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A tall, thin man, with graying temples and a bald spot on top, entered from the back, wiping his hands on a small green towel. “Now what?” There was a smile on his face.

  “She says we need new computers. Thinks we’re the Rockefellers or something. First she wanted Quirk-whatchacallit; now it’s computers.” Gloria saw Wanda wink at her husband. “For over thirty years we’ve been using clip art, cutting boards, and trimmers. Seems that’s not good enough anymore.”

  Gloria pressed one finger down on the letter J and pointed at the monitor with the other hand. “Look … look at that! It’s slower than Miss Whittle.”

  Wanda laughed. Miss Whittle, the music teacher at Appleton High for the past twenty years, was notorious for moving like molasses uphill. When anyone in Appleton wanted to say something was slow, he would inevitably make the Miss Whittle comparison.

  Gloria continued pressing her finger on the J, and only when she heard Wanda snort, “All right already, I see it,” did she release the key. She loved working with the Luggets, even though Wanda could test the patience of Job with her shrill dispensing of orders and hyped-up nerves during a deadline. Once, Gloria had actually heard Wanda threaten to shred Paul’s prized Offset Lithographic Technology book if he didn’t stop dillydallying. Paul was a perfectionist and wasn’t always a good counterbalance to Wanda’s manic side.

  But Gloria should be used to it. It was Wanda who had taken Gloria under her wing when she was a senior working on the yearbook and taught her about tints from the Murphy Color Wheel. The Luggets had been helping the Appleton High yearbook staff—gratis—for almost all of the thirty years they had owned the shop. Even back then, there were times when that woman could have benefited from a little Prozac, though Gloria always suspected Wanda’s problem was hormonal.

  “If you get the computers now, we’ll have them in place before the Apple Festival.” Gloria tilted back in her chair. It was one of Wanda’s calmer days and safe to banter. “This year we could really knock their socks off.”

  “Well, listen to her, Paul. Now she wants to go knocking people’s socks off.”

  “Time some people around here had theirs knocked off. Matter of fact, I was thinking that very thing yesterday. That’s why I ordered two new HPs, along with two seventeen-inch flat-screen monitors. Think the little city girl can work now, Wanda?”

  “She better. How else are we going to pay for all that stuff.” Wanda winked again, just as her husband flipped the green towel over his shoulder and headed toward the pressroom.

  “In that case, I’ll call Charlie Axlerod at the Chamber of Commerce and see if he’d like to commission some posters for the Apple Festival.” Gloria tried to look serious. “I’ll tell him about our early-bird special.”

  “What early-bird special?”

  “The one I thought we should run so we can get advance orders—at a five-percent discount. You know things are going to start getting crazy around here in a few weeks. I thought the special would help even the workload.” And keep Wanda calmer.

  “You learned a few things in that big city of yours, didn’t you?” Wanda said, heading toward the box of toner.

  “Just a few.” The smile Gloria had been trying so hard to suppress finally broke through. She thought of Harry Grizwald’s print shop and how it wasn’t much bigger than this, and of Perth and how Gloria had left her so ready and eager to start Eckerd Community College. God had taken Gloria on an amazing journey last year, one that had changed her life. She wondered what He had in store for her now that she was back in Appleton.

  Gloria unlocked the door of the little apartment at the back of Sam Hidel’s Grocery and watched Tiger, her new calico cat, the one Clive McGreedy had given her as a homecoming gift, scoot by her on the way out. She made no attempt to stop him. The fresh air would do him good, and he’d come back when he got hungry.

  Gloria still couldn’t believe she had a cat. Mother had never allowed pets. They were messy. They carried fleas—and who knew what else. It had taken a year in Eckerd for Gloria to get the courage to do something like this. Mother would be furious when she found out. She’d tell Gloria she didn’t have a brain in her head. And when Tracy found out, she’d probably laugh and say Tiger wasn’t a cat, but a declaration of independence. They’d both be wrong.

  Gloria closed the door behind her, then flipped on the lights. She hadn’t been able to get her old apartment back. The subletters had recently signed a new two-year lease. But she wasn’t sorry. Though Sam Hidel’s apartment wasn’t as nice or as big, it was a lot cheaper, and that would help Gloria save for a car. It was one thing not having a car in the city, but here in Appleton, it was impossible.

  Gloria thought of her old car, the one Grandma Quinn had named Silver Streak after the movie, the one Grandma had given her when she could no longer drive because of cataracts. It suddenly struck Gloria as odd that both Silver Streaks, her grandma’s 1985 Buick Century and the train in the movie, had the same ending: they crashed.

  She only wished hers would have crashed before she spent all that money on a new radiator. She had just had a fight with her mother and wanted to go somewhere quiet to clear her head. The next thing she knew she was on the Old Post Road, along the western perimeter of Clive McGreedy’s farm. The road was slick with black ice, and she had been going too fast. It didn’t take much to slide off the pavement and careen into Clive’s rail fence. The crash splintered one of the rails, causing it to pierce the grillwork of the Buick like a lance, straight through her brand-new radiator.

  Life was funny like that. You think you’ve fixed a thing, but it doesn’t always stay fixed. Just like her relationship with her mother. If she had a car now, she’d drive over. God had softened her heart, had made her willing to forgive and forget that her mother had tried to force her to marry Cutter Press. Had made her willing to forgive and forget all the grief her mother had given her. Had made Gloria willing to love her mother even if her mother couldn’t love her back, couldn’t accept the fact Gloria wasn’t the beauty she had hoped for. Jesus had shown her that her mother was a deeply unhappy woman. Although Gloria didn’t understand why. Maybe, in time, Jesus would reveal that to her too.

  “Oh, Lord, help me to be the daughter You want me to be,” she whispered as she placed her black leather purse on the kitchen counter. Then, without changing or grabbing a snack, Gloria headed for the phone and punched in the familiar number.

  “Hi, Mother—”

  “So, your fingers aren’t broken. I thought for sure they had to be since you haven’t called in days.” Gloria rolled her eyes, stopped herself, then quickly asked God to fill her with His love. “How are you, Mother?”

  “Well….”

  Gloria had just finished the dinner dishes and was about to hem the bottom of a pair of slacks her mother had bought for her over a year ago and only now fit, when the phone rang. Maybe it was Tracy returning her call. She had been trying to get in touch with her for days. She hadn’t seen her friend since Tracy had left Eckerd City so suddenly. And that was months ago.

  She picked up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Gloria!” Harry Grizwald’s voice was raspy, out of breath, almost like he had a cold. It took her a second to realize he was just excited. She felt mildly disappointed that it wasn’t Tracy. When was that girl going to call? “You won’t believe this, but someone just phoned saying he has information about The Lakes … but for a price. Five thousand, to be exact. First, I thought he was a crackpot. ’Til now, people have been free with their information. But then he mentioned Eric Slone.”

  “Who’s Eric Slone?” She pictured the curly white-haired Grizwald in his kitchen, wrapped in his Pillsbury Doughboy apron, and suddenly felt lonely.

  “You’re kidding, right? Eric Slone is to investments what Bill Gates is to computer software. Some say he’s got the Midas touch. That when he invests in something, it produces. He’s a bull even in a bear economy. A billionaire. For heaven’s sake, Gloria, he was on the cover of last month’s Time
.”

  “Sorry, never heard of him.” She heard Harry sigh.

  “Well, the problem is I don’t have five thousand dollars. Not to spare, anyway. Not since retirement is right around the corner and since Dorie and I might … well, we might make it a permanent thing.”

  “Harry! How wonderful.” Gloria felt a tinge of jealousy slither through her genuine feelings of joy, and was disappointed in herself. That issue had been turned over to the Lord. No sense in yanking it back now or second-guessing Him. He would bring someone into her life, or not, as He chose. “Have you set a date?”

  “No, we’re just tossing the idea back and forth. Dorie hasn’t said yes yet. Said she’s been a spinster so long she’s not sure she wants to start changing things now. But she doesn’t know how stubborn I can be. Anyway … I wasn’t even going to tell you—it’s just too early—so let’s get back on track here. About the five thousand—like I said, I don’t have it to spare, but since this involves that friend of yours … what’s-his-name …”

  “Cutter Press?”

  “Right. Maybe he’d be interested. You want to run it by him? See if he’s willing to lay out that kind of cash? I wouldn’t even bother with it except that if this guy’s really telling the truth, if Eric Slone is involved, it would be worth knowing about. So … what do you think? You want to ask your friend?”

  “Ah … okay … sure.”

  Great, now she had to go back to that hateful office.

  Chapter Two

  CUTTER WATCHED GLORIA take the black director’s chair in front of him. She certainly didn’t look happy to be here, with her forehead crinkled and her mouth firm as a biscotti. And that troubled him because it reminded him of the countless other times he had caused her to look that way.

  He had been surprised when Sadie told him Gloria wanted to come around noon. Obviously her lunch hour, obviously at her convenience. But she was full of surprises these days. He had spent a full half hour trying to guess the reason for the visit and came up empty.

  What could she want?

  It was hardly a social call. Her face told him that. She was pleasant enough, even forced a smile and inquired politely about the health of his mother, but Cutter knew that something outside Gloria’s will had brought her here. He let her get comfortable. Let her fold her skirt under her like a prim schoolmarm and spread the front of it neatly over her knees. Then let her fold her hands on her lap. She carried no purse, and he wondered if she had walked the two miles from Appleton Printers. It wouldn’t be out of character for her, even though it was unseasonably hot. He looked for signs of wilt but found none. Instead, she sat remarkably cool and calm, even with that crinkled forehead, looking lovely and stylish, and he suddenly felt the urge to pick up a dart.

  No, he wouldn’t hide behind a diversion.

  He took the executive’s chair behind the desk, the one made of cheap leather and with armrests so narrow you could never get comfortable. His mother had picked it out, along with the rest of the furniture, when she remodeled his office. Leave it to Virginia to find ways of cutting corners as painfully as possible.

  “You told my secretary it was important?”

  “Yes. Did you have a chance to read any of the flyers?”

  “I read them all. And if you want a pat on the back, forget it. Although I admit they were informative. Okay. You got your pat.” There was that smile again. And the light sound of laughter. The crinkled forehead had disappeared, for the moment at least.

  “I’m glad you found them of some worth. Since we—Harry Grizwald and I—started doing them, it’s amazing how many people have come forward.”

  “You told me all this yesterday.” Cutter tapped his neat, square-cut nails on the desk. What did she really want? If only he could burrow inside her head like a termite and nibble away at that façade of hers, see what she was thinking. He had always believed he understood her. But she was so different now.

  When the tapping started sounding to him like Morse code, and worse yet, an SOS, Cutter pulled his hands from the desktop and gripped the narrow armrests. He stared her down, mostly to make up for his display of nerves, and saw that although she smiled, her forehead was crinkled once more. He wished her discomfort would give him pleasure, but it didn’t. It never had, though he had often been accused of the opposite.

  “Yesterday, Harry got a call from a man who read one of the flyers.” Her forehead smoothed a bit. “He claims he has information about The Lakes—says there’s a connection between The Lakes and Eric Slone. But he wants five thousand for his trouble.” She paused to clear her throat. “We … Harry and I … don’t have that kind of money, so if it’s something you’d like to know, you’ll have to come up with it yourself.”

  Cutter tented his fingers and leaned back in his chair. Eric Slone was a rich, powerful man who owned dozens of companies and sat on the board of dozens more. He was hardly the type to be involved with the mess at The Lakes. No, Cutter’s troubles came from the loony fringes of Terra Firma and the EPA. Gloria’s proposition was almost an insult to his intelligence. Yet there she sat, hardly looking like she wanted to insult anyone.

  “I have no intention of passing around my money like carrion to all the vultures your flyers attract,” he finally said. “Tell your friend, no dice.” There she goes, smiling like I just told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  As Gloria rose from her chair, his disappointment rose with her. “What? No argument? So you think it’s a hoax too?” He was surprised when she shook her head. “Okay, why not?”

  “Because Harry doesn’t think so. And I trust his instincts.”

  “Yeah, with my five thousand.”

  You could have bowled Gloria over with a tennis ball when she saw Cutter come into Appleton Printers in his blue suit and white starched shirt. Gloria watched him size up the place and guessed by the look on his face what he was thinking—that she was a fool to prefer to work in this small, crowded store rather than in his big, spacious Medical Data.

  “So this is where you work,” he said as he reached her desk. The way he said it made Gloria wait for him to finish the sentence with and there’s no accounting for taste.

  When he said nothing, Gloria pointed to a wooden folding chair near some boxes along the wall. “Maybe you’d like to pull that over so you can sit.” He was in her world now. Even if he looked down his nose at it, she’d be polite.

  “No need.” Cutter fingered his cuff link. “I’m not staying.”

  Gloria recognized the small oval gold-plated links clamping his sleeves. They were the pair her mother had forced her to give him for Christmas when she was thirteen. She couldn’t believe he still had them. Or that he actually wore them.

  “I just came to tell you to go ahead and make that appointment.”

  She didn’t think anyone wore shirts with cuff links anymore. She certainly couldn’t remember seeing Cutter wear one, not for years. She just couldn’t get over seeing him with them now.

  “Make that appointment,” Cutter repeated. “But I want you to know I’m going ahead with this on your say-so. Based on your confidence in Harry Grizwald. And I guess I’m a little curious about Eric Slone’s involvement.”

  “Five thousand dollars is more than a ‘little curious.’“

  “You trying to talk me out of it?”

  “No. I’m trying to say that this man may think his information’s worth five thousand, but you may not. If you go in with high expectations, you might be disappointed.” Gloria cringed. She was starting to sound like her mother.

  “Don’t talk out of both sides of your mouth, Gloria. You told me you had confidence in Harry’s judgment. Now you’re squirming. Why?”

  Gloria’s lips tightened. Cutter never made anything easy. “Just don’t blame me if you’re not satisfied, that’s all.”

  “Oh, so that’s it. Little Gloria doesn’t like being on the hot seat.”

  Gloria felt her cheeks burn, felt that old hostility rise up lik
e magma in Vesuvius. When was she going to stop letting him push her buttons? “I’ll tell Harry to set up the appointment.” She rose from her chair. “Now if that’s all—”

  “Naturally, I expect you to come. I don’t know this Harry Grizwald from Adam, and—”

  “That’s out of the question.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think little Cutter is capable of doing this all by himself.” Gloria could tell by the look on Cutter’s face she had surprised him. And by the sick feeling deep inside her, Gloria could tell that Jesus hadn’t appreciated her remark either. She felt ashamed for stooping to Cutter’s level.

  “I see. Tit for tat.”

  “Sorry, that was … unnecessary.”

  Cutter brushed her apology aside with a flip of his hand, more out of impatience than magnanimity, it seemed to Gloria. For an instant, the small oval cuff link caught the overhead light. “What if I asked nicely? Would you come?”

  Gloria shook her head, looking at the shimmering link on his sleeve and feeling more annoyed by the minute. What was he trying to prove anyway? Wearing those cheap, silly things?

  “Aren’t you the one who appeared in my office yesterday asking forgiveness for your part in The Lakes’ mess? And didn’t you tell me—now, what were those words again?—oh, yes … that your ‘remorse extended beyond words’? And the first time I give you a chance to do a little extending, you refuse.”

  “You don’t need me along. I’ll make the arrangements with Harry, but that’s it. And just for the record, Cutter, I don’t appreciate being manipulated. Frankly, I’m tired of it. I’ve been manipulated all my life. By the best, remember?” Gloria watched Cutter’s face cloud, watched him run a finger between his white starched collar and his neck, watched the oval cuff link glint in the light of the little side window, then nearly fell over when she saw his lips part into a smile.

  “We’ve both been manipulated by the best.” He stepped closer to the desk. “I suppose I should have asked you a little nicer. About coming with me, I mean. Okay, I’m asking.”