Читать книгу Texas Born - Diana Palmer - Страница 9
ОглавлениеMichelle got off the school bus in downtown Jacobsville on Friday afternoon. She had to stop by the newspaper office to ask Minette Carson if she’d give her a reference for the scholarship she was applying for. The office was very close to police chief Grier’s office, whom she also needed to see. And she had just enough money to get the local cab company to take her home.
Minette was sitting out front at her desk when Michelle walked in. She grinned and got up to greet her.
“How’s school?” she asked.
“Going very well,” Michelle said. “I wanted to ask if I could put you down as a reference. I’m applying for that journalism scholarship we spoke about last month, at Marist College in San Antonio.”
“Of course you can.”
“Thanks. I’m hoping I can keep my grades up so I’ll have a shot at it.”
“You’ll do fine, Michelle. You have a way with words.” She held up a hand when Michelle looked as if she might protest. “I never lie about writing. I’m brutally honest. If I thought you didn’t have the skill, I’d keep my mouth shut.”
Michelle laughed. “Okay. Thanks, then.”
Minette perched on the edge of her desk. “I was wondering if you might like to work part-time for me. After school and Saturday morning.”
Michelle’s jaw dropped. “You mean, work here?” she exclaimed. “Oh, my gosh, I’d love to!” Then the joy drained out of her face. “I can’t,” she groaned. “I don’t drive, and I don’t have cab fare home. I mean, I do today, but I went without lunch....” Her face flamed.
“Carlie lives just past you,” she said gently. “She works until five. So do we. I know she’d let you ride with her. She works Saturday mornings, too.”
The joy came back into her features. “I’ll ask her!”
Minette chuckled. “Do that. And let me know.”
“I will, I promise.”
“You can start Monday, if you like. Do you have a cell phone?” Minette asked.
Michelle hesitated and shook her head with lowered eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get you one.”
“Oh, but....”
“I’ll have you phoning around town for news. Junior reporter stuff,” she added with a grin. “A cell’s an absolute necessity.”
“In that case, okay, but I’ll pay you back.”
“That’s a deal.”
“I’ll go over and talk to Carlie.”
“Stop back by and let me know, okay?”
“Okay!”
She didn’t normally rush, but she was so excited that her feet carried her across the street like wings.
She walked into the police station. Cash Grier was perched on Carlie’s desk, dictating from a paper he held in his hand. He stopped when he saw Michelle.
“Sorry,” Michelle said, coloring. She clutched her textbooks to her chest almost as a shield. “I just needed to ask Carlie something. I can come back later....”
“Nonsense,” Cash said, and grinned.
She managed a shy smile. “Thanks.” She hesitated. “I told a lie to my stepmother,” she blurted out. “I think you should know, because it involved you.”
His dark eyebrows arched. “Really? Did you volunteer me for the lead in a motion picture or something? Because I have to tell you, my asking price is extremely high....”
She laughed with pure delight. “No. I told her I gave you my father’s stamp collection for safekeeping.” She flushed again. “She was going to sell it. She’d already thrown away all his stuff. He and I worked on the stamp collection together as long as I can remember. It’s all I have left of him.” She swallowed. Hard.
Cash got up. He towered over her. He wasn’t laughing. “You bring it in here and I’ll put it in the safe,” he said gently. “Nobody will touch it.”
“Thanks.” She was trying not to cry. “That’s so kind...”
“Now, don’t cry or you’ll have me in tears. What would people think? I mean, I’m a big, tough cop. I can’t be seen standing around sobbing all over the place. Crime would flourish!”
That amused her. She stopped biting her lip and actually grinned.
“That’s better.” His black eyes narrowed quizzically. “Your stepmother seems to have some issues. I got an earful from your minister this morning.”
She nodded sadly. “She was so different when we lived in San Antonio. I mean, we went shopping together, we took turns cooking. Then we moved down here and she got mixed up with that Bert person.” She shivered. “He gives me cold chills, but she’s crazy about him.”
“Bert Sims?” Cash asked in a deceptively soft tone.
“That’s him.”
Cash didn’t say anything else. “If things get rough over there, call me, will you? I know you’re outside the city limits, but I can get to Hayes Carson pretty quick if I have to, and he has jurisdiction.”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that....”
“Isn’t it?” Cash asked.
She felt chilled. It was as if he was able to see Roberta through her eyes, and he saw everything.
“She did apologize. Sort of. For hitting me, I mean.”
“Hitting you?” Cash stood straighter. “When?”
“I messed up the sale of Daddy’s stamps. She was wild-eyed and screaming. She just slapped me, is all. She’s been excitable since before Daddy died, but now she’s just...just...nuts. She talks about money all the time, like she’s dying to get her hands on some. But she doesn’t buy clothes or cosmetics, she doesn’t even dress well anymore.”
“Do you know why?”
She shook her head. She drew in a breath. “She doesn’t drink,” she said. “I know that’s what you’re thinking. She and Daddy used to have drinks every night, and she had a problem for a little while, but she got over it.”
Cash just nodded. “You let me know if things get worse. Okay?”
“Okay, Chief. Thanks,” she added.
The phone rang. Carlie answered it. “It’s your wife,” she said with a big grin.
Cash’s face lit up. “Really? Wow. A big-time movie star calling me up on the phone. I’m just awed, I am.” He grinned. Everybody knew his wife, Tippy, had been known as the Georgia Firefly when she’d been a supermodel and, later, an actress. “I’ll take it in my office. With the door closed.” He made a mock scowl. “And no eavesdropping.”
Carlie put her hand over her heart. “I swear.”
“Not in my office, you don’t,” he informed her. “Swearing is a misdemeanor.”
She stuck out her tongue at his departing back.
“I saw that,” he said without looking behind him. He went into his office and closed the door on two giggling women.
“He’s a trip to work for,” Carlie enthused, her green eyes sparkling in a face framed by short, dark, wavy hair. “I was scared to death of him when I interviewed for the job. At least, until he accused me of hiding his bullets and telling his men that he read fashion magazines in the bathroom.”
Michelle laughed.
“He’s really funny. He says he keeps files on aliens in the filing cabinet and locks it so I won’t peek.” The smile moderated. “But if there’s an emergency, he’s the toughest guy I’ve ever known. I would never cross him, if I was a criminal.”
“They say he chased a speeder all the way to San Antonio once.”
She laughed. “That wasn’t the chief. That was Kilraven, who worked here undercover.” She leaned forward. “He really belongs to a federal agency. We’re not supposed to mention it.”
“I won’t tell,” Michelle promised.
“However, the chief—” she nodded toward his closed door “—got on a plane to an unnamed foreign country, tossed a runaway criminal into a bag and boated him to Miami. The criminal was part of a drug cartel. He killed a small-town deputy because he thought the man was a spy. He wasn’t, but he was just as dead. Then the feds got involved and the little weasel escaped into a country that didn’t have an extradition treaty with us. However, once he was on American soil, he was immediately arrested by Dade County deputies.” She grinned. “The chief denied ever having seen the man, and nobody could prove that it was him on the beach. And,” she added darkly, “you never heard that from me. Right?”
“Right!”
Carlie laughed. “So what can I do for you?”
“I need a ride home from work.”
“I’ve got another hour to go, but...”
“Not today,” Michelle said. “Starting Monday. Minette Carson just offered me a part-time job, but I don’t have a way to get home. And she said I could work part-time Saturday, but I can’t drive and I don’t have a car.”
“You can ride with me, and I’d welcome the company,” Carlie said easily.
“I’ll chip in for the gas.”
“That would really help! Have you seen what I drive?” She groaned. “My dad has this thing about cars. He thinks you need an old truck to keep you from speeding, so he bought me a twelve-year-old tank. At least, it looks like a tank.” She frowned. “Maybe it was a tank and he had it remodeled. Anyway, it barely gets twelve miles to a gallon and it won’t go over fifty.” She shook her head. “He drives a vintage Ford Cobra,” she added with a scowl. “One of the neatest rides on the planet and I’m not allowed to touch it, can you believe that?”
Michelle just grinned. She didn’t know anything about cars. She did recall the way the minister had peeled out of the driveway, scattering gravel. That car he drove had one big engine.
“Your dad scared my stepmother.” Michelle laughed. “She wasn’t letting me go to church. Your dad said I could ride with you.” She stopped and flushed. “I really feel like I’m imposing. I wish I could drive. I wish I had a car....”
“It’s really not imposing,” Carlie said softly, smiling. “As I said, I’d like the company. I go down lots of back roads getting here from Comanche Wells. I’m not spooky or anything, but this guy did try to kill my Dad with a knife.” She lowered her eyes. “I got in the way.”
Michelle felt guilty that she hadn’t remembered. “I’ll learn karate,” she promised. “We can go to a class together or something, and if anybody attacks us we can fight back!”
“Bad idea,” Cash said, rejoining them. “A few weeks of martial arts won’t make you an expert. Even an expert,” he added solemnly, “knows better than to fight if he can get away from an armed man.”
“That isn’t what the ads say,” Carlie mused, grinning.
“Yes, I know,” Cash replied. “Take it from me, disarming someone with a gun is difficult even for a black belt.” He leaned forward. “Which I am.”
Carlie stood up, bowed deeply from the waist, and said, “Sensei!” Cash lost it. He roared with laughter.
“You could teach us,” Michelle suggested. “Couldn’t you?”
Cash just smiled. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Just a few basics for an emergency. But if you have an armed opponent, you run,” he said firmly. “Or if you’re cornered, scream, make a fuss. Never,” he emphasized, “get into a car with anyone who threatens to kill you if you don’t. Once he’s got you in a car, away from help, you’re dead, anyway.”
Michelle felt chills run down her spine. “Okay.”
Carlie looked uncomfortable. She knew firsthand about an armed attacker. Unconsciously, she rubbed the shoulder where the knife had gone in. She’d tried to protect her father. Her assailant had been arrested, but had died soon afterward. She never knew why her father had been the target of an attack by a madman.
“Deep thoughts?” Michelle asked her.
She snapped back. “Sorry. I was remembering the guy who attacked my father.” She frowned. “What sort of person attacks a minister, for goodness’ sake!”
“Come on down to federal lockup with me, and I’ll show you a baker’s dozen who have,” Cash told her. “Religious arguments quite often lead to murder, even in families. That’s why,” he added, “we don’t discuss politics or religion in the office.” He frowned. “Well, if someone died in here, we’d probably say a prayer. And if the president came to see me, and why wouldn’t he, we’d probably discuss his foreign policy.”
“Why would the president come to see you?” Michelle asked innocently.
Cash pursed his lips. “For advice, of course. I have some great ideas about foreign policy.”
“For instance?” Carlie mused.
“I think we should declare war on Tahiti.”
They both stared at him.
“Well, if we do, we can send troops, right?” he continued. “And what soldier in his right mind wouldn’t want to go and fight in Tahiti? Lush tropical flowers, fire-dancing, beautiful women, the ocean...”
“Tahiti doesn’t have a standing army, I don’t think,” Michelle ventured.
“All the better. We can just occupy it for like three weeks, let them surrender, and then give them foreign aid.” He glowered. “Now you’ve done it. You’ll repeat that everywhere and the president will hear about it and he’ll never have to come and hear me explain it. You’ve blown my chances for an invitation to the White House,” he groaned. “And I did so want to spend a night in the Lincoln bedroom!”
“Listen, break out those files on aliens that you keep in your filing cabinet and tell the president you’ve got them!” Carlie suggested, while Michelle giggled. “He’ll come right down here to have a look at them!”
“They won’t let him,” Cash sighed. “His security clearance isn’t high enough.”
“What?” Carlie exclaimed.
“Well, he’s only in the office for four years, eight tops. So the guys in charge of the letter agencies—the really secretive ones—allegedly keep some secrets to themselves. Particularly those dealing with aliens.” He chuckled.
The girls, who didn’t know whether to believe him or not, just laughed along with him.
* * *
Michelle stopped back by Minette’s office to tell her the good news, and to thank her again for the job.
“You know,” she said, “Chief Grier is really nice.”
“Nice when he likes you,” Minette said drily. “There are a few criminals in maximum-security prisons who might disagree.”
“No doubt there.”
“So, will Monday suit you, to start to work?” Minette asked.
“I’d really love to start yesterday.” Michelle laughed. “I’m so excited!”
Minette grinned. “Monday will come soon enough. We’ll see you then.”
“Can you write me a note? Just in case I need one?” She was thinking of how to break it to Roberta. That was going to be tricky.
“No problem.” Minette went to her desk, typed out an explanation of Michelle’s new position, and signed it. She handed it to the younger woman. “There you go.”
“Dress code?” Michelle asked, glancing around the big open room where several people were sitting at desks, to a glass-walled room beyond which big sheets of paper rested on a long section like a chalkboard.
“Just be neat,” Minette said easily. “I mostly kick around in jeans and T-shirts, although I dress when I go to political meetings or to interviews with state or federal politicians. You’ll need to learn how to use a camera, as well. We have digital ones. They’re very user-friendly.”
“This is very exciting,” Michelle said, her gray eyes glimmering with delight.
Minette laughed. “It is to me, too, and I’ve done this since I was younger than you are. I grew up running around this office.” She looked around with pure love in her eyes. “It’s home.”
“I’m really looking forward to it. Will I just be reporting news?”
“No. Well, not immediately, at least. You’ll learn every aspect of the business, from selling ads to typing copy to composition. Even subscriptions.” She leaned forward. “You’ll learn that some subscribers probably used to be doctors, because the handwriting looks more like Sanskrit than English.”
Michelle chuckled. “I’ll cope. My dad had the worst handwriting in the world.”
“And he was a doctor,” Minette agreed, smiling.
The smile faded. “He was a very good doctor,” she said, trying not to choke up. “Sorry,” she said, wiping away a tear. “It’s still hard.”
“It takes time,” Minette said with genuine sympathy. “I lost my mother, my stepfather, my stepmother—I loved them all. You’ll adjust, but you have to get through the grief process first. Tears are healing.”
“Thanks.”
“If you need to talk, I’m here. Anytime. Night or day.”
Michelle wiped away more tears. “That’s really nice of you.”
“I know how it feels.”
The phone rang and one of the employees called out. “For you, boss. The mayor returning your call.”
Minette grimaced. “I have to take it. I’m working on a story about the new water system. It’s going to be super.”
“I’ll see you after school Monday, then. And thanks again.”
“My pleasure.”
* * *
Michelle went home with dreams of journalism dancing in her head. She’d never been so happy. Things were really looking up.
She noted that Roberta’s car was in the driveway and she mentally braced herself for a fight. It was suppertime and she hadn’t been there to cook. She was going to be in big trouble.
Sure enough, the minute she walked in the door, Roberta threw her hands up and glared at her. “I’m not cooking,” she said furiously. “That’s your job. Where the hell have you been?”
Michelle swallowed. “I was in...in town.”
“Doing what?” came the tart query.
She shifted. “Getting a job.”
“A job?” She frowned, and her eyes didn’t seem to quite focus. “Well, I’m not driving you to work, even if somebody was crazy enough to hire you!”
“I have a ride,” she replied.
“A job,” she scoffed. “As if you’re ever around to do chores as it is. You’re going to get a job? Who’s going to do the laundry and the housecleaning and the cooking?”
Michelle bit her tongue, trying not to say what she was thinking. “I have to have money for lunch,” she said, thinking fast.
Roberta blinked, then she remembered that she’d said Michelle wasn’t getting any more lunch money. She averted her eyes.
“Besides, I have to save for college. I’ll start in the fall semester.”
“Jobs. College.” Roberta looked absolutely furious. “And you think I’m going to stay down here in this hick town while you sashay off to college in some big city, do you?”
“I graduate in just over three months...”
“I’m putting the house on the market,” Roberta shot back. She held up a hand. “Don’t even bother arguing. I’m listing the house with a San Antonio broker, not one from here.” She gave Michelle a dirty look. “They’re all on your side, trying to keep the property off the market. It won’t work. I need money!”
For just one instant, Michelle thought about letting her have the stamps. Then she decided it was useless to do that. Roberta would spend the money and still try to sell the house. She comforted herself with what the local Realtor had told her—that it would take time for the will to get through probate. If there was a guardian angel, perhaps hers would drag out the time required for all that. And even then, there was a chance the house wouldn’t sell.
“I don’t imagine a lot of people want to move to a town this small,” Michelle said out loud.
“Somebody local might buy it. One of those ranchers.” She made it sound like a dirty word.
That made Michelle feel better. If someone from here bought the house, they might consider renting it to her. Since she had a job, thanks to Minette, she could probably afford reasonable rent.
Roberta wiped her face. She was sweating.
Michelle frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right, I’m just hungry!”
“I’ll make supper.” She went to her room to put her books away and stopped short. The place was in shambles. Drawers had been emptied, the clothes from the shelves in the closet were tossed haphazardly all over the floor. Michelle’s heart jumped, but she noticed without looking too hard that the baseboards in the closet were still where they should be. She looked around but not too closely. After all, she’d told Roberta that Chief Grier had her father’s stamp collection. It hadn’t stopped Roberta from searching the room. But it was obvious that she hadn’t found anything.
She went back out into the hall, where her stepmother was standing with folded arms, a disappointed look on her face. She’d expected that the girl would go immediately to where she’d hidden the stamps. The fact that she didn’t even search meant they weren’t here. Damn the luck, she really had taken them to the police chief. And even Roberta wasn’t brash enough to walk up to Cash Grier and demand the stamp collection back, although she was probably within her legal rights to do so.
“Don’t tell me,” Michelle said, staring at her. “Squirrels?”
Roberta was disconcerted. Without meaning to, she burst out laughing at the girl’s audacity. She turned away, shaking her head. “All right, I just wanted to make sure the stamp collection wasn’t still here. I guess you were telling the truth all along.”
“Roberta, if you need money so much, why don’t you get a job?”
“I had a job, if you recall,” she replied. “I worked in retail.”
That was true. Roberta had worked at the cosmetics counter in one of San Antonio’s most prestigious department stores.
“But I’m not going back to that,” Roberta scoffed. “Once I sell this dump of a house, I’ll be able to go to New York or Los Angeles and find a man who really is rich, instead of one who’s just pretending to be,” she added sarcastically.
“Gosh. Poor Bert,” Michelle said. “Does he know?”
Roberta’s eyes flashed angrily. “If you say a word to him...!”
Michelle held up both hands. “Not my business.”
“Exactly!” Roberta snapped. “Now, how about fixing supper?”
“Sure,” Michelle agreed. “As soon as I clean up my room,” she added in a bland tone.
Her stepmother actually flushed. She took a quick breath. She was shivering. “I need...more...” she mumbled to herself. She went back into her own room and slammed the door.
* * *
They ate together, but Michelle didn’t taste much of her supper. Roberta read a fashion magazine while she spooned food into her mouth.
“Where are you getting a job? Who’s going to even hire a kid like you?” she asked suddenly.
“Minette Carson.”
The magazine stilled in her hands. “You’re going to work for a newspaper?”
“Of course. I want to study journalism in college.”
Roberta looked threatened. “Well, I don’t want you working for newspapers. Find something else.”
“I won’t,” Michelle said firmly. “This is what I want to do for a living. I have to start somewhere. And I have to save for college. Unless you’d like to volunteer to pay my tuition....”
“Ha! Fat chance!” Roberta scoffed.
“That’s what I thought. I’m going to a public college, but I still have to pay for books and tuition.”
“Newspapers. Filthy rags.” Her voice sounded slurred. She was picking at her food. Her fork was moving in slow motion. And she was still sweating.
“They do a great deal of good,” Michelle argued. “They’re the eyes and ears of the public.”
“Nosy people sticking their heads into things that don’t concern them!”
Michelle looked down at her plate. She didn’t mention that people without things to hide shouldn’t have a problem with that.
Roberta took her paper towel and mopped her sweaty face. She seemed disoriented and she was flushed, as well.
“You should see a doctor,” Michelle said quietly. “There’s that flu still going around.”
“I’m not sick,” the older woman said sharply. “And my health is none of your business!”
Michelle grimaced. She sipped milk instead of answering.
“It’s too hot in here. You don’t have to keep the thermostat so high!”
“It’s seventy degrees,” Michelle said, surprised. “I can’t keep it higher or we couldn’t afford the gas bill.” She paid the bills with money that was grudgingly supplied by Roberta from the joint bank account she’d had with Michelle’s father. Roberta hadn’t lifted a finger to pay a bill since Alan had died.
“Well, it’s still hot!” came the agitated reply. She got up from the table. “I’m going outside. I can’t breathe in here.”
Michelle watched her go with open curiosity. Odd. Roberta seemed out of breath and flushed more and more lately. She had episodes of shaking that seemed very unusual. She acted drunk sometimes, but Michelle knew she wasn’t drinking. There was no liquor in the house. It probably was the flu. She couldn’t understand why a person who was obviously sick wouldn’t just go to the doctor in the first—
There was a loud thud from the general direction of the front porch.
