Читать книгу The Big Scoop - Sandra Kelly - Страница 12

“SO, WHY ME?”

Sally glanced sideways at Jack. They were cruising along county road nineteen, the Mustang holding tight to the road as the morning sun warmed their skin.

What did he mean by “why me?” Why do you find me to be the most attractive man who ever lived? Why do you want me to pull over right now and kiss you again, like I did last night, only properly this time? Why…

“I mean, why me specifically?” he pressed. “My editor said you requested me personally. Was it because I won the Gobey?”

Oh! Oh! He was talking about the story.

“Actually, no,” Sally said truthfully. “I don’t mean to diminish your achievement. It’s really something, winning that award. But…it was more the way you won it. Those people in your story, who lost all their pension money to those horrible crooks? You wrote about them as if you really cared about them, as if you really felt their pain and anger.”

Jack flashed her a bemused smile and Sally wondered if she’d assumed too much. Maybe he didn’t give a damn about those poor people. Maybe he wasn’t even capable of feeling that way. Maybe—oh, God—maybe he was just a slick, heartless, egotistical, big-city reporter building his career on the backs of helpless victims.

“I didn’t care about them,” Jack admitted. “Not at first. But by the time I got around to writing their story, I was angry, too. I guess that came through in my copy.”

“Oh, it did!” Mindful of her tendency to gush around the guy, Sally buttoned it and concentrated on the pavement unfolding before them. It was odd, she thought, how comfortable their silences were. They were perfect strangers and they’d gotten off to a bad start. Shouldn’t there be some tension between them? Some awkwardness? Instead they both seemed to use their quiet moments to refuel for the next round. It was refreshing, exciting, wondrous even.

“So, how do you know what a sidebar is?” Jack asked. “Yesterday you said you envisioned a sidebar story along with the main article.”

Sally sighed. Okay, it was wondrous until hotshot opened his mouth to change feet. “This may come as a shock to you, Jack Gold, but some of us hicks in this here hick town actually went to college.”

Grinning, he patted the top of his head.

Sally frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking my height. I think I just came down another notch.”

She laughed heartily. So, he could feel another’s pain, and he could laugh at himself. Those were good signs. Two, anyway.

Jack geared down for a steep hill. “Where did you go to college?”

“The University of British Columbia, just like you. I didn’t get a master’s degree, but I did do undergraduate work in journalism along with my regular courses.”

“You’re kidding. When did you graduate?”

“Four years ago,” Sally said. Long after Jack had come and gone from UBC. She didn’t mention that he’d been a minor legend on campus, the one and only former editor of the student newspaper whose editorials were used as the standard by which all such writing should be judged. Jack being Jack, he probably knew that.

“Why didn’t you major in journalism?” he asked. “You’d have made an awesome reporter.”

Oh wow, what a nice thing to say. Sally knew that, of course, but coming from Cracker Jack Gold it was a true compliment. She almost replied that a degree in journalism would have led to a less than glamorous career at the Peachtown Post, but some instinct told her to keep that thought under wraps. Besides, her life had been mapped out long ago.

“I always knew I’d end up doing the job I’m doing. My family has been in this valley for over a hundred years. I have roots here. I can’t imagine living or working anywhere else.”

It was Jack’s turn to clam up now. Sally could just hear him thinking: I could never live in a backwater like this. But he surprised her. “I don’t have roots anywhere. I was an army brat. Lived in base housing all over Canada, went to a new school every year. Never made any real friends.”

“Why did you pick UBC?”

“It had the programs I wanted.”

“Okay, why did you decide to stay in Vancouver?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Hey, who’s doing the interviewing here?”

“Just curious.”

“The Satellite made me the best job offer.”

“So, you aren’t especially—” Sally searched for a word “—loyal to Vancouver then? I mean, do you plan to live there for the rest of your life?”

He shook his head. “I love the West Coast, but I could never be loyal to any one place. Or to any one employer for that matter. It’s a good thing, too. Now that I’ve won the Gobey, I’ll be recruited by major newspapers across the country. Probably in the States, too.”

Wow, what confidence, Sally thought. Not, I’ll probably be recruited, but I will be. It was true, of course. All Gobey winners had their pick of the best jobs available. Soon Jack would be making a name for himself in Montreal or Toronto or New York. There was no sense in getting excited by the possibility of…of what, exactly? What was she thinking? That he might stick around here? Fat chance!

“Where am I going?” he asked as they approached the junction of the county road and Main Street. As planned, Sally instructed him to turn south, away from town. Charlie lived a few blocks north of the town centre, but there was something she needed to show Jack before he hightailed it out of here, as he so clearly wanted to do.

Anyway, enough personal talk. What business of hers was it where he chose to live? “So, I guess you could never live in a place like this, huh?”

Jack glanced over at her just long enough to show surprise. Dumb question, his expression said. “No, I couldn’t. No offense, Sally, but I really don’t want to be here one minute longer than I have to.”

Ouch. Did he have to be so blunt?

“I’ll bet I can guess how you live in Vancouver,” she ventured. Why not have a little fun?

He seemed amused. “Oh yeah? Go for it.”

“Okay. I’ll bet you live in an architecturally correct condo in West Van, with leather chairs and stainless steel appliances and a pleasing, if not exactly spectacular, view of the coastal mountains.”

“Wrong.” He let a moment pass before casting her a smile. “I live in an architecturally correct town house in West Van with leather chairs and stainless steel appliances and a pleasing, if not exactly spectacular, view of the coastal mountains.”

“A minor distinction at best. Score—Sally one, Jack nothing. Let me see now. I’ll bet your town house is surrounded by all sorts of trendy little shops and cafés, all of which you cite as your reason—make that your justification—for living in crowded, overpriced West Van, but none of which you’ve ever set foot in.” Was she clever, or what? She could have been an FBI profiler.

“Wrong again. I eat out almost every night, at a trendy little bistro four doors down from my architecturally correct town house. I shop in the local stores, and I’m a Friday night fixture at the corner pub. I’ve got my own stool there.”

“Okay. You score one point, even though I suspect you’re exaggerating.”

He laughed. “Maybe a little.”

Actually, Sally could just picture him sitting on that stool, sipping some pricey foreign ale while he read and admired his own copy in that day’s Satellite. Probably he wasn’t alone. Probably he was reading it aloud to someone.

Someone special.

“One last guess. I’ll bet you’ve got a very tall, very thin girlfriend who dresses in black and smokes French cigarettes.” That sounded like fishing, but how else was she going to learn anything about the guy? He wasn’t exactly gushy about his personal life.

Jack let the question hang there for a moment, and Sally braced herself for the inevitable. Of course there was a girlfriend. Maybe more than one. A guy like him? Educated, gorgeous, soon to be famous. He probably had the world’s biggest speed dial.

“Wrong yet again,” Jack finally said. “One more strike and you’re out.”

Sally waited for details, but, clearly, none were forthcoming. Talk about smooth. He hadn’t really answered the question at all. His girlfriend might be short with red hair. Or medium with no hair. He didn’t ask if she had a boyfriend, either. Come to think of it, he hadn’t asked her a single question that didn’t relate to the story. Obviously he didn’t care.

Oh well, it was time to switch her hormones off, anyway—stop fantasizing about the impossible and get her mind back on the story.

Their turn was just ahead. Following her directions, Jack swung left onto the smooth two-lane blacktop, its centre line a ribbon of bright, untarnished yellow. They passed through a dark tunnel formed by the bowed, sweeping branches of overgrown poplars, then abruptly burst into a sun-dappled meadow.

Sally watched Jack for his reaction to the spectacle ahead.

Obviously stunned, he slowed the Mustang to a crawl, his gaze riveted on the ghostly remains of half-built structures—shops, restaurants and, beyond, a network of empty streets where new homes should have been.

He brought the car to a full stop in the middle of the deserted road and sat there, gawking. Sally gave him a moment to take it all in.

“What do you see, Jack?” She held her breath.

He took a long time to frame his answer. “I see…a vision…wasted.”

Yes! She had been so right. Jack Gold was the one and only reporter who could tell her story.

“What happened here, Sally?”

As he eased off the brake and proceeded slowly along the access road, she explained how several years ago the town had sold the land to a developer with an inspired vision: Build a series of small, independent communities extending south of town—pods, sort of—that would attract young families looking for affordable homes, with schools and shops nearby. The plan had been to recruit a few national store chains and at the same time to presell the homes. Then the drought came and the local economy tanked. The buyers didn’t come. “The chains backed out. The developer lost his shirt and, well, this is the outcome.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jack marveled as he cruised through the eerie district, looking all around him. “I’ve never seen anything so…unfinished.”

“That’s just it, Jack! There’s a standing proposal before town council to recruit another developer, but no one in the valley is interested. And there’s no way we can finish the project ourselves, not without raising property taxes through the roof.” Sally was ranting again and she knew it, but she just had to get Jack on board. “Do you know what this would have meant for Peachtown?”

He parked at a curb and turned toward her. “This isn’t really about ice cream, is it, Sally?”

“No. Well, yes and no. Like I said yesterday, we were positioned for growth and change. For progress, Jack.” Please, please, understand this.

“You don’t really believe that Peach Paradise is going to change all this, do you?”

“Got a better idea?”

“It’s not my place to come up with ideas for urban renewal.”

“No, but it is in your power to get the attention of the people who will come up with those ideas—”

“Look, Sally.” His tone was soft, placating.

“—and then make them happen!”

“Sally…”

“Jack, you promised to do the story justice!”

“I came here to write a story about ice cream, and I will do it justice.”

“Yes, but there’s so much more to the story than that. Listen, Jack. All of this—” she waved her hands around “—is documented at Peachtown Hall. We could go there tomorrow. I could give you all the background information you need to get started. I…” What the…? Was he laughing at her? “What’s so funny, mister?”

“You. I’ve never met anybody like you.”

Sally’s face heated up. “I’ll thank you to take me seriously, Jack Gold. Like you promised.”

“And I’ll thank you to remember why I came here. I’ve got an article to write. A short article, and I’m planning to write it tonight, in Vancouver. Besides, I can’t be here tomorrow. I’m covering an important press conference first thing in the morning, in Vancouver. In the meantime, you and I are going to pay Charlie Sacks a visit. I’ll tour the dairy barn with you and I’ll look at your photos, as promised. That’s all.”

Sally folded her arms and worked up her best pouty princess look. Why was he being so difficult? People usually went along with her plans and schemes.

“The pouty thing doesn’t work with me, Sally.”

Darn. She tried wounded puppy instead.

“That doesn’t work, either.”

A sigh escaped her. “Oh, Jack.”

For all of a second he appeared to weaken. But Trish’s comment about her tendency to steamroll over people echoed in Sally’s head, and she decided to let the matter drop—for now.

COULD HE FEEL ANY WORSE?

Jack stood beside Sally on Charlie Sacks’s front porch, waiting for someone, anyone, to answer the bell. They’d only been there a minute or two, but it felt like a week. The air between them was charged with electricity. Sally was annoyed. No doubt about that. But there was nothing he could do to change it.

What was it about her that made him feel so bad? What power did she have to make him second-guess himself? People usually flattered him—buttered him up to get what they wanted. Not Sally Darville. She could act coy, but ultimately she wanted what she wanted on her own terms. It was sort of…refreshing.

Regardless, he wasn’t buckling—no matter how sexy she looked in those little white shorts and that filmy pink blouse with the lacy bra showing through. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a pale pink and her hair was down today, loose and blond and beautiful around her shoulders. And that musky scent she wore—it could lull a man into stupidity.

Was she trying to seduce him? The possibility had struck him last night, and she definitely had been making girly eyes at him this morning. To what lengths would the woman go to get her way? Dammit, he shouldn’t have kissed her last night. It had seemed natural, somehow, but it must have given the impression that he could be seduced. Which, maybe, he could. But not for a price.

The door finally opened and Jack found himself face-to-face with a tall, handsome woman in, perhaps, her late fifties. She had short dark hair and smiling brown eyes.

“You must be Jack Gold, the famous reporter,” she said in a lovely, lilting voice. “I’ve heard such wonderful things about you.” Her handshake was more a caress than an up-down motion. It charmed Jack into a case of instant like.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ah, Mrs. Sacks.”

“Oh please, call me Arlene. Come on in.”

Inside the spacious foyer, the women air kissed and agreed that they both looked lovely. While Jack looked around, they chatted about the heat. When would it end? Arlene asked about the dairy. Was business good? And Sally’s parents. Were they expecting any company this summer? Here was something else Jack had forgotten about small towns—the endless welcoming chitchat. Vancouver moved at a faster clip.

“Are you enjoying your stay in Peachtown?” Arlene asked him.

Graciousness seemed in order. “Very much, thank you.”

“That’s good. We pride ourselves on showing people a good time, don’t we, Sally?”

“Hmm.”

Trailing the women down a long central hall, Jack admired the grand old staircase leading to the second floor, and peered into rooms that looked lived-in and happy. On his own, he would never have thought to look up Charlie Sacks. Who wanted to meet a sad old man who’d wasted his chance? Stuck in a small town. Stuck in a dead-end job. But meeting Charlie’s beautiful wife and seeing his comfortable home—well, the man’s life didn’t exactly look like torture.

Arlene glanced over her shoulder. “I must warn you, Charlie’s not in the best of shape today.”

“Oh, is it that awful back problem of his?” Sally asked in a cheesy, theatrical voice Jack had never heard her use before.

Arlene gave a sigh. “I’m afraid so.” She made it sound like the man was about to draw his last breath.

What was that about? Jack wondered. They sounded like amateur actors reading from a bad play.

They passed through a homey kitchen and into a big, sunny family room. Bookcases crammed with dog-eared books and family photos stood at right angles against two long walls. Matching overstuffed sofas and a sunken easy chair took up the centre of the room. Flat on his back on one of the sofas was a bald, chubby man in agony. His mournful eyes slid toward Jack. “Oh, the pain. The terrible paiiiiiiiiin.”

Smiling tightly, Arlene addressed him as if he were a toddler. “Now, now, Charlie. You’re exaggerating. It’s time to get vertical. Our guests are here.”

Charlie Sacks made a valiant attempt to sit up, but ended up falling back again. He let out a moan.

Alarmed, Jack rushed across the room. “Here, sir. Let me help you.” Arlene offered to get coffee and disappeared. Sally said a chirpy hello and unceremoniously plopped into the chair. Gee, Jack thought as he helped Charlie struggle to an upright position, you’d think the women would have a little more sympathy for the poor guy.

Charlie’s baby face contorted with pain as he reached out to shake Jack’s hand. “Cracker Jack Gold. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Have a seat, son.”

“It’s certainly an honor to meet you, sir.” It was true, Jack realized as he perched on the edge of the other sofa. Whatever his life choices, Charlie Sacks was a legend. His investigative reporting skills were reputedly second to none. He still ranked as the youngest person ever to serve as chief editor of the Satellite. In newspaper circles the man was an icon. Or had been.

Charlie chuckled. “I must say, though. I’ve got mixed feelings about meeting the man who displaced me.”

“Displaced you, sir?”

“Please. Call me Charlie. Oh yes, indeed. Until last month I was the youngest reporter ever to win the Gobey.” He furrowed his brows until they became one big bush. “Surely you knew that?”

Jack was flabbergasted. In all his ramblings about the late, great Charlie Sacks, Marty McNab had never once mentioned that fact.

“Sir, ah, Charlie, I had no idea.”

“Humph, doesn’t surprise me one bit. By the way, how is my old friend Marty?”

Jack shrugged. “Marty is…well, he’s Marty.”

“Enough said. Tell me all about your job. What’s up at the Satellite? And the Gobey. How did it feel to win?”

Arlene set a tray of steaming mugs down on the coffee table and urged everyone to help themselves. Jack waited for her to sit down, then talked at length about his work—the nature of his assignments, the friendly rivalry among his colleagues, the daily buzz and hum of the Satellite’s busy newsroom. Charlie nodded as if he remembered it all fondly, occasionally interrupting to ask a question. At one point, he tried to change position and ended up wincing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught Arlene and Sally exchanging a funny look. Something was up with the two of them, but what? Suddenly self-conscious, he shortened his speech and gave a self-deprecating shrug. “As for the Gobey, sir, you know what an honor it is to win.”

“Oh yes, I do know that. And let me say, son, that I don’t think any journalist today deserves it more than you. Your series of articles on that pension scam at Denton Corporation was the best investigative reporting I’ve seen. Thorough, concise and well written.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Nobody knows better than me how hard it is to get a story like that in the first place. It’s like pulling teeth, trying to get into the financial records of those big companies.”

Jack nodded. “I confess that I had an informant. A senior accountant with Denton. He didn’t have hard facts, but he’d had suspicions for a long time. That was enough to get my interest.”

“Well, Jack, I must say, I like what I see. You’re a fine young man and a great reporter.”

“Isn’t he, though!” Sally cried.

Arlene nodded vigorously. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Jack did his best to look humble. In truth, after Sally’s disgust with him last night, the praise heaped on him this past month was finally starting to wear thin. When you got right down to it, he was young and there were a hell of a lot more stories to write. If winning the Gobey at the age of thirty-four was the crowning achievement of his career, he was pretty much washed up now. But praise from Charlie Sacks meant something.

It seemed only polite, so Jack asked about the Post. What kind of stories were they covering? Any plans for expansion? He sipped at his coffee, now lukewarm.

Charlie waved a hand wildly in the air, which, curiously, did not induce another spasm. “Oh, I don’t want to bore you with all that. It’s a good little paper. I’ve done the best I could with it, but my day is just about over now.” He cleared his throat. “As long as we’re on the subject, though, I wonder if I could impose on you to do me a little favor?”

“I’m sure Jack would love to do you a favor!” Sally interjected.

Once again, Arlene just couldn’t agree more. “I’ll bet he’d be delighted!”

Jack frowned in their direction. All they needed was a playing field and two sets of pom-poms. “Ah, sure,” he said to Charlie. “What can I do?”

“Well, see, I’ve got two young reporters on my staff, but they’re both off this week. One’s getting married and the other’s, ah, ah…”

“On vacation,” Arlene supplied.

“Right. On vacation. Anyway, I need somebody to cover the peach party at Percy Pittle’s place this afternoon. I realize, heh, heh, that it’s a big step down for a Gobey winner, but do you think you could handle it? As you can see, I just can’t manage it myself.”

Jack held himself perfectly still. Something had told him the favor wasn’t going to be little at all. But this? It was an outrageous thing to request of someone on such short acquaintance. Under the circumstances, he could understand why the man would ask, but still.

He stole a glance at Sally. There she sat, her perfect little hands folded demurely in her lap, smiling just as sweetly and innocently as an angel. Dammit, how could he possibly refuse with her sitting right there? He’d won her respect only to lose it, then win it back, then lose it again. What would she think if he turned down an old man in horrible pain who had just called him “a fine young man and a great reporter?”

He offered Charlie a lame smile. “I’d be glad to help.”