Allie had a moment of acute embarrassment. She had forgotten all about the car that had been following her, although if he had followed her inside, she had no doubt Del would have taken care of him. She glanced at his arms, the hams he had for hands. Maybe permanently.
“I’m fine. The car kept going. I was probably imagining it.”
“Hey,” Del said to Sheryl.
Sheryl ignored him. “Tell me about the car. What’d it look like?”
Allie glanced at Del, then back at Sheryl. “It was a dark sedan. Tinted windows.”
“Everyone has tinted windows,” Sheryl said, perching on a barstool. “You get the license plate?”
It was all Allie could do not to laugh. “No, he was behind me all the way.”
“Damn,” Sheryl said, picking up her drink and gulping half of it. “We need a front plate law in this state.”
Now, Allie did laugh.
“What?” Sheryl demanded, narrowing her eyes.
Allie caught her breath. “I’ve had this conversation twice. That’s exactly what Del said.”
Sheryl turned slowly in her seat and looked Del up and down.
“Sheryl,” Allie said, “this is Del Delaney. Del, Sheryl Levine.”
When Del held out his hand, she ignored it. “You two got cozy awfully fast, didn’t you?”
Allie sat back in surprise. “I—”
“Hey,” Del said, “don’t climb down her throat. I introduced myself. Okay? I didn’t jump her bones. We were just being civilized. You know?”
Sheryl glared at him. “Yeah, I know civilized. You sure you do?”
Allie expected fireworks, but she had underestimated Del.
“Look, I’m sorry about the other day. I told Allie I didn’t know the guy. So, I read up. I’m real sorry he’s dead, but I can tell you, I didn’t like the way he treated you that night he dragged your friend here out of the bar. I mean, like you were a criminal or something. You hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve it.”
Allie cringed. The night he was talking about, Joe Odum had come hunting for Allie hell-bent on protecting her from Marc. She and Sheryl had drunk more than they meant to. At least Allie had drunk more than she intended. Joe had humiliated Sheryl. Then, he’d taken Allie by the arm and marched her toward the door. When Allie had asked him about Sheryl, he’d tossed a twenty on the bar and told Del to call her a cab. She could see that Sheryl remembered it, too. Del started making her another drink.
“I was drunk,” Sheryl said.
“Big fucking deal,” Del said, slicing viciously through a lime. “You were in a fucking bar, for Christ sake. Happens to everyone sometimes. A few wings, some greasy potato skins, you’d a been fine.”
Allie saw Sheryl’s lips twitch. “Maybe not after that fifth Bloody Mary.”
“It was six. She had four white wines,” he added, motioning toward Allie.
Sheryl looked at him in surprise. She finished her drink and started on the one he’d just put in front of her. “So, what was that move you put on me the other day?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Little pressure point. Nothing, really.”
“You damn near broke my hand.”
Del’s face broke into a grin. “Really?” He quickly wiped the smile away. “Sorry.”
“No,” Sheryl said. “It was cool. I asked for it.” She took a sip of her drink. “So, you into martial arts?”
“Yeah.”
“Which one?”
He shrugged. “A few of them.”
“Like what?”
“Tae kwan do. Some aikido. Judo. Karate. A few others.”
Sheryl raised her eyebrows. “No shit? You got belts?”
He shrugged again.
“What color?”
He colored. “Belts don’t mean anything.”
“What do you have belts in?”
When he didn’t answer, she sat back on her stool. “You have belts in all of them. Right?”
Allie felt as if she had entered an alternate universe. They were speaking a language she didn’t know, so she just sat back to listen.
Del’s face was crimson now. “Hey, I’ve been studying a long time.” He sounded as if he was apologizing.
Sheryl grinned. “You could have thrown me across the room when I grabbed you.”
Del managed a smile of embarrassment. “I don’t throw ladies. Except in class,” he amended.
“You teach,” Sheryl said. It wasn’t a question.
He made a motion with his head that might have been a yes.
Sheryl shook her head slowly. “So, what the hell are you doing working here?”
“I’m saving up,” he said defensively. “I want my own place. I don’t want to teach for someone else forever. This,” he motioned around the bar, “this is dojo money. Every dime.”
Sheryl stared at him for a long moment. Finally, she held out her hand. “Sheryl Levine.”
An hour later, they slid off their stools. The place was filling up, and Allie was getting tipsy. “I’m going to follow you home,” Sheryl said as Allie pulled out her wallet.
Allie dropped some bills on top of the check. Sheryl picked up the tab and looked at it, then at Allie. “You could leave a bigger tip, you know.”
Allie raised her eyebrows.
“What? The man’s saving to buy his own dojo—and you can afford it,” she added, as she pulled another ten out of Allie’s wallet and dropped it on the rest.
On the drive home, Allie tried to understand what had just happened. Del liked Sheryl because she was a tough chick with a bad attitude. Sheryl admired Del because he could kill people in many disciplines and could have thrown her across the room. Whatever happened to hearts and flowers? Soft music?
“Is he going to break her heart too?”
“You ask that like I’m some kind of Ouija board. Or one of those balls with the floating answers in them. You ask your question and turn the ball upside down.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“I can’t answer your question, Allie.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both. Can’t and won’t. Life has to run its course.”
“Is that some kind of celestial bullshit?”
“You’re getting quite a mouth on you. Too much time around Sheryl.”
“Is Del going to break Sheryl’s heart?”
Silence.
“If he does, I’m holding you personally responsible. I want you to know that. Do you hear me? If he hurts her, it will all be on you. Damn it. Shit.”
Chapter 10
Allie groaned when the alarm clock went off the next morning. She felt for the snooze button and hit it so hard the clock went flying off the nightstand. With another groan, she got up to retrieve it. She glanced at the time, and she gasped. Eight o’clock! She had set the alarm for seven. Had she really hit the snooze button six times?
She raced into the bathroom and jumped in the shower. Five minutes later, she jumped out, hair dripping. She pulled on slacks and a blouse. Had she been that tired? She hadn’t felt particularly tired when she went to bed—she searched around for her shoes—but she felt exhausted now. Just the thought of sitting at that desk all day, taking what assignments were meted out to her, made her feel as if she were slogging through waist-deep mud.
She grabbed her purse. No time for coffee. Hair would have to dry on the way. She hurried to the front door. Oh, God, what about Spook?
Then, she stopped. What was she doing? Why was she racing to a job she hated in a profession she had come to despise? She didn’t need the money. It wasn’t as if the Brevard Sun would fold without her eight-hour-a-day contribution.
Dropping her purse on the sofa, she went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and dump some food into Spook’s bowl, hoping she hadn’t scared all the appetite out of him. After a few minutes, he crept into the dining room and began to eat, keeping one eye on Allie.
“Sorry, puppy,” she said, heading back into the kitch
en.
The newspaper would probably fold, anyway. The owner had died intestate. The Sun was currently being run, if you could call it that, by a board of directors—old buddies of the original owner. They knew less about journalism than Spook did. The person making the decisions these days was Myrna, the paper’s long-time receptionist. At least she had some newspaper experience, having been the original owner’s assistant for twenty years. Even so, she certainly wasn’t qualified to make major business decisions. They probably had an accountant to manage the money, and a lawyer. The closest thing they had to an editor-in-chief was Alf Reed. A depressing thought.
She leaned against the counter, listening to the coffee pot gurgle its way to done. Unless they got someone to take charge soon, wanting or not wanting a job there was moot. There wouldn’t be a there. Nope. The time was right to get out. Still, she owed it to Myrna to quit in person. For some reason, the woman had taken a liking to her.
Reluctantly, she poured the finished coffee into her travel mug and, after taking Spook out for a quick walk, headed out of the house.
Construction was already in full swing. The wolf whistles from men hanging off steel girders sent unpleasant chills down her spine. When the condos were finished, innumerable eyes could be staring down at her from the balconies that were being fashioned front and back. How could she live with the lack of privacy? And what about traffic? She remembered what traffic was like around the high-rise condos in Atlanta. Why did “progress” have to spoil everything beautiful and good?
She took the 520 causeway as she usually did these days, even though 528 would have been shorter. Cape Canaveral was at the north end of a barrier island, separated from the mainland by two rivers, the Indian and the Banana. Farther south, the rivers merged before emptying into the Atlantic Ocean at Sebastian Inlet. The causeways were the only way east and west, short of swimming.
Swimming didn’t seem like such a bad idea. The morning was hot, but it was also picture book beautiful—crystalline blue skies, sparkling water with almost no chop, birds soaring overhead. Traffic was light, and she crossed the bridges in record time. She hung a right on US 1, and two minutes later, she pulled her Jeep into an employee space, feeling the usual sense of unfocused depression descend on her. At least Myrna wasn’t in the parking lot puffing away on her second pack of the day. It was her trademark. Energizer had the bunny; Myrna had her cigarette.
She didn’t find Myrna at the reception desk, either, but she head loud voices coming from the owner’s old office. She followed the sound. What she saw when she rounded the corner into the room brought her up short.
Myrna Lipsik was a squat, perpetually untidy woman carrying fifteen extra pounds, most around her middle. She was dressed today in wrinkled linen slacks and a mismatched cotton blouse, but that’s not what made Allie smile. She was looming over Alf Reed who was sitting at the desk. Her face was flushed and her eyes full of fire. The chair would have dwarfed Alf even if he hadn’t been cowering. Somehow, he managed to appear frightened and belligerent at the same time.
“…get your ass out of this office. Who do you think you are, taking over just as if you had some right?” Myrna screeched.
“Well, someone’s got to take the reins in this place, and—”
“Reins?” Her screech went up a notch as she gestured wildly around the office. “Do you see a horse in here? This is a newspaper editor’s office. You have no business here.”
“Someone has to run this pap—”
“Well, it won’t be you.”
“Oh, no? Who says?”
Myrna stepped back and crossed her arms in front of her, smiling a nasty smile. “I say, and I’m pretty sure my cousin will agree with me. Harvey Pettigrew?” Harvey Pettigrew was the chairman of the board.
Alf Reed’s eyes widened slightly. They cut over to Allie as if looking for confirmation. Allie shrugged. Alf looked back at Myrna. “All I did was write an article—”
“And passed it through without clearing it through the usual channels.”
“What usual channels?” he demanded. “We used to give it to you to give to Rupert.”
“You still give it to me. I run it by the board and our attorneys to make certain we won’t get our asses sued off, which we probably will with you writing trash like that last article. You pull a stunt like that again, and you’ll never write for this newspaper again.”
Alf Reed stared at her for a moment without speaking. Then, he jumped up and slammed out of the room. Myrna remained poised as she was until the front door opened and closed. Then, she kicked the desk.
“What was all that about?” Allie asked.
Myrna turned. “That stinking worm thought he could move into Mr. Cornelius’s office and take over. Just because he’s looked over a few pieces before they went out. I guess he thought it gave him squatter’s rights, but he can think again.”
“Who does have the final say so these days?”
Myrna lovingly caressed the back of the leather desk chair. “Well, I guess me.”
“What about your cousin?”
Myrna shook her head. “That was kind of a fib, although Harvey and I did have a thing going a few years back.”
“The attorneys?”
Myrna looked away, then back. “Rupert fired our attorney. Said he was a crook. Ha! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”
“So…”
“So, we’ll make do until the board can find someone. I haven’t been doing such a bad job, have I?”
“How would I know? I came on board after—after—”
Myrna came back around the desk and sat in one of the visitor chairs. “You might not know, but I do. I’ve been doing a damn good job. Ask any of the kids if they’ve noticed a difference.”
Myrna called all the staff “kids.” “I’m sure—”
“No, you’re not, but you should be. I spent almost twenty years reading every piece of paper that came across this desk. I could quote you newspaper song and verse. I’m not saying I know everything, but I know the kinds of things that should be in this newspaper.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Myrna’s eyes focused suddenly on Allie’s face. She glanced at the clock on the desk, and then back at Allie. Allie started to speak, but Myrna held up a hand. “Wait. Come outside. I think I’ll need a cigarette for this one.”
She was gone before Allie could stop her. After a moment, Allie followed.
Myrna leaned against Allie’s Jeep, sucking in smoke as it were the only life-giving air left on the planet.
Allie waited until she lit her second cigarette from the first before speaking. Then, she said, “I’m thinking of leaving the newspaper.”
Myrna closed her eyes. Allie could hear the traffic whizzing by on US 1, jets making their descent to Melbourne Airport. It wasn’t even nine yet, but the day was already scorching. By noon, the asphalt under their feet would be soft.
Myrna finally opened her eyes. “Is it money?”
“No, of course not. You already pay me too much for what I do.”
“We pay you what that snake said he’d pay you.”
“Yes, but he didn’t think I’d live to collect it.”
“That’s his problem. Was. Anyway, the paper can afford it. What then? Too many hours?”
“No. Yes.” She shook her head. “No.”
Myrna watched her, her eyes half-closed against her smoke. “You’re going to have to pick one.”
Allie couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Yes, I hate the hours. No, they aren’t really too many, but I feel like—” She looked at Myrna, embarrassed.
“Out with it.”
“I feel like I’m in prison or something. I don’t like what I’m doing, and the time I’m spending at my desk is torture. I know it makes me sound like some kind of prima donna.”
Myrna waved her smoke away from Allie’s face. “So, we’ll put you on a flex schedule. Good, you’re staying.”
She started back inside. Allie knew it was a ruse. Myrna never went back inside after just two cigarettes. When she reached the door, she looked back over her shoulder. Her posture sagged when she saw that Allie hadn’t moved, and she turned around and came back, lighting up another cigarette. “OK,” she said between puffs. “Spill it.”
“I don’t want to offend you.”
Myrna choked on her smoke. When she got her breath, she said, “You don’t want to offend me? Are you nuts? You’re about the only thing around here that doesn’t offend me.”
Allie took a deep breath. “OK. The thing is, I don’t think I’m cut out for newspaper work. Wait—” she said when Myrna started to speak. “I know I have a degree and worked for the AJC. Years ago, it seemed okay, but something has changed in me.”
She had Myrna’s attention now. “What do you mean?”
Allie’s forehead wrinkled as she spoke. “I’m disgusted by it all. The sensationalism. Invading people’s privacy. I know that’s what sells newspapers—”
“Who told you that?”
Allie ignored her. “But I can’t be like Alf Reed or some of the others.”
“Thank the Lord.”
“I can’t write those kinds of stories and live with myself. I—what?”
“I said, thank the Lord.” Myrna stubbed out her cigarette under her shoe and lit another. “Do you think that’s what newspaper work is? Yellow journalism?”
“Well, no.”
“Yes, you do, and there’s some truth in that. Especially these days. Do you know why?” Allie opened her mouth to speak, but Myrna plowed on. “It’s because people like you are quitters. You get your ideals offended, and you quit, and people like Alf Reed stay because they don’t have any ideals, and they get all the experience and climb right up the ladder unimpeded. And when it’s time to promote someone, guess who’s still there?”
She started pacing in front of Allie. “There’s too much of that trash being published today, even with this newspaper, but it wasn’t always like that. Mr. Cornelius wouldn’t have allowed it. When his wife took over, things started to go downhill, and then when Rupert took it over from her, it all went to hell. But that bastard is dead, and I had started to hope. We have some good people now. Tommy Saers and Holly Miller. They’re aces. And you. I thought there was a chance that the paper could come to life again.” She looked at the cigarette in her hand that had burned down to the filter. “Ah, shit. Never mind,” she said tossing it on the ground and turning to go.
LIVE Ammo (Sunshine State Mystery Series Book 2) Page 9
