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“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.”
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