The door finally opened and Jack found himself face-to-face with a tall, handsome woman in, perhaps, her late fifties. She had short dark hair and smiling brown eyes.
“You must be Jack Gold, the famous reporter,” she said in a lovely, lilting voice. “I’ve heard such wonderful things about you.” Her handshake was more a caress than an up-down motion. It charmed Jack into a case of instant like.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ah, Mrs. Sacks.”
“Oh please, call me Arlene. Come on in.”
Inside the spacious foyer, the women air kissed and agreed that they both looked lovely. While Jack looked around, they chatted about the heat. When would it end? Arlene asked about the dairy. Was business good? And Sally’s parents. Were they expecting any company this summer? Here was something else Jack had forgotten about small towns—the endless welcoming chitchat. Vancouver moved at a faster clip.
“Are you enjoying your stay in Peachtown?” Arlene asked him.
Graciousness seemed in order. “Very much, thank you.”
“That’s good. We pride ourselves on showing people a good time, don’t we, Sally?”
“Hmm.”
Trailing the women down a long central hall, Jack admired the grand old staircase leading to the second floor, and peered into rooms that looked lived-in and happy. On his own, he would never have thought to look up Charlie Sacks. Who wanted to meet a sad old man who’d wasted his chance? Stuck in a small town. Stuck in a dead-end job. But meeting Charlie’s beautiful wife and seeing his comfortable home—well, the man’s life didn’t exactly look like torture.
Arlene glanced over her shoulder. “I must warn you, Charlie’s not in the best of shape today.”
“Oh, is it that awful back problem of his?” Sally asked in a cheesy, theatrical voice Jack had never heard her use before.
Arlene gave a sigh. “I’m afraid so.” She made it sound like the man was about to draw his last breath.
What was that about? Jack wondered. They sounded like amateur actors reading from a bad play.
They passed through a homey kitchen and into a big, sunny family room. Bookcases crammed with dog-eared books and family photos stood at right angles against two long walls. Matching overstuffed sofas and a sunken easy chair took up the centre of the room. Flat on his back on one of the sofas was a bald, chubby man in agony. His mournful eyes slid toward Jack. “Oh, the pain. The terrible paiiiiiiiiin.”
Smiling tightly, Arlene addressed him as if he were a toddler. “Now, now, Charlie. You’re exaggerating. It’s time to get vertical. Our guests are here.”
Charlie Sacks made a valiant attempt to sit up, but ended up falling back again. He let out a moan.
Alarmed, Jack rushed across the room. “Here, sir. Let me help you.” Arlene offered to get coffee and disappeared. Sally said a chirpy hello and unceremoniously plopped into the chair. Gee, Jack thought as he helped Charlie struggle to an upright position, you’d think the women would have a little more sympathy for the poor guy.
Charlie’s baby face contorted with pain as he reached out to shake Jack’s hand. “Cracker Jack Gold. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Have a seat, son.”
“It’s certainly an honor to meet you, sir.” It was true, Jack realized as he perched on the edge of the other sofa. Whatever his life choices, Charlie Sacks was a legend. His investigative reporting skills were reputedly second to none. He still ranked as the youngest person ever to serve as chief editor of the Satellite. In newspaper circles the man was an icon. Or had been.
Charlie chuckled. “I must say, though. I’ve got mixed feelings about meeting the man who displaced me.”
“Displaced you, sir?”
“Please. Call me Charlie. Oh yes, indeed. Until last month I was the youngest reporter ever to win the Gobey.” He furrowed his brows until they became one big bush. “Surely you knew that?”
Jack was flabbergasted. In all his ramblings about the late, great Charlie Sacks, Marty McNab had never once mentioned that fact.
“Sir, ah, Charlie, I had no idea.”
“Humph, doesn’t surprise me one bit. By the way, how is my old friend Marty?”
Jack shrugged. “Marty is…well, he’s Marty.”
“Enough said. Tell me all about your job. What’s up at the Satellite? And the Gobey. How did it feel to win?”
Arlene set a tray of steaming mugs down on the coffee table and urged everyone to help themselves. Jack waited for her to sit down, then talked at length about his work—the nature of his assignments, the friendly rivalry among his colleagues, the daily buzz and hum of the Satellite’s busy newsroom. Charlie nodded as if he remembered it all fondly, occasionally interrupting to ask a question. At one point, he tried to change position and ended up wincing.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught Arlene and Sally exchanging a funny look. Something was up with the two of them, but what? Suddenly self-conscious, he shortened his speech and gave a self-deprecating shrug. “As for the Gobey, sir, you know what an honor it is to win.”
“Oh yes, I do know that. And let me say, son, that I don’t think any journalist today deserves it more than you. Your series of articles on that pension scam at Denton Corporation was the best investigative reporting I’ve seen. Thorough, concise and well written.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Nobody knows better than me how hard it is to get a story like that in the first place. It’s like pulling teeth, trying to get into the financial records of those big companies.”
Jack nodded. “I confess that I had an informant. A senior accountant with Denton. He didn’t have hard facts, but he’d had suspicions for a long time. That was enough to get my interest.”
“Well, Jack, I must say, I like what I see. You’re a fine young man and a great reporter.”
“Isn’t he, though!” Sally cried.
Arlene nodded vigorously. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Jack did his best to look humble. In truth, after Sally’s disgust with him last night, the praise heaped on him this past month was finally starting to wear thin. When you got right down to it, he was young and there were a hell of a lot more stories to write. If winning the Gobey at the age of thirty-four was the crowning achievement of his career, he was pretty much washed up now. But praise from Charlie Sacks meant something.
It seemed only polite, so Jack asked about the Post. What kind of stories were they covering? Any plans for expansion? He sipped at his coffee, now lukewarm.
Charlie waved a hand wildly in the air, which, curiously, did not induce another spasm. “Oh, I don’t want to bore you with all that. It’s a good little paper. I’ve done the best I could with it, but my day is just about over now.” He cleared his throat. “As long as we’re on the subject, though, I wonder if I could impose on you to do me a little favor?”
“I’m sure Jack would love to do you a favor!” Sally interjected.
Once again, Arlene just couldn’t agree more. “I’ll bet he’d be delighted!”
Jack frowned in their direction. All they needed was a playing field and two sets of pom-poms. “Ah, sure,” he said to Charlie. “What can I do?”
“Well, see, I’ve got two young reporters on my staff, but they’re both off this week. One’s getting married and the other’s, ah, ah…”
“On