Sandra Kelly - The Big Scoop

Dear Reader,

I am thrilled to present The Big Scoop, my second book for Harlequin, and my first for the Flipside line.

The inspiration for this story came from my own experience as a freelance journalist. Like Jack Gold, I, too, got a little jaded in my approach to researching and writing stories, especially profiles of real people. Bored silly by the truth, I once wrote a fictionalized, outrageously tongue-in-cheek account of a real person’s life (her parents were missionaries gifted with ESP; she was born in the jungle with a third eye in the middle of her forehead, etc.), then sat at my computer station, cackling hysterically while at the same time fretting over my diminishing sanity. In the end, I submitted the real story for publication. But I kept the bogus version on my hard drive as a personal reminder to get a new life.

Change, as it turns out, comes in surprising, delightful packages. For me it was a switch from nonfiction to romance fiction. It’s impossible to get jaded when you’re having this much fun. For Jack Gold it was a “delicious, devious, demented little dairy princess” by the name of Sally Darville.

Jack and Sally change one another forever—and definitely for the best! If you enjoyed reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it, get in touch with me at sandrackelly@shaw.ca.

Sandra Kelly

“Jack Gold, you’re a poor excuse for a Gobey winner.”

A monstrous grin lit up his whole face at Sally’s comment. “You know about that?”

What an ego! “Of course I know about it. I did my homework. I know where you were born and where you went to school. I know that you’ve been twice nominated—”

“Three times, actually.”

“Whatever. The point is…”

“I get the point.” He dropped his chin and looked at her thoughtfully. “Normally, I do background research on a story. I didn’t in this case because, well, because I usually don’t get assignments like this one. I usually get, you know, bigger, ah, I mean weightier assignments. See, after I won the Gobey, I got a little big for my britches.” He chuckled as if that weren’t really true, but for the sake of argument Sally should accept it as truth. “My editor decided to bring me down a notch.”

What? Had he just said what she thought he’d said? “Do you mean to tell me that I’m your punishment ? For acting like a jerk?”

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Sandra Kelly has been putting words on paper since she was old enough to lift a pen. Before becoming a Flipside author, she published more than a million words of nonfiction in magazines and corporate publications across Canada. For seven years she taught in the Professional Writing Program at Mount Royal College in Calgary, helping hopeful young writers to realize their own dreams of becoming published. Sandra lives in Calgary with her husband Bob, and two ungrateful cats.

HARLEQUIN DUETS

76—SUITEHEART OF A DEAL

For Jean Molloy 1931–2003 Thanks for the humor, Mom

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

July 10: On the front page of the Peachtown Post

Can Peach Paradise Save Our Town?

Sally Darville, marketing manager for Darville Dairy, is a woman with a mission.

Darville, the twenty-seven-year-old daughter of Dean and Sarah Darville—the fourth generation of Darvilles to own and operate the local dairy—believes that Peach Paradise, their delicious new ice cream, can save Peachtown from ruin.

After three consecutive years of drought, Peachtown’s usually thriving tourism industry is hurting. With daily temperatures soaring into the high nineties and fire bans in effect at all campgrounds, people are staying away in droves. Darville believes that Peach Paradise will bring them back.

“We can’t make rain, but we can make the world’s best ice cream,” she said.

The tasty treat, introduced last March, sold out of local stores within a week and has since attracted fans throughout the Okanagan Valley. Now Darville has enlisted the help of Vancouver Satellite reporter “Cracker” Jack Gold to spread the word about Peach Paradise across British Columbia’s densely populated lower mainland.

Gold, thirty-four, recently won the Gobey Award for uncovering a conspiracy by Vancouver-based Denton Corporation’s top executives to launder two million dollars siphoned from the company’s employee pension fund. Gold is the youngest reporter ever to win the prestigious international award.

Said Darville, “If Cracker Jack Gold can’t help us, no one can.”

“HOT ENOUGH FOR YA?”

Fingertips tapping out a steady beat on the chipped white countertop, Jack regarded the too-cheerful customer service clerk with the little patience he had left. “Yes, it is. I wonder if you’d mind taking another look at those records.”

The clerk, a lanky youth with a drunk-on-life smile and a giant zit in the middle of his forehead, struck a solemn tone. “I can if you like, sir, but I really don’t believe your car was towed. I believe it was moved.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Well, yes. You see, sir, there’s no record of anyone from this office having towed a candy-apple red 1968 Mustang convertible with the original leather seats plus inlaid mother-of-pearl console and the black-and-yellow foam dice once owned by Jerry Lee Lewis. No record at all, sir.”

“Then, do you have any thoughts on who might have…moved it?”

The boy shrugged. “I may have.”

Jack forced his fingers to be still as he drew a shallow breath. Five years of pounding the backroads for small-town newspapers across the lower mainland had taught him there was no point in losing it with guys like—he glanced at the boy’s name tag—Dudley here. The Dudleys of the world, he vaguely recalled from those long forgotten days, couldn’t be rushed under terrorist threat.

Back then, Jack had customized a smile for people he had nothing against but hoped never to see again. He flashed it now. “Care to share your thoughts, Dudley?”

The teenager nodded in the general direction of the window separating the tiny impoundment office from Peachtown’s main drag. “Well, see, we have these identical twins here in town—Terry and Tommy Trubble? Anyway, they’re sorta the town pranksters.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, okay, the county pranksters, if you wanna be, you know, real accurate.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer to Jack. “You won’t believe this, but one time they…”

“My car, Dudley?”

“Oh, right. Well, the fact is, sir, they like to move cars.”

“Move cars,” Jack repeated dumbly. “You mean steal cars.”

Shock turned Dudley’s zit a singularly unattractive shade of red. “Oh no, sir! They don’t keep ’em. They just hot-wire ’em and then relocate ’em.” His vacant gaze suggested that no further explanation should be necessary.