“I know.”
I looked out beyond his office, back into the newsroom. Most of the lights were out, large areas of the room lit only by the glow of one or two terminals not set to “sleep mode.” At its busiest, the newsroom was never the noisy one I had first worked in, but this quiet, abandoned space was eerily still, even by current standards. I thought of all the men and women who had worked hard as hell for low pay and little thanks, worked to pull thousands of words together to describe the day in Las Piernas, who had done that day after day for more than a century. Who would tell the story of those days if the paper wasn’t here?
I heard and felt the thrum-thrum-thrum of the presses.
Only sleeping, that’s all. The paper had gone to bed, the newsroom was asleep. In a few hours, the early staffers would arrive, and it would start all over again.
“John,” I said. “Let’s make a pact.”
I turned to see that he had been watching me all the while.
He said, “Why do I think I’d be safer making a deal with the devil?”
“I say, no surrender.”
“We both know it may not be up to us.”
“When it comes to that, fine. Not until then.”
He reached out a big paw and we shook on it.
I went through the darkened newsroom to my desk. My voice mail light was blinking, so I checked my messages. I had one from Max, saying he was sorry he missed me. He sounded happy. While I listened to it, John waved to me as he left.
The next five were the usual messages from people who held local political offices, hoping I’d give them some ink.
The last caller didn’t leave his name, and I didn’t recognize his voice. He had called at seven-fifteen. The message was brief.
“I haven’t forgotten you.”
I slammed the receiver into the cradle and backed away from the desk, as if the phone itself were the menace. I was shaking. I told myself I had had dozens and dozens of similar ones over the years. Maybe Wrigley was right, and I was getting too old for this work. I wasn’t as sure as I used to be that no harm would come to me. Harm had come to me over the years, and although I had survived it, I didn’t feel the need to welcome another visit.
The phone rang. I took a deep breath and lifted the receiver.
“Irene?”
“Frank! Oh-I’m just getting ready to leave.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You sound upset.”
I never can fool him. That didn’t stop me from trying.
“Nothing, nothing. In fact, it’s the stupid sort of thing that never used to bother me at all. A crank call on my voice mail, that’s all.”
“Threatening?”
“No threats.” I told him what the caller had said.
“Did you save it?”
“No,” I said. “Sorry, I know that irritates you.”
“Just keep any others, okay?”
“How fun that will be. Where are you?”
“Just outside the front door of the Express. I’ve got the dogs with me in the car. We got tired of sitting around the house.”
“Oh?”
“Okay, I worry about you being downtown alone this late at night, and you know it. It’s a nasty night out, too.”
“To be honest, I’m really relieved you’re here. I’ll come out to where you are and you can take me around to my car.”
“Great,” he said.
I thought of the presses, then said, “Do you think the dogs would be okay in the car by themselves for a few minutes?”
“Sure, I’ll crack the windows for them and hope the seats don’t get soaked.”
“Come inside, then. I’ll meet you at the security desk.”
As I came down the stairs, I saw Frank talking to the night security guard. Frank is about six foot four, lean and muscular. He was dressed in jeans and a sweater. His hair was damp from the rain. He looked damn fine. Best of all, although I am sure that after my long day I looked completely bedraggled, he looked up at me in a way that made me wish the security guard would have to go put out a fire somewhere or something.
The guard, Leonard, is one of Frank’s biggest fans, and it was all I could do to free my husband from the clutches of that applicant to the police academy.
“Frank,” I asked, “have you ever watched the presses run?”
He shook his head. I took his hand and led him into the basement.
Danny Coburn, a pressman who used to work days, had recently moved to the night shift. He saw us and brought over earmuffs that were hearing protectors. I shouted an introduction, and Frank and I donned the heavily padded headsets.
They were running full bore at that point. I watched Frank’s fascination with the overhead wires and rollers, the presses themselves, the movement of paper as it unspooled from giant rolls and was printed and cut and divided and folded.
We walked through a maze of small offices to look above us and see finished sections flying toward machines that would bundle them for distribution to the delivery trucks.
I realized after a moment that Frank had guided me out of the sight of the security cameras. He cornered me against a wall, an absolutely wicked grin on his face. The vibration from the presses was so strong here, I felt it all the way through my body.
He pulled one earmuff a little away and said, “I never thought I’d meet a girl who looked sexy in earmuffs.”
“Frank, I don’t think-”
He kissed me, earmuffs and all.
After a few minutes of that, I lifted his earmuff and said, “I am so tempted to give the crew down here something to tease me about forever, and to try to forget the dogs, and Cody, and all of the world.”
He laughed. “Come on, I’ll take you home. I guess I’ll just have to take you into the garage and turn the washing machine on to the spin cycle.”
“Deal. I think I even have a pair of earmuffs somewhere.”
59
ON TUESDAY MORNING, I WAS SURPRISED TO GET A CALL FROM HELEN Swan.
“Irene, I need your help.”
“Whatever I can do, Helen.”
“I need someone to take me over to Lillian’s as soon as possible.”
“All right, I think I can manage that.” I told her I’d be right over.
The morning was chilly and overcast, the kind of dull weather that saves itself for the weekend, when it can really make you miserable. Helen was bundled into a coat that probably fit her once, but she seemed lost in it now. She complained that the Kelly women’s cars were either too high or too low as I helped her into the Jeep.
She seemed extremely agitated, but after an attempt to get her to tell me what was on her mind was met with a polite but firm rebuff, I stayed quiet.
She noticed and said, “Tell me about your search through the storage unit. Anything interesting?”
“A great deal.” I told her about going through O’Connor’s early diaries, but given her mood, decided not to tell her of his first impressions of her. Instead I generally described some of the things I had found so far. I wasn’t entirely sure she was listening to me. We spent the last few minutes of the ride in silence.
When we reached Lillian’s house and pulled into the big circular drive, she said, “This won’t take long.” Then she paused and said, “I’ve been rude, and you’ve been so kind. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
“That’s my girl!” she said.
“Need help getting out?”
“No,” she said, and jumped down, scaring the hell out of me.
I saw her walk up to the house-apparently uninjured-and knock on the door. I waited.
She rang the bell. I waited.
She knocked again. I got out of the car.
“Was Lillian expecting you?” I asked.
“Of course she was.” She turned toward the house and shouted, “That’s why she’s not answering the damned door!”
“Did you call her?”
“She has that obnoxious thingamajig that allows a person to screen calls.”
“An answering machine?”