Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin

by Pamela S. Meyers

  The round-faced man stood behind his wooden desk. His rectangular toothbrush-like mustache seemed out of place under his broad nose. The man’s smile welcomed, but his hazel eyes held wariness. He stuck out his hand. “Good to meet you. I didn’t realize that Oscar Zimmer had left the News-Trib.”

  Jack shook the man’s hand, impressed by the strong grip. “He’s still there, but he’s been laid up with appendicitis. He suggested I ask you to help solve a mystery.”

  “Sit.” O’Brien waved toward a wooden straight-back chair then sat on his battered and scratched desk chair. “I’ve only been in this position a short while. I’m not sure I’m your man.”

  “Oscar said you were a deputy before this job.” Jack studied a crack that trailed down the wall behind the sheriff. He drew in a breath and caught the man’s gaze. “It’s come to my attention that a few years ago, a Linn Township resident was possibly jailed off the record. Would you recall anything like that?”

  O’Brien frowned and rubbed the gray scruff on his chin. “You’re asking whether a serious breach of protocol took place.”

  “Our source is reliable, but we won’t run the story without confirming documentation.”

  A woman’s voice filtered in from the outer room, and the door behind Jack creaked open. “Sheriff, I got a lady out here from the News-Trib wanting to talk to you. Thought since your visitor is also from there, it’d be okay to send her in.” Jack turned.

  Meg peeked around the secretary’s shoulder and pinned a wide-eyed stare on Jack. “Mr. Wallace. What are you doing here?”

  A sinking feeling sent his spirits on a nosedive, and he popped to his feet. “Sheriff O’Brien, this is Meg Alden, our reporter who first stumbled onto this possible cover-up.” He glanced around the austere room then indicated his chair. “I can stand.”

  As Meg sat, the sheriff’s eyes ricocheted from her to Jack then back to Meg. “I’m not liking the odds. First there was one of ya, and now there’s two. The incident likely happened when Sheriff Mason was in charge.”

  Meg moved to the edge of her seat. “Can we speak to him?”

  The sheriff pursed his lips. “Not unless you’ve got a connection to heaven. He died six months ago. You two wait here. I want to ask the jailer if he recalls anything. He’s been here a lot longer. It won’t take me long.”

  The sheriff shut the door as he left, and Meg pierced Jack with a hard stare. “Did you not think I had the gumption to do this?”

  Jack stepped to the window. Was that why he was here? He hadn’t given her much of a chance. He turned and leaned against the windowsill. “Without a car, I didn’t expect—”

  “I managed to get a ride.” She lifted her chin and crossed her arms. “If you care to leave now, you can.”

  He stuck his hands into his pockets. “I visited Oscar earlier and asked whether he recalled the incident. He sent me here.”

  “I was going to the hospital next.”

  “Would you have felt comfortable seeing him in a hospital gown?”

  She dropped her arms, and her face relaxed to the natural softness he found so attractive. “I guess not. What did he say?”

  Jack’s insides settled. “He didn’t know anything about a cover-up.”

  She faced the wall on the other side of the sheriff’s cluttered desk as if trying to decide whether to drop the subject.

  “He paid a high compliment to the story you wrote last week.”

  She faced him, eyes riddled with alarm. “You told him?”

  Jack’s stomach tightened. He wanted to support her, but if he weren’t careful, she’d see him as another adversary. “Not about that story, but I did mention you were helping on minor pieces. He was a bit troubled but agreed that need had to come before philosophy.” He let go of a loud breath. “I’ll tell him about the bigger stuff, but not till he’s stronger.”

  The door flew open and Sheriff O’Brien exploded into the room, bringing the distinct scent of cigar smoke with him. “The jailer says he’d remember something as screwball as what you describe. Sounds like your rumor mill is alive and well but the sources are bad.”

  Jack held out his hand. “Thanks anyway. If the jailer recalls anything, please have him call us at the News-Trib.” The men shook hands and then Jack escorted Meg to the outer office.

  Outside in the warm sun, he glanced around at the parked vehicles. “How did you get here?”

  Meg regarded her feet. “I caught a ride with Gus, who was coming this way on an errand. He’s supposed to come back in five minutes.”

  Jack pushed his fedora back on his head and grimaced. “I shouldn’t have meddled. I apologize.”

  She dropped her gaze. “That’s okay. I’m sorry I got so upset. You didn’t know I was coming here.”

  “Why don’t you ride with me? We can talk about the story on the way.” And I can enjoy your company.

  Meg’s face brightened, and she started toward his Ford. “Okay. You’re always after me to collaborate with you. Maybe I should.”

  Women would never stop confusing him. Jack moved past her and opened the passenger door. “I have no idea what brought about the change of heart, but it sounds like a grand plan.”

  “You know the saying, ‘Two heads are better than one.’ It’s time to join forces.” She slid onto the seat.

  He moved to close the door then leaned over the top of it and caught her gaze. “What do you think about Sheriff O’Brien saying the jailer didn’t recall the incident? I sensed the guy was lying to save his hide.”

  “It crossed my mind.” She took her notebook and pencil from her handbag and jotted a note. “Another unanswered question.”

  Jack shut the door and rounded the rear of the vehicle, relieved that they were back on good terms. Gus’s car pulled up, and Jack told him Meg was riding back to Lake Geneva with him.

  Jack climbed behind the wheel of the Ford and started the car. In the past hour, he’d visited Oscar, interviewed the sheriff with Meg, and seen the Linotype operator. He loved the personal feel he could never have at the Beacon. He glanced at Meg. “What do you think about fate as far as God is concerned?”

  She kept her eyes on the windshield. “The Bible says that God determines where we live and what we do, but our independent decisions also have a role.”

  He backed out of the parking spot. “But what if our decisions aren’t what God wills for us? What if we go off on our own?”

  “Reverend Hellman says that God didn’t make us like puppets with Him as the puppeteer. He gives us our free will, but if we seek God through prayer and reading the Bible, our decisions will mesh with His.”

  “Running the Beacon is Dad’s dream for me, not mine. There’s a lot more out there than sitting in a fancy office. I thought I wanted to be a reporter on a large daily, but these weeks at the News-Trib have me thinking that maybe owning a small paper like Oscar’s is the ticket.” He paused and swallowed back a wad of emotion that had built up in his throat. “Even if that’s God’s plan for me, I can’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Funny, I want to work for a large daily, and you want to own a weekly. Yet we’re stuck where we are.”

  “You’re not stuck.” He briefly glanced at her, expecting to see joy on her face. Instead, he was greeted with something akin to sadness. “The proverb Reverend Hellman is preaching about got me to thinking. Even though Dad’s health and the Beacon take precedence right now, I can trust God to fulfill the desires of my heart in His timing.”

  They were halfway to Lake Geneva when he glanced at her again. He loved how her nose tipped up and her long lashes framed her eyes. He wasn’t ready to go home to an empty house and call it a day. “What do you say we have our dinner date this evening?” He waited through the silence, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “I plan to be at work extra early tomorrow since it’s deadline day. Best we keep our plans for Friday.”

  He gritted his teeth. He’d b
een so distracted that he’d forgotten the work schedule. But somehow he doubted it was the real reason she declined. Nevertheless, by Friday, the week’s paper would be out and they could relax, making a longer evening of it. “Then Friday it is.”

  She expelled a loud sigh. “If I’m still alive by then.”

  Meg watched the houses on Dodge Street go past. They’d soon come to the cemetery and turn on to Warren Street. Then two more blocks and she’d be home. Ever since she first saw Jack in the sheriff’s office, her emotions had acted like an out-of-control roller coaster. How could she be so angry at a person and at the same time have such strong feelings for him?

  Jack lowered his window, and the moving air brought a pleasing, citrusy scent to her nose. She’d seen men’s cologne advertised recently but hadn’t noticed anyone wearing it. She sniffed again, and her thoughts drifted to a nighttime stroll along the lake and putting her head on Jack’s shoulder. Maybe she should change her mind about dinner.

  Jack pulled up in front of her house. Home meant dinner, and dinner meant facing Dad. If she invited Jack to stay, she might get through the meal unscathed, but what if Dad told Jack off?

  “Thanks for the lift. No need to walk me to the door.” Meg gripped the handle.

  “I won’t feel right if I don’t.” He climbed out before she could issue a retort.

  They arrived at the stoop and faced each other. Why did he have to look at her as though he could see straight into her soul? She averted her gaze and began breathing through her mouth. The scent of his cologne was making her crazy.

  He pushed a lock of hair off her forehead, and his blue-eyed gaze went to her mouth. She needed to move, not get more entangled than she already was. But her black pumps felt glued to the concrete.

  He lowered his head, his eyelids at half-mast. Her lips tingled. How many other women had he kissed in his lifetime? In the past year? In the past week? She took a deep breath through her nose and the intoxicating aroma of lime and oranges awakened her senses. She rose to her toes and closed her eyes.

  The storm door whooshed open and connected with Meg’s backside. She tumbled against Jack’s chest, and his arms went around her.

  “Looks like I interrupted something cozy.” Laura gave them the once-over with her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t see you two.” She tossed her blond tresses over her shoulder and pranced down the walk. “Mom needs your help with dinner. I have an extra play practice.”

  Meg stared after Laura’s retreating figure.

  Jack uttered a sardonic chuckle. “Looks like I’m not on her favored list anymore.”

  “My sister does have a fickle heart.” Suddenly aware of Jack’s arms still around her, she attempted to wriggle away, but he tightened his hold and said in an almost-whisper, “Maybe we should finish what we started.”

  The door opened, and Meg scrambled out of Jack’s embrace.

  Mom stepped out, wearing a flower-print apron and smelling like onions. “I thought I heard voices.” She cocked her head at Jack. “There’s plenty, if you’d like to stay for supper.”

  He searched Meg’s face, and she shot him a warning look.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Alden, but I’d best go.” He offered Meg a lopsided smile before turning away. “See you tomorrow.”

  Meg followed his car with her gaze until it turned the corner. She touched her fingers to her lips. He’d been about to kiss her, and she would have let him. She’d have to be on her guard on Friday night. One slip and she’d be over the moon.

  She stepped inside the house and sniffed. Meat loaf.

  In the kitchen, she collected dishes, balancing the stack on her free arm. Things seemed normal enough. Maybe she’d been too cautious. Maybe she should have encouraged Jack to stay.

  The front door slammed. “Is Meg home?” Dad’s bellow sent a shudder through the house.

  A plate slipped from the stack Meg balanced and shattered on the floor.

  Mom scurried into the hall. “Louis, what on earth? She’s right here in the kitchen.”

  Dad appeared in the doorway, his scowl deep enough to plant seed in the furrows. “To my study. Now.”

  Meg set the remaining plates on the counter. “I have to clean up the mess.” She stepped toward the broom closet.

  “Now.”

  Meg followed him to the book-lined study, feeling more like fifteen than twenty-five.

  “Shut the door and sit.”

  Meg sat in an upholstered armchair as he took a seat behind the desk, looking as though someone had starched his backbone. “Are you going to print this Fred Newman rumor?”

  She raised her chin. “I don’t decide what runs, but Jack won’t print anything without documentation.”

  “And what do you think happened?”

  “It appears that you put Fred in jail and covered it up. I know it’s not like you to do something like that, and I’m trying to learn the truth.” Sounds of banging pots and pans filtered in from the kitchen as the hair on her neck rose in the electrified air.

  “If one word of this is printed, I’m likely to lose my license.”

  Visions of Mom shopping in the food pantry, her father sitting on the street corner with a cup in his hand, Laura working as a waitress at the Utopia, and Meg living somewhere far from Lake Geneva filled her thoughts. Her throat closed. “I already told you, the decision isn’t mine.”

  Dad slapped both palms on the desk and shot to his feet. “You demand that Jack not print the story, for the sake of your family and for Fred.”

  Meg flinched and ran her gaze over her dad’s pinched face. She worked to keep her voice even. “Fred embarrassed you in that meeting. Why do you want to protect him? If he broke a law, it should be on his record. And the public has a right to know.”

  He moved to the window overlooking the backyard and stared out into the dusk-filled night. “If the story runs, you can plan on moving out immediately. Please close the door on your way out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Meg banged on the beauty-shop door then hurried across the porch to the home’s main entrance and rapped her knuckles against the glass windowpane.

  The shop door opened and Helen poked her head out, her face covered with white cream. “It’s only six thirty.” She hid her yawn with a hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you, but I need to talk before work.”

  Helen grabbed Meg’s elbow and pulled her inside. “Come in out of the chill. Let me put coffee on.”

  Meg waited for Helen to shut the door. “No time for coffee. I’m in a fix and may need to leave town sooner than planned.”

  Helen tightened the sash on her pink robe. “I thought you said the man at the Examiner wouldn’t need you until mid-June.”

  “That’s what Mattie said. I have my inquiry letter to him in my purse. If he can assure me of a position, I’ll try to move now, since I may be kicked out of the house any day.”

  Helen sat in front of a mirror and plucked a tissue from a nearby box of Kleenex. She began wiping the lotion from her face. “Your parents aren’t going to kick you out. Some might, but not yours.”

  Meg caught Helen’s eye in the mirror. “My father threatened to.”

  Helen faced Meg, half of her face still covered with cream. “Why?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Must be serious if you can’t tell me why.” Helen stood and came to Meg, drawing her into a hug. “You poor thing. I’d say you could move in here, but as it is, it’s a tiny house.”

  Meg stepped back. “Truth is, unless Dad gives me my school fund, I can’t move anywhere. And after our argument, it’s unlikely he’ll give me so much as a dollar.” She stared at a glop of white lotion resting on her coat lapel. “I should have left things as they were.”

  “Now I’ve messed you up good.” Helen grabbed the tissue box. “I have one question.” She dabbed at the face cream on Meg’s coat.

  Right now Meg didn’t care about her old cloth coat. “What’s your question?�
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  “How do you account for God watching out for you like you always say He does? Doesn’t sound like He’s doing such a good job.” She stood back and examined her handiwork. “Got it all.”

  How was Meg to answer that when she didn’t know herself? “Forget what I said. I need to get to work.”

  As she headed down Main Street, Meg pulled her coat tightly against a wind that felt more wintry than springlike. The past few weeks she’d looked forward to work, knowing she’d see Jack, and today was no different. Their almost-kiss had popped into her mind at least a thousand times since yesterday—a welcome respite from all that was going on with Dad. But she couldn’t let her feelings for Jack distract her. At least she wouldn’t be alone with him this morning. On deadline day, everyone came in early.

  She rounded the corner to the office entrance and entered a frenzy of hazy smoke, clacking typewriters, and jangling phones. Dotty, the substitute typist, occupied Lester’s desk, while Louise, the other sub, pounded on Meg’s typewriter. After hanging up her coat, she headed for Mr. Zimmer’s office and stood in the open doorway.

  “Meg, good morning.” Jack stood from behind the desk, the top button on his shirt undone and his tie loosened. His mouth twitched as if he wasn’t sure whether he should smile or not. “Come in.”

  She sat, relieved that it was business as usual.

  His smile faded. “From your expression, I take it things didn’t go well with your father last night.”

  “If anything is published about Fred’s jail time, I’ll have to move out.”

  Jack tossed his pencil onto the desk. “He should blame me if we run the story, not you.”

  “I explained that it was out of my control, but he thinks I have influence over you.” She bit down on her lip. “The article could take away his livelihood and affect my family. I feel like a rope in a tug-of-war.”

  “Who’s winning?”

  Meg took a hankie from her skirt pocket and twisted it around her index finger. As demanding as her father was, she loved him. But she had a job to do. She raised her head. “I still don’t believe my father has it in him to do anything illegal, but if we find documentation to prove otherwise, the story should run. Even if I end up on a breadline.”