Cover Story Page 9

  “I asked you a question.” He leaned on the desk. “Does she like flowers?”

  I blinked. “Ah, yes, she does, but—”

  “Good. Any in particular?”

  “Um … white ones.” I wasn’t sure where this was headed, but I was sure I didn’t like it. “My mother—”

  “I’m taking her out tonight, Fletcher. Hope you don’t have a problem with that.” He glared at me, daring me to challenge him.

  Have a problem with that? No. I had many problems with that. So many, in fact, that I didn’t know where to start.

  “Fletcher?” he boomed.

  I took a deep breath and steeled myself. “No, I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “Good. By the way, I want another gnome story.”

  This just wasn’t my day. “There’s nothing left in that story to write about.” I knew it wouldn’t do any good, but I felt honor-bound to point it out.

  “Doesn’t matter—readers are lapping it up. We’ve even been getting cards for those dogs from overseas. And the missing gnome has his own website.”

  “What?”

  He pushed a piece of paper at me. “As they say, check it out.”

  “I don’t believe this,” I muttered. Had I fallen down a rabbit hole when I wasn’t watching?

  “You’d better. I want another story ASAP. And the way this is looking, I’ll probably want another one after that.”

  I hung my head and opened the door to leave.

  “Oh, and Fletcher?”

  “Yeah?” I didn’t look back.

  “Does your mom like men in aftershave?”

  I closed the door and scurried back to my desk before he thought of anything more stomach-churning to ask. Sofia was there waiting for me.

  “Hey, Tobi, I just got a call from our contact.”

  I dropped into my chair. “Mata Hari from the senator’s office?”

  “Yep.” She twirled my white-out pen along her fingers like a baton.

  “Finally, some good news.” This was what I needed—to focus on proper journalism.

  Sofia stopped twirling and winced. “It’s not exactly good news.”

  Of course, why had I expected it to be good news? It wasn’t as if I was a luck magnet at the moment. I sighed with the weight of it all. “What did she say?”

  “She said she’s really worried. They’re hassling all the staff about the confidentiality agreements they signed and she says she can’t keep going with us.”

  “But, dammit, this is more important!”

  Sofia shrugged. “Maybe not to her.”

  “This can’t be happening. The biggest story of my career and she drops out.” I closed my eyes and began rubbing small circles on my temples.

  “I don’t think she trusts us.”

  I opened one eye. “Did she say something?”

  “No, it was more the way she was talking.”

  I opened the other eye and my fingers froze in place. “Do you think she’ll take the story to someone else?”

  “That’s anyone’s guess.” Sofia threw my white-out pen back on my desk and walked toward her cubicle.

  “Damn, damn, crap.”

  I was going to need aspirin. Lots of aspirin.

  *

  I waded through the rest of the evening in a haze. I said goodbye to Sofia, picked up my bag and left. I’d known her at university, so it had been nice to meet up with her again at this paper, but we weren’t the sort of friends who sat down and talked about our woes together. Actually, I didn’t have any friends like that. Group whine-fests weren’t my scene. And I especially wouldn’t tell Sofia about my mother’s latest drama. She’d probably think it was cool and I should milk it for all it was worth. That’s what she’d said when Grandpa Jack had bought the paper.

  But it wasn’t that simple. I didn’t want a position that someone had used money or influence to get me—that road led to a little destination called Unpredictability. If I didn’t get something for myself, then it was more volatile—out of my hands. Grace would say it was about my control issues again and she may have been right. But so was I.

  I briefly toyed with the idea of a bath to relax, but decided on a hot shower instead. Baths always seemed so pointless—you get in, get wet, and then what? I’d tried taking a book, but I was always so worried about getting the pages wet that I put it down. At least showers had a point to them—you get wet, wash yourself, then get out. Much more sensible.

  After my shower, I put on sweats and sat down at my laptop to brainstorm ideas for future gnome articles. How many angles could there be? I typed and deleted for half an hour before giving up. Then I remembered the website Kevin had given me. I opened a browser window and found the site. An existing gnome site, apparently one of many, had made a special page for the plight of our gnome: a picture of a gnome that matched the description with lots of soppy messages around it.

  Other gnomes were quoted as praying for the missing gnome, and they’d even dubbed him AG, “Absent Gnome”. Apparently AG had quite a following—people from all over the world had logged on and left messages of hope. What made people do something like this? Didn’t they have anything better to do? Were they sitting at home, waiting for a gnome to go missing to give their lives meaning? Although …

  Here was my next article idea, and I didn’t even have to venture back to Los Alamos Court.

  *

  Missing Gnome Inspires Prayer Vigil

  By Tobi Fletcher

  Santa Fe’s gnome-napping victim has inspired an international outpouring of concern. Absent Gnome (AG) has his own website, and messages from around the world are pouring in, imploring him to keep his spirits up.

  A prayer vigil is being organized for Sunday night, with gnome-lovers worldwide planning to light candles to show their support for AG and other gnomes in crisis.

  “Gnome-abuse is a hidden crime in our society,” the website says, “and AG is just the chap to shine the light on the dirty underbelly of garden ornamentation maltreatment and neglect.”

  AG’s human neighbors are still hoping for his safe return and anyone with information is urged to contact the Santa Fe Daily. Your anonymity is guaranteed.

  Chapter 8

  When my mobile rang Saturday morning, I recognized Simon’s number and my heart did a little flip-flop. I held my breath to see if that steadied my heart—it didn’t—and I answered. “Tobi Fletcher.”

  “Hello, Tobi, this is Anna Hanson speaking.”

  I smiled. “Hello, Anna, how are you?”

  “I’m good. Daddy says you’re too busy to come to our candle night for AG, but you will come, won’t you?” A touch of pleading colored her voice.

  I recognized Simon’s stamp of protection in explaining to Anna why I might not go and it made my heart melt just a little. “Um, I’m not sure if I can make it. Does your daddy know you’re calling me?”

  “No, but Granma and Valentina are here.”

  Ah. That made more sense. “Can I speak to your granma?”

  I heard the phone being put down then picked up again. “Hello, Tobi dear. I hope you don’t mind, but Anna was so keen to call you.”

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  “She’s been talking about you non-stop and I thought it wouldn’t hurt if …” Her voice trailed away and I visualized Anna, her huge eyes lighting up over me. Me. That was a first, though I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

  “It’s all right, Dot. I’ll see what my schedule’s like. When and where?”

  She gave me the details and we hung up.

  Should I go? It certainly wasn’t in my nature to give in to emotional blackmail from children and old people, so that wasn’t going to sway me. The question was, what did I want?

  Anna was cute and not nearly as annoying as most kids, but Gerald’s words had stayed with me. She’d lost a lot. Did I want her to form an attachment to me that wouldn’t continue?

  Her father was another matter. I might have noticed he had one
fine body—but so what? So did Matias. It meant nothing. Was there anything that made Simon a cut above the rest? He gave me tingly feelings, but that could’ve been a side effect of the allergies. He seemed nice and decent—except when he teased me—but anyone could be on best behavior for such a short time. I’m sure both my parents thought the other was nice and decent before they married and discovered otherwise, too.

  Nope, there was nothing exceptional about Simon Hanson at all.

  *

  The next night, I pulled into Los Alamos Court. I’d taken a double dose of antihistamines before I left. There was no way I was going to sneeze in front of Simon again.

  Every house on the street had a little line of colored paper bags filled with sand and a lighted candle on their curb, and the sight made me smile. Farolitos had always been one of my favorite parts of Christmas, and seeing them now, even for a missing gnome, was still nice.

  As I drove past Gerald’s house, I saw people through the open gate, milling about in his walled yard. I parked in front of Simon’s house and walked over to the gathering at number three. I understood why they’d chosen Gerald’s yard, it was by far the best spot—no plants or pebbles, just large paving stones laid across the ground—with the added advantage of Gerald being able to join in. Someone had put an armchair in the middle of the action and he sat smiling at the activity around him, his wheelchair off to the side. All the gnomes of the street were at Gerald’s, some with a helium balloon tied to their waists, some with glow sticks and all with tiny party hats.

  It seemed all the humans had turned up as well. Even Martin Sinclair was there, although he didn’t look happy about it. He was sitting on a folding chair next to Beverley, who was giving her squishy-faced smile to everyone.

  A card table covered in junk food had drawn Anna, Cosmo, and the boys from number two. Ethel was fussing around, probably making sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, and Dot and Valentina had joined Gerald, sitting on folding chairs on either side of him. Jazlyn—Judith? Julie?—and Simon were standing together, talking, and I felt a rush of suspicion that he might be the unknown father of her baby, but I quickly dismissed it—I knew Simon well enough to know that if it were his baby, he wouldn’t hide the fact.

  He looked up and smiled as I approached, but went on talking to Jazlyn. Davo, however, sauntered over, hands in the back pockets of his jeans. Another look he should be avoiding.

  “Hey, boss chick. How ya doin’?”

  His tone was brash but for some strange reason I didn’t feel like shooting him down. I looked at him and saw an adult-sized kid, learning to be a man, and ruining his self-confidence wouldn’t help.

  “Hey, Davo, I’m doing well. How are you doing?”

  He hesitated, as if he hadn’t planned this far ahead, then he winked at me. “I’m doin’ fine, babe.”

  Poor guy. Maybe I could help him out? Talk to him about what girls like—and don’t like—guys to say. Then again, maybe not. I had enough on my plate without taking a desperate, clueless teen under my wing.

  Anna came running up, almost knocking me over as she crashed into my legs and hugged them. “I knew you’d come! I told Daddy you would. Come and get a farolito. Granma and me spent all day yesterday coloring in the bags and filling them with sand. We did lots of colors, so you can choose. What’s your favorite color? Mine’s yellow, so I’ve got a yellow one already. Daddy picked blue, but not light blue, because he likes dark blue best. Come and pick one, Tobi. I told Granma that you’d pick yellow like me, but you can have any color you want.”

  She finally stopped for breath and I looked at the assortment of sand-filled paper bags covered in bright crayon scribbles. Red, blue, yellow, orange, green, pink, and purple. Hmm. No tasteful fawn or buff. No elegant mocha. My favorite color was probably a deep coffee, but that wasn’t there either. I picked up the green—at least it wasn’t as loud as the others—lit the small candle inside and put it down where the others were gathered.

  Anna dragged me over to her father, who was now standing by himself. “Daddy, she’s here.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and a dazzling smile spread across his face—not that I was dazzled, of course. “You’re right, Anna, she is.”

  She grabbed both his hands and arched her neck back. “Can we tell her now, Daddy, can we?”

  “If you want. It’s over there beside the drinks table.”

  Anna took off at a run, almost crashing into the cooler box as she picked up a small package with a ribbon. I turned back to Simon, who was watching me with relaxed curiosity. “What’s she getting?”

  “We got you a present.”

  Oh. “Why?”

  Anna reached my side again and held the package proudly aloft.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Anna wanted to say thank you for helping with our gnomes. Plus, she likes you.”

  The whole situation made me uncomfortable but my options were narrow. When a four-year-old offers a present, it’d be mean-spirited to refuse. I looked into her eyes, full of hopeful pleasure in giving a gift. Yes, it’d definitely be mean-spirited to refuse.

  I smiled and took the package. Before I could get the paper off, Anna said, “It’s pencils. Just like the ones you write with. I wanted to buy all different colors, but Daddy said we should get lead pencils so you could use them to do your writing. Will you use them to write stories in the newspaper?”

  There were about twelve pencils, with erasers on the end, all tied together with a red ribbon. “Yes, I’ll write stories with them.” Then I noticed the words written along the end of the pencils weren’t the usual brand names. I looked closer: relax, smile, dream, have fun, laugh, and be. There were two of each. I bit my lip to hide my confusion. Was this a joke? Was he using his daughter to tease me now?

  Anna was still beaming up at me. I melted a little—for whatever reason he’d done this, it wasn’t the kid’s fault. I crouched down and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Anna, they’re wonderful.”

  She gripped my neck tightly then released me to jump back. “You have to thank my dad too, because he got the words put on them.”

  From my position low down I saw Simon smile. “Yes, come on, Tobi,” he said. “I need thanking too.”

  I straightened. “I’m not sure what you need, but if this is your way of telling me I’m too uptight—”

  He laughed as he shook his head. “Chill out, Tobi, it’s just a present.”

  I lowered my voice so Anna couldn’t hear. “If you’re laughing at me—”

  “Tobi.” He hadn’t raised his voice but with that tone, he didn’t need to. “No one is laughing. Anna wanted to give you a present. We thought you could never have too many pencils and I put some cute messages on the end to make you smile when you use them. What’s the problem with that?”

  I blinked and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, that was very ungracious of me.” I looked back down at the pencils. They were cute. Thing was, he’d hit a nerve. I knew I was uptight, but I had to be. I had to make sure I stayed on top and got everything done, otherwise life would spiral out of control. None of which was his fault—he was just being nice. Again. “Thank you, Simon, it’s a thoughtful present.”

  “Don’t I get a thank you like Anna did?”

  I had to hold back the smile that threatened at his attempt to look young and innocent, until Anna chimed in. “Yes, give Daddy a thank you hug and kiss.”

  I looked down at her, holding her daddy’s hand. “Grown-ups don’t need all the hugs and kisses that little girls do.”

  Simon’s expression grew serious. “Actually, Tobi, sometimes grown-ups need them even more.”

  For what seemed like a minute, my heart plain forgot to beat. Then it kicked back in, working double-time to catch up. What would it be like to kiss Simon Hanson? Be held in his arms? Not in gratitude, but in full-blown, earth-shattering desire?

  A loud clanging reverberated as someone hit a spoon to a pot. I wrenched my gaze from Simon and shook my
head, consigning all wayward thoughts about the man at my side to my mental don’t-go-there basket.

  “Everyone!” It was Dot, looking like an orange-haired version of Liberace taking to the stage, if he’d had a wooden spoon and pot. Or been a woman. “Lukas has written a song. If you can light your candles and come around here, he’ll play it for us.”

  Lukas picked up his guitar and everybody quietened the way they do when they think they’ll be entertained for a while. “I’ve written a song for AG.” He strummed his fingers across the strings flamboyantly. “It’s called, ‘AG Phone Home.’” Then he played the intro to a popular rock ballad. He sang in quite a good voice for a drummer.

  There’s a gnome we all know

  Who is missing and so

  We’re praying that AG

  Phones home.

  The farolitos had been gathered around in front of him and the little flames inside seemed to flicker rhythmically. It was almost as if I was at a bizarre stadium concert where people had brought farolitos instead of lighters.

  He’s a cute little guy,

  And we all wonder why,

  He’s been gnome-napped and can’t

  Phone home.

  Then he flipped his guitar over and began drumming a beat with his hands to accompany a rap section.

  I wanna tell you a story,

  ’Bout a street what’s fulla homes,

  ’Sgot people ’n’ dogs ’n’ cats ’n’ kids,

  And it’s got its fair share of gnomes.

  Yeah, I said gnomes.

  These fellas are the travelin’ type,

  Over the street they roam,

  But no one’s ever seen ’em move,

  Reckon every house needs a gnome.

  Yeah, I said gnome.

  The crowd cheered as he segued back into the first two verses again, accompanying it with his guitar. He finished with a flourish to laughing and clapping, looking a touch embarrassed. There was a lot of back-slapping and kindly hands on his shoulder—even a pat on the cheek from Dot.