Diana Palmer - Texas Born

“They won’t let him,” Cash sighed. “His security clearance isn’t high enough.”

“What?” Carlie exclaimed.

“Well, he’s only in the office for four years, eight tops. So the guys in charge of the letter agencies—the really secretive ones—allegedly keep some secrets to themselves. Particularly those dealing with aliens.” He chuckled.

The girls, who didn’t know whether to believe him or not, just laughed along with him.

* * *

Michelle stopped back by Minette’s office to tell her the good news, and to thank her again for the job.

“You know,” she said, “Chief Grier is really nice.”

“Nice when he likes you,” Minette said drily. “There are a few criminals in maximum-security prisons who might disagree.”

“No doubt there.”

“So, will Monday suit you, to start to work?” Minette asked.

“I’d really love to start yesterday.” Michelle laughed. “I’m so excited!”

Minette grinned. “Monday will come soon enough. We’ll see you then.”

“Can you write me a note? Just in case I need one?” She was thinking of how to break it to Roberta. That was going to be tricky.

“No problem.” Minette went to her desk, typed out an explanation of Michelle’s new position, and signed it. She handed it to the younger woman. “There you go.”

“Dress code?” Michelle asked, glancing around the big open room where several people were sitting at desks, to a glass-walled room beyond which big sheets of paper rested on a long section like a chalkboard.

“Just be neat,” Minette said easily. “I mostly kick around in jeans and T-shirts, although I dress when I go to political meetings or to interviews with state or federal politicians. You’ll need to learn how to use a camera, as well. We have digital ones. They’re very user-friendly.”

“This is very exciting,” Michelle said, her gray eyes glimmering with delight.

Minette laughed. “It is to me, too, and I’ve done this since I was younger than you are. I grew up running around this office.” She looked around with pure love in her eyes. “It’s home.”

“I’m really looking forward to it. Will I just be reporting news?”

“No. Well, not immediately, at least. You’ll learn every aspect of the business, from selling ads to typing copy to composition. Even subscriptions.” She leaned forward. “You’ll learn that some subscribers probably used to be doctors, because the handwriting looks more like Sanskrit than English.”

Michelle chuckled. “I’ll cope. My dad had the worst handwriting in the world.”

“And he was a doctor,” Minette agreed, smiling.

The smile faded. “He was a very good doctor,” she said, trying not to choke up. “Sorry,” she said, wiping away a tear. “It’s still hard.”

“It takes time,” Minette said with genuine sympathy. “I lost my mother, my stepfather, my stepmother—I loved them all. You’ll adjust, but you have to get through the grief process first. Tears are healing.”

“Thanks.”

“If you need to talk, I’m here. Anytime. Night or day.”

Michelle wiped away more tears. “That’s really nice of you.”

“I know how it feels.”

The phone rang and one of the employees called out. “For you, boss. The mayor returning your call.”

Minette grimaced. “I have to take it. I’m working on a story about the new water system. It’s going to be super.”

“I’ll see you after school Monday, then. And thanks again.”

“My pleasure.”

* * *

Michelle went home with dreams of journalism dancing in her head. She’d never been so happy. Things were really looking up.

She noted that Roberta’s car was in the driveway and she mentally braced herself for a fight. It was suppertime and she hadn’t been there to cook. She was going to be in big trouble.

Sure enough, the minute she walked in the door, Roberta threw her hands up and glared at her. “I’m not cooking,” she said furiously. “That’s your job. Where the hell have you been?”

Michelle swallowed. “I was in...in town.”

“Doing what?” came the tart query.

She shifted. “Getting a job.”

“A job?” She frowned, and her eyes didn’t seem to quite focus. “Well, I’m not driving you to work, even if somebody was crazy enough to hire you!”

“I have a ride,” she replied.

“A job,” she scoffed. “As if you’re ever around to do chores as it is. You’re going to get a job? Who’s going to do the laundry and the housecleaning and the cooking?”

Michelle bit her tongue, trying not to say what she was thinking. “I have to have money for lunch,” she said, thinking fast.

Roberta blinked, then she remembered that she’d said Michelle wasn’t getting any more lunch money. She averted her eyes.

“Besides, I have to save for college. I’ll start in the fall semester.”

“Jobs. College.” Roberta looked absolutely furious. “And you think I’m going to stay down here in this hick town while you sashay off to college in some big city, do you?”

“I graduate in just over three months...”

“I’m putting the house on the market,” Roberta shot back. She held up a hand. “Don’t even bother arguing. I’m listing the house with a San Antonio broker, not one from here.” She gave Michelle a dirty look. “They’re all on your side, trying to keep the property off the market. It won’t work. I need money!”

For just one instant, Michelle thought about letting her have the stamps. Then she decided it was useless to do that. Roberta would spend the money and still try to sell the house. She comforted herself with what the local Realtor had told her—that it would take time for the will to get through probate. If there was a guardian angel, perhaps hers would drag out the time required for all that. And even then, there was a chance the house wouldn’t sell.

“I don’t imagine a lot of people want to move to a town this small,” Michelle said out loud.

“Somebody local might buy it. One of those ranchers.” She made it sound like a dirty word.

That made Michelle feel better. If someone from here bought the house, they might consider renting it to her. Since she had a job, thanks to Minette, she could probably afford reasonable rent.

Roberta wiped her face. She was sweating.

Michelle frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right, I’m just hungry!”

“I’ll make supper.” She went to her room to put her books away and stopped short. The place was in shambles. Drawers had been emptied, the clothes from the shelves in the closet were tossed haphazardly all over the floor. Michelle’s heart jumped, but she noticed without looking too hard that the baseboards in the closet were still where they should be. She looked around but not too closely. After all, she’d told Roberta that Chief Grier had her father’s stamp collection. It hadn’t stopped Roberta from searching the room. But it was obvious that she hadn’t found anything.

She went back out into the hall, where her stepmother was standing with folded arms, a disappointed look on her face. She’d expected that the girl would go immediately to where she’d hidden the stamps. The fact that she didn’t even search meant they weren’t here. Damn the luck, she really had taken them to the police chief. And even Roberta wasn’t brash enough to walk up to Cash Grier and demand the stamp collection back, although she was probably within her legal rights to do so.

“Don’t tell me,” Michelle said, staring at her. “Squirrels?”

Roberta was disconcerted. Without meaning to, she burst out laughing at the girl’s audacity. She turned away, shaking her head. “All right, I just wanted to make sure the stamp collection wasn’t still here. I guess you were telling the truth all along.”