Page 3 of Hello, Summer
He reread the text message. “This is your sister who runs your family’s newspaper? Back in Florida? I take it the two of you have some issues?”
“We’ve got more issues thanThe New Yorker,” she said, sighing. “This is Grayson’s way of saying, ‘Nonny nonny boo boo.’”
“And you’ve called that character who hired you away? Fred Ward?”
“The call went directly to voice mail.”
He swiveled around and typed his password into Butch’s computer. He found the Web browser, typed in “Intelligentsia,” and a moment later, he was shaking his head.
“According toThe Wall Street Journal,it’s a done deal. Their lead investor was some hedge fund genius who decided new media was too risky.” He grimaced. “The publisher pulled the plug last night. Sixty-five people showed up for work in Bethesda this morning and found the place shuttered.”
Conley stared out the window, past the construction cranes and high-rises. Traffic was already backed up on I-285. It was four o’clock. She’d planned to be on the road by now. Headed for D.C.
“Hawkins?” Sistrunk’s hand, surprisingly small and delicate for such a burly, bearlike man, rested gently on her forearm. “I’m sorry.” He pushed the glasses back up his nose. “You know I’d do anything for you. I fought like hell to try to match their offer, but the money’s just not there. You know what our budget’s like.”
She nodded. “And you’ve already hired my replacement. I know that, Roger.”
“I could make some phone calls. Since you won the Polk Award, your name’s a commodity. Epstein’s at theLA Timesnow. He’s not a bad guy, and he owes me big-time. Charlene’s kicking ass in Miami, and she always liked you. I bet she could put in a good word.”
“Yeah,” Conley said, pushing herself up from the desk. She grabbed the last cardboard box. “That would be great, thanks.”
They both knew the reality. The world of print journalism was shrinking. Every newspaper in the country was cutting back, laying off reporters, tightening belts. Once-thriving major metro papers were eithershutting down or going to digital only. Epstein was lucky to have a job in LA, and Charlene had gone from assistant managing editor at theAJCto beat reporter in Miami with zero say in new hires.
“What are your plans?” Roger asked. “You got a place to land while you figure things out?”
“Oh yeah,” she lied. “My lease isn’t up until the end of the month.”
“Good,” he said, relieved. “That’s good. I’ll walk you out, okay?”
“Not necessary. But could you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Just, uh, keep theIntelligentsiathing to yourself, for now. I mean, people are gonna find out, but I’d just as soon not be the object of pity until I’m actually out of the building.”
“You got it.”
She was standing in front of the elevator when he hurried over.
“Hey, uh, I almost forgot. HR sent me a memo reminding me that you’re supposed to turn in your ID badge.”
The lie rolled easily off her tongue. “I don’t have it, Roger. I think I packed it yesterday.”
“How’d you get in the building this morning?”
“Butch and I met for breakfast before work. He badged me in. I’ll mail it back to you. Okay?”
“Whatever.”
It looked as though he was going to hug her. Mercifully, the elevator doors slid open, and she hopped inside, punched the down button, and nodded goodbye.
She’d just merged onto I-85 southbound when her phone rang. She could see the caller ID screen. Butch. He’d keep calling until she answered.
“Sneaky bitch,” he said. “I thought we had a dinner date.”
“Roger foundThe Wall Street Journalstory online. It’s all true. Sorry. I had to get out of there before word started to spread.”
“Where are you now?”
