Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Avon
There were thirteen people on the Chronicle’s payroll, and I exhaled with relief as I handed the thirteenth employee his signed paycheck.
“Thanks, boss,” he said, touching the brim of his camo baseball cap.
The dress code here was relaxed, to say the least. One of the pressmen was wearing a T-shirt with a drawing of a cheerleader looking over her shoulder flirtatiously while pulling up the back of her skirt, her briefs stamped with Minnesota Vikings.
Classy. I was ready to find a hotel, check in, sink into a hot bath, and mentally relocate myself, if only for a few minutes.
“So we’re good,” I said to Bess as I put my borrowed coat back on. “I’ll check in on things tomorrow.”
She lowered her brows in disbelief. “Are you okay in the head? We’re not good. Next week’s edition doesn’t have a single story or photo in the news section. I need the police roundup, the city roundup, and something to put on our front page.”
“Well, I can’t help with that. I work in pharmaceutical sales.”
She shook her head. “We can’t put out a paper with empty news pages. What will our advertisers say?”
I put my hands up in mock surrender. “I took a few journalism classes in college and wrote for the school paper, but that hardly qualifies me to help. You guys will have to come up with something on your own.”
Bess gave me a withering glare over the rim of her glasses. “Do me a favor and walk over to the gray cabinet over there.”
I followed her gaze to a tall, beat-up metal cabinet with double doors on the front.
“Open that and grab a notebook and pen,” she said, her focus already back on her computer screen.
I picked up a steno notebook from the top of a stack and grabbed a pen, walking them over to her desk. At least she was being reasonable now. When I held them out, she didn’t look away from her screen.
“Those are for you,” she said flatly. “I’m still building ads, and I’ll be here until at least seven tonight and again tomorrow night. So the least you can do is walk over to City Hall and get me the police and City Hall roundups.”
“But—”
“All you have to do is pick up the papers.” She made a shooing motion. “Get to it.”
The dynamic of our relationship was reversed. She seemed to think I worked for her instead of the other way around, and I didn’t like it.
“If it’s just picking up papers, someone else—”
“Pete picked up the roundups,” she said sharply. “Pete was the owner. And now you’re the owner, so go get the roundups.”
It was a sound argument. I’d only be here for a few days and then I’d never have to worry about any of this stuff again. And I didn’t have anything better to do unless my long, hot bubble bath counted.
“I’ll go get the roundups,” I conceded. “But first I need to find a hotel for the next few nights. Is there a local place you’d recommend?”
“You mean to stay at?”
I nodded, fighting my urge to call her Captain Obvious.
She laughed, and it was the first time I’d seen her smile or look anything other than annoyed. “The Ice-Fishing Expo is going on in Montrose. The only hotel in Sven’s Beard books up months in advance for that.”
“There’s only one?”
Bess shook her head, her exasperated expression back. “It’s a small town.”
She was a cranky older woman, and I told myself not to be offended by her.
“Okay, what’s the hotel called?” I asked. “Maybe something will open up.”
“The Sleepy Moose.”
I wrote it down on the first perfectly clean page of the notebook, thanked her, and left for City Hall. I’d forgotten how much I loved starting a new notebook when I wrote for my college newspaper. A fresh notebook held possibility.
The icy wind slapped me in the face as soon as I stepped outside. I checked for traffic, ducked my head, and hurried across the street, passing the Sven statue on my way to the front door of the city building.
As soon as I walked inside, my attention was drawn to a row of large, framed photos. There were nine of them, and eight were men. A few of them looked like Vikings, with long beards and fierce expressions.
Spotless, earthy-colored stone tile covered the floors, and the walls were painted bright white.
“Hi there. How can I help you?” a round-faced woman asked from behind a counter.
“Hi, I’m”
“Are you Avon?” she asked, her eyes bright with happiness.
How could she possibly know that? I tried to keep the alarm from my expression as I answered her.
“Yes.”
Her warm, bubbly laugh put me at ease. “Well, I’ll be. It’s awfully nice to meet you. I’m Barb. I knew it was you because of the notebook. Everyone figured Pete would leave you the Chronicle because you’re the only family he had left.”