job I had to fix Carly McGuire’s truck. After that, everything else’ll seem exciting.”
Sam laughed. “She bullied you into it, huh?”
“Sort of.”
“I hear she’s not easy to work for, but if you’ve got a good idea she’ll turn you loose on it. That’s what she did with Ardis Coleman on the series that won the Pulitzer. And she ran an arty shot by the last photographer every week. You give her something she likes, she’ll print it.”
“You sound as if you know her.”
“I don’t really know anybody in Cyanide Wells.”
“What about Ardis Coleman?”
“I told you last night, the closest I’ve gotten to her is being in the next line at the supermarket.”
“You must’ve heard something about her. She’s a local celebrity.”
“How come you’re so interested?”
“I guess it’s kind of like hero worship. This is the closest I’ve gotten to a Pulitzer winner—being in the same county with her.”
“Well…They say she’s reclusive. Lives out on Drinkwater Creek on a big piece of property. Doesn’t give interviews or make public appearances. I think somebody told me she has a kid, but I don’t remember whether it’s a girl or a boy. She must have money, though; that’s one expensive, snooty town. I don’t know why that paper’s there. They crusade for all the things rich people are against: financing decent health care and welfare programs through higher taxes, making big corporations pay their fair share. They’re for preserving the environment, too, but they don’t go overboard; they recognize that people like loggers and fishermen have to make a living. What they want is a reasonable balance, and I like that. I also like it that the paper’s owned by a woman. It’s the kind of thing I’d’ve wanted to do if I’d gotten a decent education and had the kind of money Carly McGuire must.”
In the light from the candle Sam suddenly looked melancholy. She added, “Lots of
if
s, huh? But
if
s don’t count. I’ll be working at the Chicken Shack till I keel over serving a Supreme Combo with cole slaw and fries.”
“You told me last night that you were thinking of getting out of here.”
“I
think
about a lot of things. It’s the doing that’s hard.” She sipped wine, more pensive. “So you’ll be staying around. Got a place to live?”
“Not yet. On my salary I couldn’t even afford a closet in Cyanide Wells, so I’m thinking of looking here. I like Talbot’s Mills better, anyway.”
“Why?”
“It’s real.”
Sam smiled grimly. “Oh, it’s real, all right. My dad could’ve told you how real it is. But listen, I know of a room for rent, with kitchen privileges.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Very cheap, if you volunteer for some chores, like fixing the drippy bathroom faucet and cleaning out the gutters.”
“When can I look at it?”
“Right now, if you want.” She stood and moved toward the door.
“I thought you had to be out of here next month.”
Sam looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth about my dad. He…shot himself. Just couldn’t take being laid off at his age. After the funeral, one of the
Spectrum
’s reporters, that Donna Vail, interviewed me. I didn’t exactly hold back about the way the mill treated him. The manager there found out they were printing the story, so he called this morning and said I can live here rent-free till the end of the year, and if I want to stay longer, they’ll negotiate a fair price.”
“And of course their P.R. department called the paper as soon as you agreed.”
“Of course, but what the hell do I care? It’s a roof over my head, and if you move in I might actually be able to save some money.”
He considered. Sam struck him as both levelheaded and easy to get along with. She wasn’t especially curious about either his prior or his present life and seemed disinclined to initiate a sexual relationship with him. Plus, she was an excellent source of information about the
Sam laughed. “She bullied you into it, huh?”
“Sort of.”
“I hear she’s not easy to work for, but if you’ve got a good idea she’ll turn you loose on it. That’s what she did with Ardis Coleman on the series that won the Pulitzer. And she ran an arty shot by the last photographer every week. You give her something she likes, she’ll print it.”
“You sound as if you know her.”
“I don’t really know anybody in Cyanide Wells.”
“What about Ardis Coleman?”
“I told you last night, the closest I’ve gotten to her is being in the next line at the supermarket.”
“You must’ve heard something about her. She’s a local celebrity.”
“How come you’re so interested?”
“I guess it’s kind of like hero worship. This is the closest I’ve gotten to a Pulitzer winner—being in the same county with her.”
“Well…They say she’s reclusive. Lives out on Drinkwater Creek on a big piece of property. Doesn’t give interviews or make public appearances. I think somebody told me she has a kid, but I don’t remember whether it’s a girl or a boy. She must have money, though; that’s one expensive, snooty town. I don’t know why that paper’s there. They crusade for all the things rich people are against: financing decent health care and welfare programs through higher taxes, making big corporations pay their fair share. They’re for preserving the environment, too, but they don’t go overboard; they recognize that people like loggers and fishermen have to make a living. What they want is a reasonable balance, and I like that. I also like it that the paper’s owned by a woman. It’s the kind of thing I’d’ve wanted to do if I’d gotten a decent education and had the kind of money Carly McGuire must.”
In the light from the candle Sam suddenly looked melancholy. She added, “Lots of
if
s, huh? But
if
s don’t count. I’ll be working at the Chicken Shack till I keel over serving a Supreme Combo with cole slaw and fries.”
“You told me last night that you were thinking of getting out of here.”
“I
think
about a lot of things. It’s the doing that’s hard.” She sipped wine, more pensive. “So you’ll be staying around. Got a place to live?”
“Not yet. On my salary I couldn’t even afford a closet in Cyanide Wells, so I’m thinking of looking here. I like Talbot’s Mills better, anyway.”
“Why?”
“It’s real.”
Sam smiled grimly. “Oh, it’s real, all right. My dad could’ve told you how real it is. But listen, I know of a room for rent, with kitchen privileges.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Very cheap, if you volunteer for some chores, like fixing the drippy bathroom faucet and cleaning out the gutters.”
“When can I look at it?”
“Right now, if you want.” She stood and moved toward the door.
“I thought you had to be out of here next month.”
Sam looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth about my dad. He…shot himself. Just couldn’t take being laid off at his age. After the funeral, one of the
Spectrum
’s reporters, that Donna Vail, interviewed me. I didn’t exactly hold back about the way the mill treated him. The manager there found out they were printing the story, so he called this morning and said I can live here rent-free till the end of the year, and if I want to stay longer, they’ll negotiate a fair price.”
“And of course their P.R. department called the paper as soon as you agreed.”
“Of course, but what the hell do I care? It’s a roof over my head, and if you move in I might actually be able to save some money.”
He considered. Sam struck him as both levelheaded and easy to get along with. She wasn’t especially curious about either his prior or his present life and seemed disinclined to initiate a sexual relationship with him. Plus, she was an excellent source of information about the
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