“This is-sorry,
Candy wasn’t impressed. In fact, she found it hard to hide her disappointment. The newspaper business always sounded so glamorous to her, but this was far from what she expected.
A small metal desk was shoved into one corner. A computer that must have been five years old-at least-sat to one side of the desktop. On the other side were metal trays overflowing with files, notes, and papers in disarray. A gray metal file cabinet and a rickety old chair were lined up against the opposite wall.
Sapphire had done her best to add some spice to the place. Posters of kitties and horses covered cracks in the walls, and a Tiffany-style lamp sat on one corner of the desk. A colorful, cozy-looking knitted cushion covered the seat of the desk chair. Knickknacks and paperback novels lined a sad-looking shelf. Dated press passes were thumbtacked to a small bulletin board on the wall in front of the desk, along with neatly printed three-by-five cards that said things like, “You look mahhhvelous today” and “You go, girl!”
It all made Candy feel incredibly depressed.
Barely noticing the clutter, Ben crossed to the desk and plucked a green file folder from the top tray. “Like I said, the police have been through here, so it’s a bit of a mess.”
How could you tell? Candy nearly blurted out.
“Anyway,” Ben said as he flipped open the folder and ruffled through the papers inside, “here are some clippings of Sapphire’s previous columns, so you can see the kinds of things we’re looking for. I’ve also included some notes that she made at… um… at the end of last week, as well as a few notes of my own. Unfortunately, she never really had a chance to get started on this week’s column. It was supposed to be a firsthand account of the pageant, of course. I thought she had done some preliminary research work on it, but I haven’t been able to locate any of that information yet. Once I dig around a little it’ll probably turn up.”
He closed the file and held it out to Candy, who took it tentatively. She looked around. “You mentioned something about other files?”
Ben held up a finger. “Right.” He turned to the file cabinet and pulled open one of the drawers. “She kept all her research in here.” He ran a finger along a long line of files, arranged alphabetically by name, Candy saw. Many of the names she recognized.
Ben continued. “A few of them are gone, of course. The police took Ray’s and a few others. But they didn’t find much. I’ve been through a lot of these. There’s nothing you’d call injurious or scandalous in them. It’s all pretty harmless.”
He drew out a few of them and flipped through the papers inside to show her.
“Can I see the file she kept on me?”
“Huh? Oh, sure.” Ben turned, dug back into the filing cabinet, and pulled out a blue file. “This is yours.” He handed it over, a bit sheepishly, she thought.
With some trepidation Candy flipped open the cover and glanced at the contents, but Ben had been right. A few clippings about Blueberry Acres, a photocopy of a newspaper article Candy had written a half dozen years ago (though she had no idea where Sapphire had found
Lonely? Was that how she seemed to Sapphire?
Funny, but of all the words Candy would have used to describe herself, and after all she had been through, she never would have considered herself lonely. In fact, she felt quite the opposite most of the time.
“So, are you interested?”
Candy looked up. Ben was watching her with a hopeful look in his deep brown eyes.
“What?”
“In taking over Sapphire’s column.”
“Oh. That.” Candy let out a sigh as she closed the folder. “I just don’t know, Ben. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Well, like I said, I sure could use your help. Of course, I’d pay you for your work.”
That perked up her ears. “Pay? As in money? Cash?” He chuckled. “We’re on a tight budget, unfortunately, so I can’t afford much. Maybe seventy-five dollars a week?”
It wasn’t much. Not enough to make her jump at a job she wasn’t sure she wanted.
“Let me think about it,” she said again.
Ben nodded. “Okay, but-not to put too much pressure on you-I need an answer fairly quickly. By, say, sometime tomorrow?”
Candy nodded. “I can do that. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”
“Fine, fine.” He dug into a shirt pocket and pulled out a card. “Here’s my number.”
Candy glanced down at the business card. BEN CLAYTON, EDITOR, it read in the center of the card in raised black letters. The name of the paper was in the upper left corner, followed by the address. The e-mail address and phone and fax numbers were at the bottom.
Candy shoved the card into a back pocket as Ben reached up and flicked off the light. He led her back through the offices and down the stairs. Outside, the rain had let up a little.
“I hope you’ll consider the offer,” he said as they stood in the alcove again. “I sure could use the help.”
“It might be fun,” Candy said, trying to sound positive, though something about the whole thing bothered her. Maybe it was the fact that she would be taking Sapphire’s old job.
She raced back to the Jeep and jumped into the front seat, but sat for a few minutes before she started it up, considering Ben’s offer. She believed in going with her gut instinct, and that instinct told her to take a pass on the job. Still, she had promised him she would think about it, and she decided that that was what she would do.
But first, she had a friend to save, and a stop to make.
SIXTEEN
Even as she walked up to the front door, she wasn’t sure why she had come.
Ned Winetrop lived in what was commonly called a New Englander-a catchall term for a two-story, high- peaked-roof affair that couldn’t quite be classified as a Victorian, cape, ranch, or anything else. This one had obviously once been known euphemistically as a “fixer-upper,” but Ned, being a carpenter, had done quite a bit of work on it over the years. It was now fairly presentable, though still rather plain looking, with its simple lines and white clapboard exterior.
Candy was somewhat surprised to find Ned’s old, dark blue Reading-bodied work truck in the driveway. Some part of her had been hoping he wouldn’t be home, but he was, so she had no excuse for driving away without talking to him.
She had been uncertain at first of what she was going to say to him, but on the ride over she had worked it out in her head. She rehearsed it mentally one last time as she climbed the cement steps, pulled open the screen door, and rapped loudly on the front door, which looked as though it had just been given a fresh coat of burgundy-colored paint.
She heard movement inside. A moment later the door opened and Ned peered out, holding a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. “Yeah?”
“Hi, Ned. It’s Candy Holliday.”
He looked surprised to see her. “Oh, hi, Candy.” He leaned out and glanced back and forth. “Doc with you?”
“No, I’m here alone. I wondered if I could have a few minutes of your time.”
Ned took a bite out of the sandwich. He had a pudgy face with high cheeks, and the combination partially obscured his dark eyes, as though burying them amongst a jumble of deep red pillows. “Sure, guess so. What about?”
“The Blueberry Queen Pageant.” Candy flashed the business card Ben Clayton had given her, though she was careful to hold her thumb over Ben’s name, so that just the newspaper’s name and address at the top showed. “I’m working for the Cape Crier now. Ben, the editor, asked me to write an article about the pageant. I thought I’d include something about your efforts.”
