For the moment, my next assignment was in limbo. It was hard to tell what was happening in Parker's office. Myrna busied herself with financial reports. I moved the mouse to wake up my computer. I plucked around the local news sites searching for something interesting to cover. Aside from the water department sneaking on an extra ten dollar fee without informing residents, a debacle that had caused quite a stir and a deluge of complaints to the city, not much was happening in our fair county.
Myrna and I had both been lulled into a dull morning of work, almost forgetting the potential dramatic changes happening behind Parker's door, when Prue popped her smiling face out the door. "Myrna, dear, would you be good enough put on a pot of coffee in the break room." Prudence scanned the room for me, which didn't take too long considering I was the only other staff member. "Sunni, there will be a meeting in fifteen minutes to discuss the new beginning for the Junction Times. Be sure to bring a notepad." With that, she drew back into the office and shut the door.
Myrna and I blinked at each other for a few seconds, then Myrna hopped up to start the coffee. A few minutes later, Prudence hurried out on her squat heels with Parker close in tow. He didn't look my direction as he trudged dejectedly behind Prue through the newsroom and out the door. Myrna and I sat back against our chairs in perfect unison.
"Where do you suppose she's taking him?" Myrna asked.
"Your guess is as good as mine, but he sure looked like a kid who had just been scolded."
"Poor Parker," Myrna said, only there wasn't much sympathy behind the words. Parker had his moments, but mostly, he was gruff and unreasonable and bossy. Having a new owner might just show him a new path forward as a leader. Or possibly not.
The door burst open in true Parker fashion. He had pushed it open with his foot because his arms were filled with two willow baskets. The snarl on his face seemed to be permanent as he grunted and growled a few unintelligible words on his way through the newsroom. A mouthwatering scent of freshly baked goodies followed him down the short hallway to the cluttered break room.
Prudence opened the door next with much less rage-filled energy. She had another basket. Each of the baskets were trimmed and covered with pink checked napkins. "We'll be ready to start the meeting in ten minutes."
"Something smells delicious," Myrna noted with an extra dose of smile.
Prudence paused. "Those are my homemade peach Danish. The secret is in the cream cheese filling," she cooed before continuing on her way.
Myrna patted her belly. "It might sound shallow, considering the only thing that has changed since early this morning is the addition of homemade Danish, but suddenly, I'm not dreading the meeting or the new ownership."
I stifled a laugh with my hand. I had to agree though. Fresh pastries always made a meeting better no matter what was on the agenda.
Prudence's loud protestations obliterated the moment of bliss Myrna and I were having about the pastries. "How on earth is anyone expected to use this room? It's messy and unorganized and far too small." There was no response from Parker, but something told me he wasn't speechless, just mentally advising himself not to speak.
Myrna hopped up looking like someone had just poked her. "That's my fault. I should have cleaned the break room. It's just, no one ever goes in there, and I forgot to clean out the refrigerator—"
"Myrna, stop. It's all right. We'll just explain to Prudence that we never use that room. I'll help you get it organized after the meeting. It seems I'm lacking an assignment anyhow."
Before we could make a plan, Parker shuffled back out with a pinched expression and both baskets in his hands.
Heels tick tocked on the hallway floor. Prudence swept in behind Parker. "Just put them on that empty desk." She waved her own basket toward Chase's now deserted workspace. Parker stared down at the floor as he walked past me to the empty desk. I could feel the heat of rage flowing off of him as if his pockets were filled with hot coals.
"Since the break room is far from inhabitable and not the slightest bit suitable for a proper staff meeting, we'll meet out here." Prudence placed her basket next to the other two. She flipped open the checked cloth and began pulling out china plates and linen napkins. With a point of her finger, she instructed Parker to sit behind the empty desk. Parker followed orders so compliantly, Myrna gasped quietly.
Prudence marched around the newsroom passing out plates and napkins. With her straight posture and efficient movements, she reminded me of my seventh grade math teacher, a stern, no-nonsense woman who had spent ten years as a marine drill sergeant. (Unfortunately, for me and my middle school classmates, she never lost her talents as a drill sergeant.)
"I have an entire agenda planned." Prudence walked around with the pastry basket. "I think it's important to be organized," she continued.
I temporarily tuned out her speech as I plucked a plump pastry positively brimming with cream cheese and syrup drenched peaches from the basket. The pastry was so flaky and tender, my fingers left an imprint behind. I was lost in a baked treat fog when I should have been paying more attention to what was being said. All part of Prue's diabolical plan, no doubt. Somewhere between the first bite of buttery pastry and sugary peaches I caught the words recipe column and cheerful anecdotes. "We don't need to fill people's lives with bad news and criminal activity," Prue added. This time I'd heard her clearly.
I peeked over at Parker. He was sitting with arms folded like a petulant child. His gaze was laser focused on me as he waited for my response to the latest declaration. The resolved, indifferent expression on his face assured me he'd already tried to argue the point with Prue and was summarily shot down. That didn't mean I needed to go straight to surrender.
"But, Mrs. Mortimer, people do like to keep up on important issues and things that might affect the safety of their community." It was a weak start, but I was unprepared . . . for the whole morning, it seemed.
"Please, Sunni, you can call me Prue. After all, we're all going to be part of a newspaper family." I glanced over at Myrna. She appeared perfectly fine with the new owner as she focused on her delicious pastry. Of course, the new changes would hardly affect Myrna. She wasn't a journalist. "I understand that it's good to keep people informed," she continued after a somewhat condescending grin. "However, it is my firm belief that bad news only begets more bad news. People with unsavory dispositions fuel themselves on crime, murder and general chaos. Then they commit crimes and the horrible cycle continues. If we shower them with good news, heartfelt stories and creative ways to make their home lives cozier and richer, then happiness will be the order of the day. We might even turn some of those unsavory characters into respected, successful citizens."
It was hard to argue with such an altruistic approach to life, but since my editor remained mum and Myrna was busy dabbing up tiny flecks of sugary glaze from her napkin, it seemed I was going to be the villain in this story.
"I understand and truly admire your new approach. However, I will tell you, and I think Parker would back me up on this—" I looked his way. He barely nodded his head. Not terribly encouraging from a man who usually torpedoed his opinions around the office like deafening explosions. "Those kinds of stories, the ones you're opposed to, and rightfully so," I added quickly to let her know I agreed, at least in spirit, "the stories that are stunning and shocking to our sensibilities are the stories that sell newspapers and ad space. Sometimes, it's more a matter of budget than philosophy."
Prue had been listening intently. For a brief second, I thought I'd gotten to her. But she just as quickly waved off the entire notion, literally. Her hand swept out. "Nonsense. I know it's human nature to stop and look at an accident on the side of road, but I'm proposing we help our community turn off those base, more barbaric instincts. Just imagine—instead of a headline that reads 'Murder at the Park' it reads"—she raised her hands into a square—"Grandma Janice's Chicken Dumpling Recipe."
I glanced again at Parker. The man couldn't have shown less emotion if he'd
been cast in stone. Apparently, he'd had the fight brow beaten out of him. The few threads of respect I still held for the man floated away.
"We'll be scooped by all the other local papers," I argued next.
Prue looked slightly confused, then I reminded myself her home economics degree probably didn't include many journalism terms.
Myrna saw I was flailing and finally took a break from her pastry. "What Sunni is saying is that if the other local papers print important news articles first, people will soon turn to them and away from the Junction Times. We can't get advertisers if there are no readers. And without advertisers the paper will fail."
I smiled admiringly at my coworker and friend, then sent an angry, disappointed scowl to the man sitting silently behind the empty desk.
Before I could formulate and fire off another line of defense, Prudence rolled right past my protests. "Sunni, for your first assignment I want you to cover the Firefly Craft Fair. They're setting up right now. It should be a wonderful event." She smiled demurely. "I tried very hard to become a member of the Crafting Society but, alas, my crocheted placemats just didn't make the cut. They are very particular about who they allow into the society. The rejection stung at first, but after a little self-reflection, I realized they were right. My placemats just weren't up to par." The words craft fair and crocheted placemats bounced through my head as she continued. "Now, it seems to me some of the people in this newsroom could do with some of that same self-reflection. I think a bit of introspection will bring you to the same conclusions I've made about the newspaper."
Parker's chair creaked, the first indication that he'd moved a muscle since he sat down. He cleared his throat. "Right, well, I'm going to head into my office for those moments of self-reflection," he teased out the last words with great sarcasm. He walked past my desk and didn't even give me the courtesy of a secret eye roll. "Thank you for the pastries, Prudence. Myrna, hold my calls." He shut the door loudly behind him.
Prudence picked up her purse. "I have a name for you, Sunni." For a second I thought she was going to give me a penname for the paper, but she handed me a sticky note with the words 'Crafting Society president Henrietta Lopez'. "I suggest you start with Henrietta. She's a magnificent quilter," she added unnecessarily. My first assignment at the Junction Times had been an interview with a group of quilters, sweet, entertaining ladies, but hardly an assignment I could sink my journalistic teeth into. It seemed I'd come full circle, and I was back to covering quilting bees. "Henri is president of the Crafting Society, just like it says on the note. She can fill you in on all the wonderful details about the craft fair." Prudence had apparently finished with me. She spun around to Myrna. "Now, Myrna, if you wouldn't mind leading me to my office, I can get started organizing it. I have some decorating ideas too."
Myrna cast me a lost look before uttering a question. "Your office?" she asked in a crumbly voice.
Prudence picked up her purse and patted it. "That's right. I want to get started right away. I assume there's already a computer waiting for me in my office."
Myrna looked like a rabbit cornered in a fox hole. Her nervous gaze flicked my direction, then she shot out of her seat. "I'll be right back. I'm just going to ask Mr. Seymour which office he would like you to use." She scampered into his office and shut the door sharply, leaving me alone in the newsroom with the new owner.
An awkward moment of silence followed, but Prue abruptly shattered it. "Well, I won't keep you. Get out there and bring me back a brilliant, intriguing piece on the local craft fair. It's a community favorite. And tell Henrietta hello for me." Her cheeks rounded. "If you happen to slip into the conversation that I'm now the owner of the Junction Times, that would be fine. I think it might make her a touch jealous, and that's not a bad thing."
"Right. On my way." I grabbed my purse and notepad and headed out the door. I decided it was in my best interest to be out of the newsroom when Prudence discovered that there was no office space for the new owner of Junction Times.
Chapter 5
I sat in my jeep for several minutes and pinched myself twice. It had happened. The entire morning that I tried to wish away on my walk to the car had happened. It was not a bad dream or figment of my imagination. Prudence Mortimer, Aunt Prue, now owned the Junction Times. And it seemed painfully clear she was not going to be one of those passive, behind-the-scenes owners, the kind of investor who handed off the money then washed their hands of the entire enterprise. For the most part, Jerold Newsom had been that kind of owner. Parker had been in charge of story selection and column choices. It seemed he'd just handed off his crown to Aunt Prudence. I was sure his stoic, unflinching reaction today during the staff meeting was born more out of shock than acceptance. I just couldn't see headstrong Parker taking orders from anyone else. Particularly when that person knew literally nothing about journalism or running a paper.
Regardless of how the morning went, it seemed I was now stuck covering a local craft fair. My phone buzzed with a text from Raine.
"Do you have time for a cup of coffee before you're off doing your reporter thing?"
The phone nearly slipped from my hands as I texted back frantically. "Yes, but I warn you I just had a bonkers morning!"
"Ah ha, I thought you might be having a bad morning. My sixth sense told me you were in distress. Meet you at the coffee shop in five."
Talking to Raine wasn't going to change things or erase the morning, but it sure would help to rant and rave to a good listener. And Raine was that. Another bonus was she wouldn't try and talk me into seeing the brighter side of things, something Emily and Lana liked to do. At the moment, I just wasn't in the mood to find the bright side.
I decided to get out and walk to the coffee shop. I needed the exercise to release some tension. Raine was already at our favorite corner table. Being a good friend, she already had my favorite mocha latte, whipped cream and sprinkles included, waiting for me.
"First of all, no one is sick, right?" Raine asked before I could take off my coat. "I didn't get the sense of dread that usually comes with an illness or, worse, a death."
"No illness or death to report, thank goodness." I sat down and took a sip of the coffee. It was mostly whipped cream. I was fine with that.
Raine slapped the table. "I know. He finally appeared."
"Who?"
"Edward Beckett, the ghost haunting the inn."
Guilt struck me instantly. Raine was such a good friend and confidante, but I had to keep the biggest secret in the world from her. It always felt like a twist in the gut. Especially now, as she stared at me wide-eyed with anticipation.
"No ghost yet, but I'm sure he'll find some way to let me know he exists." It was hard not to smile about that hilarious statement.
Raine sat back with disappointment. "Darn, thought that was it. If no ghost, then what happened?"
I took one more bracing sip of coffee. "It started with Ursula and Henry acting oddly this morning."
A laugh spurted from Raine's mouth. She stifled it with her coffee.
"I know, that's not anything new," I admitted. "This was even stranger than usual. Ursula was avoiding me, while Henry was trying to get her to tell me something. It never happened so I climbed into my jeep and drove blithely to work. Then I reach the newspaper office and I'm getting the same thing from Myrna. She avoided looking me in the eye and provided none of her usual Monday morning greeting and banter."
Raine sat forward with interest. "Now you've got me very curious. How could Myrna's mood have anything to do with Ursula?"
"Trust me all kinds of horrifying scenarios went through my head. I worried that I'd missed some terrible news about Jackson." I pressed a hand to my chest and took another steadying breath. "Turns out it had nothing to do with Jackson."
"That's a relief," Raine said.
I took another sip and was already feeling better. Although, something told me once I got to the craft fair and Henrietta and her quilts, I was going to feel utterly defl
ated. "It turns out the two situations were related. What Ursula didn't want to tell me was that her Aunt Prudence is the new owner of the Junction Times." I announced the shocking news with great aplomb, but Raine responded with another casual sip of coffee. She paused, apparently waiting for me to deliver the real zinger.
"Aunt Prudence," I repeated. "Prudence Mortimer."
It took her a moment for the name to register. She sat up straight. "You mean that pushy rich aunt who wanted to invest in the inn?"
"Yes, that Aunt Prudence. She has big plans for the paper, none of them good. At least not from a journalistic standpoint. She's talking about recipe columns and heartwarming stories from the community."
Raine made the proper face to go with my revelation. "No one likes to read about recipes and heartwarming stories in a newspaper. What are you going to do?"
I shrugged. "Not much I can do. I'm finally lead reporter, and now I'm going to be covering the town craft fair."
Raine shrugged. "Could be worse."
"How?" I asked, earnestly.
She gave it some thought. "You're right. Couldn't be worse. Hey, at least you get to spend part of your work day shopping at the craft fair. One of my psychic clients, Violet Harville, will be there. She's a nurse, who, in her spare time, creates wonderful soaps and lotions from goat milk. She has a large herd of them. Don't know how she finds so much time. I can hardly find time to eat between my two jobs. And speaking about my side job—" Raine peered at me from beneath a questioning brow. "Have you met him yet?"
"If by him you mean Lana's new friend, then no I haven't." I was loathe to call him boyfriend since Lana's relationships tended to be short-lived. A teasing smile popped up on her lips. I nearly spilled my coffee. "Why? Have you?"
She sat back with a satisfied grin. "Guess I met him before the sisters. Interesting. Although, if I'm being totally honest, we didn't actually meet. He was driving away from her farmhouse as I pulled in for work on Saturday."
A Crafty Killing Page 3
