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Eva doubted that.
She ended the call and slumped over her desk, head in her hands. Nolan had just confirmed what Lawrence Prentiss had already told her—the will was ironclad. She’d held out hope that the will could be broken, but now that door had closed.
Was there no way out of this?
She sat there, her mind spinning, and sure enough, an idea popped into her head. If her boss, James Forsythe, would take pity on her, she could at least soften the blow. She picked up the phone and called him.
Luckily, he had time to see her, and half an hour later she sat in his spacious office. As she waited for him to finish a phone call, she gazed around the room, taking in its warm brown-and-yellow color scheme, the desk, the credenza, even an armoire for storing coats. Someday, this office would be hers. She just knew it. Whenever she was in here, she mentally ran through the changes she would make. For starters, she’d replace the hydroplane photos—James’s son was a champion driver—with the colorful giclée flower prints she’d seen in a Pike Place Market gallery. Add a runner to the top of the credenza, and place her pewter umbrella stand, shaped like a half-open umbrella itself, by the door. Personal touches that would put her brand on the office.
Today she didn’t dare play her little game. Too much rode on convincing James to accept her plan. She knew her boss liked her and valued her as an employee. Surely he would help her through this crisis.
He finally finished his call and turned to her, his back to the picture window. The incoming sunlight glinted on the silver highlights in his dark hair.
“I’m glad you’re back, Eva. I’ve been thinking about you down there in Willow Beach and hoping everything was going okay.”
“I appreciate that, James. Yes, I think my father would have liked his memorial service and the reception afterward. But now I have a new problem.” Clasping her hands and leaning forward, she explained about her father’s will. “I don’t want to leave the magazine,” she concluded. “I like working at Seattle’s Best. I think I have a good future here.”
“You do, Eva.”
“So I thought if you could grant me a year’s leave of absence, then I could return when I finish my obligation in Willow Beach. I’ll miss out on any promotion this year, but at least I’ll still be in the game.” She leaned back and held her breath. He would accept her plan. He just had to.
But he shook his head and looked apologetic. “A year’s leave? Much as I’d like to help you out, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Her heart sank, but she wasn’t ready to give up. “Why?”
“A year is way too long. I might get the board to agree to a month, but a year? Never. I’m sorry. You know I’d do anything I could to help you, but my hands are tied.”
Her last hope crushed, Eva looked down to hide her reaction.
James rose, came around the desk and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re disappointed, but why not consider this an opportunity?”
“An opportunity?” she said. “Living in a nowhere town and working for a weekly newspaper? I don’t think so.”
Of course, James didn’t know about Brett and the terrible accident and the memories that haunted her, and she wasn’t about to tell him. She’d never brought her personal problems into the workplace. Absently, she reached up and ran her forefinger over the silver chain. As usual, the medal itself was concealed under her clothing, but she knew it was there.
James clasped his hands behind his back and paced to the window. He looked out at the Seattle skyline, then turned back to her. “You know where I started out? Writing restaurant reviews for a newspaper in California, in a town about the size of your Willow Beach. The experience was the best I could’ve had.”
“But I’m not just starting out,” she complained. “I’m five years down the road. And being exiled to Willow Beach feels like going backward.”
“Your life has taken a different turn. Look on the bright side. Running a paper could be a great opportunity.”
Eva shook her head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, James, but you’ll never convince me that this situation has a bright side.”
Instead of returning to her desk, Eva bypassed her cubicle and continued on to the large window at the end of the hallway and its sweeping view of Elliott Bay.
She folded her arms and leaned against the window frame, idly tracing the progress of a green-and-white ferry on its way to the Olympic Peninsula. Her last option was to refuse the terms of the will. But that would take away Mark’s inheritance, and if the new owner chose to not keep him on, his livelihood, too. He had a daughter to support. Sure, he’d be able to find work somewhere else, but, if she’d understood him correctly, the Herald meant a lot to him. And her father had wanted him to have a part of it.
Eva scrubbed a hand over her forehead. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she denied Mark his inheritance. She had no choice but to give up her own career opportunities and spend a year in her hometown.
With a resigned sigh, she returned to her cubicle. Lying on the top of her desk was the latest issue of Seattle’s Best. The cover featured the title of an article she’d written, along with her byline. A lump formed in her throat. She stared at the cover for a minute or two, then picked up the phone and punched in Lawrence Prentiss’s number.
* * *
AS SOON AS MARK received the news that Eva had accepted the terms of Seb’s will, and because his own efforts to break the will had proven just as useless as hers, he called an emergency meeting of the staff. Such as it was. Only four people worked for the newspaper full-time and the rest were freelance. The employees dutifully filed into the lounge, poured themselves coffee and sat at the vintage Formica-topped table.
The fragrant aroma of the coffee mixed with the sugary smells from Bon Ton Bakery’s doughnuts. Mark bought the pastries especially for the occasion, hoping to soften the news they were about to receive. He’d filled his mug and taken a couple sips, even though he had no desire for either coffee or sweets.
“What’s up, Mark?” Bernie Sanchez, in charge of advertising, gripped his World’s Greatest Husband coffee mug, a present from his wife, Maria.
Dora Winters, circulation manager and, at sixty, their oldest member, looked up from the multicolored scarf she was knitting. “This meeting is about our future, isn’t it?”
“I bet it has to do with Eva.” Underneath eyebrow-grazing blond bangs, April Hensen’s eyes shifted warily. In her mid-twenties, April did double duty as receptionist and compiler of the Police Beat column.
Their photographer and webmaster, Cody Jarvis, also a twentysomething, fingered the digital camera hanging around his neck. “I thought she went back to Seattle.”
“She did,” Mark said from his seat at the head of the table. “But she’s coming back.”
“What?” everyone chorused.
He held up his hands. “Simmer down and I’ll explain.” He launched into his prepared speech, beginning with Seb’s will and ending with, “Both Eva and I tried to find a way out, and neither one of us was successful. So she and I will be coeditors for the next year.”
A stunned silence filled the room, setting Mark’s nerves even more on edge. But maybe silence was a good sign, and they were only taking time to digest the news.
Bernie was the first to speak. He looked at Mark, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “I was kinda hoping you’d continue to be our leader. Why do we need two bosses?”
“The only answer I have for you is that it’s what Seb wanted.”
“I got the impression she doesn’t want to be here.” Cody folded his arms over his chest, covering the Herald logo on his T-shirt. “And if that’s true, then what kind of a boss will she be?”
“She has a job in Seattle that she really likes,” Mark said.
April flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “Yeah, she thinks she’s better than we are because she works for a big-city magazine.”
“Now, April.” Mark leveled what he hoped was a reproving look at her. “I think you’re being a bit unfair. She prefers the magazine because that’s the kind of writing she wants to do, not because that kind of writing is better than what we do here.”
April’s scornful expression indicated she wasn’t buying Mark’s lame excuse for the impression Eva had made.
Bernie took his mug over to the coffee urn for a refill. “Didn’t she and Seb have a falling-out?”
“My understanding is, yes, they did,” Mark said. “Dora, you’re the only one of us who was working here at the time. Can you help us out?”
Dora put her knitting down on the table and smoothed a hand over it. “I was here. I’ve been working for the Herald for almost twenty years. I’m a real old-timer. Why, I remember when I hired on. That was when Seb and Boyd Carlstrom were partners, and, oh, my, did we have a time getting this operation off the ground—”
Mark cleared his throat. Sometimes, keeping Dora on track was a challenge. “I’m sure you did, Dora, but about Seb and Eva?”
Dora looked away. “A bad time, that was. It goes back to when Eva’s brother, Brett, died. He drowned in a boating accident, you know. On Pine Lake.”
“He was older than Eva, right?” Bernie slipped into his seat. “I heard some of the guys at Sam’s Garage talking about him. Said he was kinda wild.”
Dora nodded. “He liked a good time. And, yes, he was two years older than Eva. Seb had his heart set on Brett following in his footsteps here at the Herald. When Brett died, Seb went into hiding, and Boyd had to run the show. It was awful. Seb never got over losing his son. Never.”
“What happened to Seb’s wife?” Cody asked. “I’ve never heard much about her.”
“She died two or three years before Brett. Pancreatic cancer. Nasty stuff. Can take you just like that.” Dora snapped her fingers. “Janice was a lovely woman. Quiet and unassuming. Kept in the background. Seb definitely has been the boss in that family.”
“But what exactly caused Seb and Eva’s split?” Mark asked.
Dora shrugged and picked up her needles again. “Seb never wanted to talk about what happened with Eva. Maybe she just didn’t want to be second choice.”
“That doesn’t mean she has to take out her bad attitude on us,” April said.
“Not gonna be too good for morale around here,” Bernie grumbled under his breath.
“Remember, this is what Seb wanted,” Mark said. “And the terms are only for a year. We can handle it.”
A tension-filled silence descended on the group. Bernie drank his coffee and stared into space. Cody pulled a cloth from his back pocket and dusted the lens on his camera, while Dora concentrated on her knitting. April pouted and studied her fingernails.
Finally, Mark said, “I know you’re all upset about this turn of events. But I gotta say again, it’s what Seb wanted. He must’ve had his reasons. We’ll welcome Eva and do the best we can while she’s here. For Seb’s sake. For the Herald’s sake. Can I have your cooperation on that?”
The staff nodded their agreement.
When the meeting was over, Mark rinsed out his mug and hung it on the mug tree. Maybe Eva’s disappointment at being her father’s second choice to take over the business was the reason for her reluctance to accept the terms of his will.
Still, something told him there was more to the matter than that. Would he ever know? Judging by their relationship so far, he couldn’t see them becoming friends, much less confidants.
In the meantime, he must be careful to live up to the standards he’d set for the others. It wouldn’t be easy. As coeditors with different viewpoints, he and Eva were sure to clash over how to run the paper. Yes, the coming year promised to be challenging indeed.
* * *
“IS THIS ALL?” Eva glanced around the apartment’s combination living, kitchen and dining rooms, then shifted her gaze to Mrs. Halsey, the building’s owner.
Mrs. Halsey frowned and brushed a lock of gray hair from her forehead. “I’m not sure what you mean. What more do you want?”
“It’s just so...small.”
The apartment was on a corner of the town’s Main Street. It was on the second floor, above a mini-mall, with stores and antiques shops geared for the tourist trade—what there was of it in Willow Beach.
“Don’t forget the great view of the ocean.” Mrs. Halsey gestured to the picture window.
Eva walked over and gazed out. Mrs. Halsey had a point. From here she could see the ocean in all its glory, waves breaking on the sand, and she could even make out a couple of clam diggers trudging along with their buckets and shovels.
Still, she much preferred the view of Elliott Bay from her fifth-floor Seattle condo. Fortunately, she’d be able to return to the condo when her exile here was over. Her leaving coincided with her coworker Susan Jensen’s need for new living quarters, and Susan had happily sublet Eva’s unit. Plus, Susan said Eva could stay there whenever she returned to Seattle, something she looked forward to. She was homesick already.
“And this apartment is furnished,” Mrs. Halsey said. “You won’t find many furnished places around here.”
Eva tore her gaze away from the view to focus on the lumpy maroon sofa and two stiff-looking chairs upholstered in 1950s lime-green. Once again, she thought of her condo, with the beige sectional couch she’d purchased from Sigma Design, the fashionable furniture store on Queen Anne Hill.
Still, Mrs. Halsey was right about the dearth of furnished apartments in Willow Beach; Eva had searched all the ads she could find, and this was the only one offered.
There was always her father’s house, which was now hers. She could live there until she finished cleaning out the place and put it on the market. She shook her head. Better to stay here in this dingy rental than to be surrounded by all the painful memories.
She turned to Mrs. Halsey. “All right, I’ll take the apartment.”
Mrs. Halsey beamed, then opened a file folder she’d been carrying under one arm. Extracting two sheets of paper, she handed them to Eva. “Here’s the lease. First and last month’s rent due up front.”
“Of course.” Eva scanned the lease, then signed her name to both copies. She gave one to Mrs. Halsey.
The older woman squinted at her signature. “Eva Sinclair.” She looked up. “Are you Seb’s daughter? Heard you were in town.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Had to miss his memorial. Had to take care of my sick mother in Morganville.” She slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry for your loss. Seb was a wonderful man.”
“Thank you,” Eva said. Was there anyone in this town who did not think her father wonderful?
“You’re here to take over the Herald, then?” Mrs. Halsey tucked the lease into her file folder.
“Uh, no, just helping out for a while.”
“Good to keep it in the family.”
“Yes, well, I’d better start unloading my car,” Eva said hurriedly, not wanting to continue a discussion that made her uncomfortable. She stuffed her copy of the lease into her purse and headed for the door.
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Eva sat at the kitchen table in her new apartment, lingering over toast and coffee and putting off reporting for work at the Herald. When she could delay no longer, she stacked her dishes in the sink and collected her purse from the bedroom. On the way out, she glanced in the mirror on the bathroom door. She smoothed her chocolate-brown top over her beige slacks and tucked an errant lock of hair into the faux-pearl clip at her nape. At home, she would’ve worn a skirt, but this outfit ought to do just fine for the Herald. From what she’d seen of the staff, she doubted the newspaper had a dress code.
Leaving her car in its designated spot behind her apartment, she headed for the Herald’s office on foot.
Willow Beach hadn’t changed much, not the stores anyway. The window of Barnett’s Drugstore still displayed the same duck holding a placard that said Get Your Prescriptions Filled Here. And she would swear Macon’s Diner sported the very same café curtains in what was still an ugly black-and-white checker pattern. The Bon Ton Bakery still kept its door open, allowing enticing aromas to drift along the sidewalk.
Two blocks later, she arrived at the Herald, located between The Book Nook and Mac’s Barbershop. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, her fingers froze. Then, filling her lungs with a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.
The receptionist, whose name Eva remembered was April Hensen, looked up from her desk situated behind a semicircular counter. She had pale blond hair as fine as corn silk and high cheekbones any model would envy. Unfortunately, her checkered, sleeveless blouse was more appropriate for housecleaning than for meeting the public. Eva was right. The Herald had no dress code.
She shut the door and crossed the room. “Good morning, April.” She hoped her cheerful tone sounded authentic rather than forced.
“Morning,” April said in a flat voice. “I’ll let Mark know you’re here.” She picked up the telephone and punched a button. “He’ll be right out,” she said when she’d hung up. She turned back to her computer.
Feeling more like a customer than the new coeditor, Eva gazed around. She hadn’t taken much time to survey the place the night she’d arrived. The shock of Seb’s death had preoccupied her.
The reception area was as drab as it had always been, with half a dozen molded plastic chairs bracketed by two small tables. In one corner, a terra-cotta tub held a tired-looking philodendron. She thought of Seattle’s Best’s reception area and its elegant black leather sofa, matching side chairs and glass-topped coffee table with its bouquet of fresh flowers provided weekly by a local florist.
Spotting a stack of the latest edition of the Herald on the counter, she walked over and picked up a copy. Tabloid-size, with Willow Beach Herald printed in big letters across the top, the paper had at the most ten or twelve pages. Compared to Seattle’s Best, a publication of at least fifty glossy pages, many in color, the Herald seemed hopelessly dull.
At the sound of footsteps, she turned to see Mark walking down the hallway. He wore his usual jeans and short-sleeved shirt—today’s was blue—that showed off his tanned, muscular arms.
Mark’s long-legged stride quickly brought him to her side. She thought he was going to reach out and shake her hand, and she braced herself for his touch. But he rested his hands on his slim hips and let his gaze sweep over her.
