driver chortled. “Shit, it’s a wonder we’re not working tomorrow, too.”
“Guess she draws the line at Sunday money,” Shay said, wondering how far from the approved plan they were straying and if Della really knew. “Has she gone out to see the situation?”
“Ha.” The driver spit out tobacco juice. “That’s a good one. And get her slutty high heels stuck in the dirt? She likes how Angie has money on the brain, so she lets him do his thing.”
Shay finished the oil changes and sent the men on their way, but their words stuck in her head. Crazy to think even somebody as full of himself as Sorvini would alter approved plans. She sighed at the prospect as she headed home, cruising along the back roads to air out all her scrambled thoughts.
She rolled past the von Miller place, a lonely sight in this honeyed sunset, she thought, and rumbled past Maclin’s scenic driveway and all the way around to the Heights. Quiet backhoes and dump trucks sat scattered across the acreage, and she wished she knew more about what she was seeing.
On the chance she might find Della at work, she cruised back to the Five Star to get some things off her chest. What can I say? You’re expecting me to run your July Fourth propaganda show while you’re doing what, exactly?
She parked behind the building, beside the trademark BMW, and found Della’s office door open.
“Chicago. What brings you here?”
“Got a minute?”
Della waved her toward a chair. “I didn’t expect to see you until Monday morning. I hope you’re here to give me good news.”
Shay crossed an ankle over a knee. “It’s a great offer, Della, a professional opportunity I don’t think I can turn down.”
“Excellent.” She gleamed with excitement. “The folder here—”
“Wait, please. I need to say a few things, and…you may not be so thrilled.”
Della sat back, hands folded on her blotter. “I’m listening.”
“I have to tell you that I am not a fan of developing Tomson, this entire territory.”
“And why is that? Should it remain ragtag for posterity?”
“Should it be desecrated for profit?”
“Oh, is that what I’m about?”
“I don’t know enough to answer that, Della, but the people of Tomson apparently feel it’s a foregone conclusion where you’re concerned, that they’re caught between a rock and a hard place.”
“The people of Tomson may begrudge it, but this is the twenty-first century. Time does not stand still, and if they don’t keep up, their lives here will pass them by. Even an old-timer like Jed Maclin agreed. Would townspeople rather see their land picked apart by a parade of outsiders? Or instead, go to someone from within, whose master plan has the best interest of the town
at heart?”
“But is that what’s really happening here? Can you honestly say that turning an ass like Sorvini loose out there is for the town’s best interest?”
“Now, listen. Angie can be a son of a bitch, but he knows this town, how I operate, and he gets what I want accomplished. I’ve never had to ride herd over him.”
“Are he and Chandler playing games out there? Do you know about changes being made?”
“We’re meeting all the necessary requirements that, I dare say, any other developer wouldn’t give a damn about.”
“Ah. Your ever-reliable ‘information source’ has told you so?”
“I’m telling you that Ed Chandler didn’t get where he is by mistake. He’s a professional and knows the rules. And Angie is on-site to provide anything Ed needs to expedite the project. I don’t have to babysit either of them.”
“So, you really don’t worry about them doing their own thing out there? Sorvini in particular?”
“Angie’s seeing to it that this project succeeds, and no, I don’t worry about what he’s doing. And neither should you. The project itself doesn’t even concern you.”
“It does if I’m running a monumental PR job to make you look good.”
Della cocked her head. “You realize you are seconds away from pissing me off.”
“That was never my intention.” Shay sighed inside. She hadn’t reached Della at all. “But maybe somebody getting mad is what it’s going to take to make everybody happy.”
Della smiled wryly as she sat back. “I have to say, this fiery spirit of yours is what I need here. Your integrity is invaluable, commendable, and I feel fortunate to have you. I don’t want you discouraged by decisions I may or may not make.”
Chapter Twelve
Shay crossed the great room, buttoning a new red checkered shirt over a white tank top. Misty eyed her from the breakfast bar.
“You look terrific. Very sharp. Very country.”
Shay looked up quickly. “Do I look like a hick?”
“No, silly. You’re fine.” She pushed a wicker basket toward her along the countertop. “This is for you.”
“A picnic basket? Jeez. Thank you, but that makes it an official date. It really isn’t. I mean, it shouldn’t be because I…shit. It is, isn’t it?” Her shoulders drooped. “This is a mistake.”
“What? Why?”
Shay paced to the living room window. “Because I’ve got to keep my priorities straight. Do you have her number? Christ, I don’t even have her number. See? I don’t concentrate well around her.” She pulled her shirts out of her jeans. “This was a very bad idea, and I need to call it off right now.” She paced back to the kitchen. “What was I thinking?”
“That you like each other and would enjoy spending a little time together?”
“I don’t think I should be playing with fire, here, not with a job decision and a business future hanging over my head.”
“Then why—”
“Because I can’t help myself, goddamn it. Mel just…” She sent Misty a desperate look. “I can’t help it.”
“I think you need to calm down. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out and talking.”
Shay tossed a hand at the basket. “What’s she going to think when I show up with that? Be serious.”
“I am being serious. Stop being such a fart. Mel will be touched.” She lifted the linen napkin that covered the basket. “Just some crackers and cheese, some grapes. And a bottle of wine and some glasses.”
“Misty. I hadn’t intended for it to be anything special, and now I don’t—”
“Right. Nothing you’d put on a new shirt and cool jeans for.”
“I just didn’t want her to think I was some slug, you know?”
“If she thought that, she wouldn’t have agreed to this.”
“I don’t know. Danger bells are ringing in my head.”
“Jesus, they’re not wedding bells. Go and relax, for God’s sake.”
“So…” She wandered to the back door and stared toward the lake. With a heavy sigh, she turned back to Misty. “So, this shirt’s okay?”
Coby entered from the back porch, eyeing Shay up and down.
Shay stopped tucking in her shirts. “Don’t you start.”
“You goin’ a-courtin’, I see.”
“Jesus.” Now a bit frantic, she looked to Misty. “See? I do look like a hick on the make.”
“No, you do not. Coby, cut it out.” She set the basket in Shay’s hands. “Here. Strap this on the bike and get out of here or you’ll be late.”
Shay stared down at the basket. She really wasn’t sure this was a good idea. Time alone with Mel, some casual conversation about work, backgrounds, feelings. You know damn well where you want this to go.
It was an isolated but bucolic fifteen-minute ride to the far boundary of the Maclin ranch, and Shay was grateful for every second. Her nerves were shot and her sweaty palms slid all over the bike’s handgrips. She wiped each palm on a thigh. The wind was almost too warm in her face and did nothing to keep her hair from standing straight up, but the bedhead look couldn’t be helped. Besides, putting on a helmet would only make her scalp sweat like the rest of her. The breeze was a godsend.
Just what they were supposed to talk about, Shay struggled to remember. But they did need time together alone. Hopefully, Mel would be relaxed enough to discuss her catch-22 lifestyle and even release some of that burden. Mel can’t expect to live her entire life in the closet because of her newspaper, can she? Is that what this afternoon will reveal? We’ll probably never even open Misty’s wine.
But Shay had things to say, too, a catch-22 of her own, and her mind spun. Mel seemed to accept my situation with Slattery. Maybe she knows too well what it’s like, having to do one thing when you believe in another. It crossed her mind that Mel just might be blind to what they had in common.
Shay slowed the Softail over the bridge and spotted the Subaru. Mel stepped out as Shay rolled up beside her and shut off the bike.
The perfect breeze wafted Mel’s hair across her shoulders, and she reached up to draw it back. As usual, Shay was nearly swept away by the look of her.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Mel tucked her hands into the pockets of her khaki shorts and blatantly surveyed Shay’s shirt. “Gotta say, Shay, you look really good in red checks.”
Shay looked away as she dismounted. “Tell me you don’t think I look like a hick.”
“You? A hick? Hardly. What have you got there?”
Shay unstrapped the basket and held it up. “Misty.”
“Ah. She figured we might get hungry?”
“I think so.” Shay felt the color rise in her cheeks.
“Well, that’s very sweet of her. She’s always thinking.”
“I’d say we both know what she’s thinking.” Shay pulled a worn wool blanket from a saddlebag and draped it over her shoulder. “So…Hey, is that a bruise at your eye?”
“Afraid so. Someone busted one of the big windows in our office yesterday and I turned away and collided with the door.”
Shay stopped short and studied Mel’s bruise. “Jesus, Mel. You’re lucky.”
“The EMT said that, too.” She turned to show the bandage on her calf. “This took a few stiches, but, overall, yeah, I was lucky. Chunks of glass went everywhere.”
“Come over here,” Shay said, and hurried to an open, flat area where they would watch the creek flow, and shook out the blanket. “Sit. You probably should be resting that leg.” She set the basket nearby and sat beside her. “So…who the hell…?”
“The police agree with us that, most likely, it was an irate reader, someone who’d had enough of the Chronicle’s position. We’ve been aggressively editorializing about Slattery’s tainted project history, and stressing that quick-and-easy development demands severe oversight. I suppose we should have anticipated such a response.”
“Do the cops know who did it?”
“Yeah.
They pieced together a description of the passing truck from a few witnesses and they know the owner. A Chandler employee, a guy in his twenties.”
“Shit, Mel. That doesn’t sound like small-town stuff. Hell, Chicago, sure, but here?”
“I know. Another sign of how times are changing, I guess, and of how desperate some folks are to improve their situations.”
Shay dragged the basket closer and pulled out the wine. “I think we need to tap this now.” She poured Shiraz into both glasses.
“Thanks, Shay. This is all very nice of you. I don’t remember the last time I did anything like it.”
“I think…never, for me.”
“The chivalrous Shay Maguire has never taken a girl on a picnic?”
“Ha. No.” She thinks it’s a date, too.
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“And you, Ms. Baker, no picnics? Not even secret rendezvous?”
Mel sipped her wine and scanned the creek. “Another lifetime.”
“Hmm. Back in the days of Triumphs and rough rides, I gather.”
“Those ended quite a few years ago, Shay. I moved out here to care for Nana and run the Chronicle, and bang—a door slammed shut. So, it was another lifetime.” She stretched her legs out and crossed her ankles. Shay looked away, surveyed the water just to keep from gazing upon her.
“Sounds like there are regrets.”
“Eh, maybe. Sometimes, I wish I could pick it all up and move it to a more progressive place, you know? The world is different here. Change is slow.”
“And difficult.”
“It must seem downright prehistoric to you, coming from Chicago.” She seemed to seek confirmation, and Shay wanted her to have it.
“At times, yeah. But I was prepared to be hassled a lot more than I have been. Sorvini is the only pain in my ass, so I guess that says a lot.”
“He’s a pain in everyone’s ass.”
“So I’m learning.”
Mel kicked off her sandals and leaned back on her elbows. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said that night at the Exchange, about getting hit by the ‘real world.’ Does it mean you didn’t date much in Chicago? You really seem to enjoy the bar scene here.”
