The Big Scoop

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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.”

5

TRISH CIRCLED Sally, looking her up and down. “So, what’s with the fancy duds? You look like Scarlett O’Hara at the Twelve Oaks barbecue party.”

Sally kept her eyes trained on the crowd milling about on the Pittles’ sprawling front lawn. “I just felt like dressing up, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t recall you dressing up for last year’s peach party. Come to think of it, you showed up in cut-offs and a stained tube top. You hadn’t even shaved your legs.”

So what? Sally thought. Okay, so maybe her dress was a bit much. Certainly no one else at the party was wearing a calf-length Laura Ashley original with a silk underlay, a Peter Pan collar and clusters of seed-pearl embroidery. Plus matching parasol, of course. “What can I say? I’ve changed.”

“Uh-huh. Your clothes, right? About ten times since breakfast?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shielding her eyes from the harsh afternoon sun, Trish looked down the gently sloping lawn, directly at Jack. Notebook in hand, he was frowning as Cora Brown held up a peach and turned it from side to side. “Don’t be coy with me, Sally Darville. I saw the way you reacted to you-know-who yesterday, and I see the way you’re looking at him now.”

“I am not looking at him in any particular way, Ms. Smarty Pants.”

“Oh yes, you are, Ms. Obvious. I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that. And by the way, why is he still here?”

In a breezy voice that sounded phony, even to her, Sally explained about Charlie—how indisposed he was, and how shorthanded he was, and how very sweet it was of Jack to pitch in.

Trish’s eyebrows shot up. “Since when does Charlie Sacks have a bad back?”

Tired of the conversation, Sally looked around as if she was interested in spotting someone other than Jack. “Mmm, I think it’s always given him a little trouble, hasn’t it?”

“I think you’re stirring up a little trouble. That’s what I think.”

Sally tried not to sound defensive. “Nonsense. Sometimes things get…stuck. I’m just helping them along a little, that’s all.”

“Sally…”

Why, Sally fumed, did everyone insist on speaking to her in that patronizing tone of voice? You’d think she was a shameless schemer or something. “I’m not stirring up anything that doesn’t need stirring up.”

“Get a grip, Sal. The guy is a snooty jerk. Ted Axton said he met him yesterday at the dairy bar, and that he was rude to everybody.”

“For heaven’s sake, Trish, the Trubble twins had stolen his car!” Jack had told Sally about the incident this morning, on their way back to her place from Charlie’s. “Besides, you only spent two minutes with Jack yesterday. You don’t know him.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“I’m getting to know him. I’ve been with him almost constantly since he got here, and I’ve enjoyed every minute.” It was true, Sally realized. They’d only been apart long enough to sleep and change clothes. She’d never been able to spend that much time with anyone without getting bored and restless.

“Yeah, well, two minutes was all I needed with the guy.”

Sally glared at her old friend. “Don’t you have something to do, Trish?”

“Yeah. Oh, and speak of the devil.”

From far across the lawn, Jack strolled toward them, twins in tow. They were tugging at his jacket sleeves and yaking nonstop at him, but his eyes were trained on Sally. Her stomach fluttered. The more she saw of him, the more she wanted to see of him. Trish was wrong about Jack. Sure he was snooty—on the surface. But there was a better man below.