If Winter Comes by Diana Palmer

an
interview with the public works commissioner at eleven,” she said unsteadily.
“I’d better get going. Thanks for the tour.”
     
    She almost ran for her
car, deaf to Moreland’s deep voice calling her name.
     
    She was shaking all
over by the time she got to Tom Green’s office. He was a public accountant, and
she had a feeling he’d made a good commissioner, if for no better reason than
his outspokenness.
     
    At least, she thought
wearily as she waited in his outer office, he wouldn’t be angry. She could
still see Bryan Moreland’s dark, accusing eyes. Why, oh, why did she have to
open her big mouth? It was all part of the job, but the argument had left a bad
taste in her mouth, along with Moreland’s obvious disapproval.
     
    “Miss Maxwell?” the
secretary repeated. “You can go in now.”
     
    She put on her best
smiling face and went into Tom Green’s carpeted office.
     
    He rose, tall and gray
haired, towering over her as he shook her hand. “I have to agree that the media
gets prettier every day,” he said with an approving glance from pale blue eyes.
     
    She smiled. “For that, I
promise to mail all my garbage out of town.”
     
    “God bless you. How
about agreeing to support my recycling concept instead?” he teased. “I can get
federal funding and match services instead of cash.”
     
    “Really?” she asked,
sidetracked. She whipped out her pad and pen. “Tell me about it.”
     
    He did, and by the time
he was through, her cold hands had warmed and she was relaxed.
     
    “You were tense when
you came in,” he observed. “Care to tell me why? Surely it wasn’t because I
inspire fear in young women?”
     
    “I…uh, I just had a
run-in with the planning commissioner,” she said. “Nothing important.”
     
    “Ummm,” he said
noncommittally. “I never approved of Moreland making that appointment,” he said
bluntly. “King was a real-estate agent before he took office, you know. A damned
shady one, if you want my opinion. He gave it up when he went into office, but
I’ll bet my secretary that he still has all his old contacts. It just isn’t
good business. He has too much sway with the city commission, what with
Moreland on such friendly terms with him.”
     
    “Are they friends?” she
asked carelessly.
     
    “They were in the
service together,” he replied. “I thought you knew all that.”
     
    “I’m new in town,” she
said, and let it go at that.
     
    She walked back to her
office in a silence fraught with concern. So many things were beginning to make
sense: for instance, King’s real-estate background. Was he somehow involved in
that missing money? Was Bryan Moreland involved? Her eyes closed
momentarily.Bryan ! He’d probably never speak to her again after the
confrontation she’d had with his friend. Perhaps it was for the best. She was
getting involved with him—too involved. And she didn’t dare.
     
    She handed in her copy
and went home, turning down Bill Peck’s offer of a free meal. She didn’t feel
like company, and she didn’t want to be pumped about her latest information.
That was all Bill was after, she knew. She couldn’t have borne talking about
it.
     
    The apartment seemed
lonelier than ever as she dressed idly in a pair of worn jeans and a blue
ribbed top that was slightly too small. She turned on the radio and as
pleasant, soft music filled the apartment, she went into the small kitchen to
whip up an omelet. She was going to have to force it down, at that. Food was
the last thing on her mind.
     
    The doorbell was an
unwelcome interruption. The omelet was almost done, and she had to turn it off
before time was up. Grumbling, she moved irritably to the door. It was probably
some student selling magazine subscriptions. The apartment house was a prime
target, despite the “no soliciting” signs, and she was in no mood for a sales
pitch.
     
    She swung open the door
with unnecessary force and froze with her mouth open to speak.