stealing Eden, part four
Cedar Rapids, Minnesota is not well known to most Minnesotans. Nobody in Cedar Rapids particularly minds this. The last census counted 12,472 residents in the town, not counting the 422 soldiers who call the Army Proving Ground at Fort Mitchell home. Cedar Rapids is proud of its heritage as a farming community and the grain elevators are probably the most recognizable feature in the town. If you want entertainment, you have your choice of whatever sport is in season at the high school, the local movie theater, or fishing in the Cedar River. There are five police officers in the town, who keep the drunks out of the gutter and the high school kids from cruising the streets at night in their cars. American flags fly everywhere in the town. Tourists are always welcome, particularly strangers with odd accents who stumble off the bus looking completely lost, which is quite an appropriate description of Kate and Kevin, roving reporters for the Junior Gazette. Julie had told them to go find out something about the new owner of the Junior Gazette, and bundled them off on a plane in the middle of the night mysteriously. Colin had asked to go, but Julie had refused to spare him. Marriner's financial people were due in the next morning and only Colin knew the state of the finances from one minute to the next. Anyway, Marriner had phoned and asked a favor of him and Colin found whatever it was--neither Kate nor Kevin knew--to be sufficiently interesting enough to put any thoughts of America out of his head completely.
"So what's the plan, then?" Kevin asked, as he grabbed his suitcase.
Kate shook her head. "Julie was supposed to have rooms reserved for us, so I guess we check in the hotel and get settled. Then we start sniffing around." She grabbed her own suitcase.
Kevin had walked out of the bus station and noticed immediately that the hotel was directly across the street from the bus station. "Nothing like small town simplicity, Kate," he remarked. "No long cab rides, no parking meters, and no traffic jams."
Kate joined him and looked at the hotel. "That's it?" she said haughtily.
"I don't think we've got much of a travel budget left, Kate."
"If we had any less, we'd be sleeping on park benches." She walked across the street. "Typical," she muttered to herself, though loudly enough for Kevin to hear. "Kate gets the second string again while Julie gets all the glamour back home. New editor, old editor, no difference."
They walked into the hotel and up to the front desk. Kate rang the bell on the counter and an old gray-haired man wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses came puttering out of a back room."
"I hope our reservations came through. My name's Kate Roberts, and this is my associate Kevin Maxwell."
The old man sized the two of them up. "You must be the newspaper folks from Britain," he said. "What's Paul done this time?"
Kate and Kevin exchanged mutual glances of surprise. The desk clerk looked vaguely amused at this. "Lord, I'm not one of those television psychics. Your editor called ahead and used the company credit card. Usually reporters are a lot sneakier than that, but you're welcome here anyway."
Kate muttered an obscenity under her breath. Kevin deliberately stamped on her foot and said "Col. Marriner bought our newspaper this week, and we're sort of curious about him. Lots of rumors about, you know."
"Rich and powerful mystery man?" the desk clerk suggested. "Seems to intimidate people very easily? Walks around like he owns the world?"
"That's him," Kevin said.
"He's dead." Kate said simply.
"Oh, you've heard that one, have you?" The clerk fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out a cigar, which he proceeded to light. After indulging in a smoke, the clerk smiled. "Well, Kate and Kevin, everything you heard is true. He's rich, powerful, intimidating, and he died. Pity that, I was very fond of his wife. Good kid she was. Used to see her in the restaurant next door having a soda with her friends when she was in school. Damned terrorist shot 'em both in the middle of a parade." The clerk took another turn at his cigar.
Kate tried waving the fumes away without much success. "Pardon me for stating the obvious, but if he's dead, how is it he...."
"Shucks, I thought you'd figure that out yourself," the old man said. "Dead people don't buy newspapers very often. That sly fox is so smart, he brought himself back from the dead, he did."
"Wearing some other body?" Kevin asked.
"Not my place to go telling people how to run their business," the clerk said simply.
"And you aren't the least bit bothered by someone coming back for the dead?" Kate asked incredulously.
The clerk took another smoke. "Now, I grant you that is unusual. If you live around here, you take the unusual for granted. Father Olsen said that if Jesus of Nazareth could do it, maybe Paul was on good enough terms with the Almighty to arrange something. I've never argued with a priest before, and I am not about to now at my age."
"Strange things are normal here?" Kevin asked. "This looks like a typical American small town, based on what they show on the television."
The desk clerk put down his cigar and laughed hoarsely. "Them's the towns you have to look out for, son! Only here, people's cows get blown up by mistake. Kids my grandson's age suddenly turn geniuses overnight. People disappear. People die and come back to life." The old man shrugged. "All in a day's work around here. We just mind our own business and let Paul Marriner mind his."
"Nobody questions this?" Kate asked. "Not even outsiders?"
"Depends on what you mean by outsiders. Press folk like yourselves, they don't believe me. Think I'm some kind of gooney old man that checked his brain at the door with his dentures. UFOlogists, paranormal investigators and such--they dig this place. Hold their conventions here in my hotel. Even have a seance in the back room now and then, if the spirit moves 'em..." He chuckled at this. Kevin and Kate even allowed themselves a smile between them. "Roswell of the Midwest we are, though the mayor never promotes that as our town slogan."
"But people dying....surely that must cause some stir." Kate remarked.
"The only things that die around here are spies, saboteurs, nosybodys, and space monsters. We never kill the tourists. Bad for business, you know."
"Assuming we're not space monsters ourselves," Kevin added. Kate stared at him. "I mean, you can never tell by appearances, can you?"
The desk clerk had another good laugh, and took another puff on his cigar. "Right at home you'll be here, lad." The clerk turned and grabbed a pair of keys from the rack behind the counter. "Rooms 8 and 9, up the stairs and to your left. Ring if you need anything, and I'll have a tour of local spots of interest arranged for you shortly." He handed the keys over to Kevin. Kate grabbed hers from his hand and stalked up the stairs, grumbling to herself.
"Better take the lady's bag up to her, son. Save yourself a second trip later." the clerk said.
"No bellhops?" Kevin asked hopefully.
"Gone to Mars on holiday. Sorry" the old man said, and strode off.
Julie Craig had settled into her temporary office chair behind her temporary office desk and surveyed the newsroom she now controlled. Things were still very chaotic two days after the fire, and while she liked the idea of herself as editor, the news room felt very different without Lynda's driving ambition to keep the team focused and heading in the right direction. Lynda was a problem. Eventually, once she got her personal problems sorted out, Lynda would demand to return to occupy the editor's chair, and Julie wondered how well the news team would take to having her back. Already, Julie had implemented some changes that she felt would make the team stronger. Tiddler had taken to her job as assistant editor well, and helped keep order when egos clashed. Frazz had written a brilliant piece on the reporting of the fire in the local papers. Julie had made a few suggestions to improve the piece, and Frazz was in early getting the finishing touches on the second draft done. Martin and Jane had taken charge of the street reporting team as de facto directors--Julie was content to let them organize things, as they had been around the Gazette longer than Julie herself had and knew how things needed to run. That Lynda herself would never delegate much authority beyond the assistant editor's chair was a policy Julie intended to change for as long as she was in office as editor. If Julie had any say, that would be a very long time indeed.
Colin was in early this morning, as well--that in itself was an amazing feat. Colin loved avoiding the office before noon, but with Marriner's financial team set to arrive later that day, Colin was busily trying to get the Gazette's financial house in order--or was he? Julie noted he seemed to be on the phone trying to swing a deal with someone for something having to do with televisions. Julie shook her head. Who knew where the Gazette's profits were hidden when Colin was involved? Out of the corner of her eye, Julie noticed someone entering the newsroom. Others in the room noticed the entry, too, and things grew very quiet as Sarah Jackson entered.
Sarah had dressed up a little bit more than she usually did during her days as a writer, opting to wear a blazer and skirt combination that looked reasonably business-like, although Julie noted the fit wasn't quite right, as if it had been borrowed for the occasion. Also borrowed, no doubt, was the pearl necklace Sarah wore. Julie had never seen this, either, and it seemed very out of character for the thrifty and unpretentious Sarah. The most striking feature Julie noted was Sarah's deep tan and sun-lightened blonde hair, which had been completely absent when she'd accompanied Spike down to the fire scene yesterday.
Julie rose from her chair and went to shake Sarah's hand. Sarah looked a little shaken at this, but followed Julie's lead. "You're the boss, now," Julie said quietly. Sarah nodded, and then hugged Julie.
"I may be the boss, but I'm still your friend, Julie." Sarah said.
Julie noticeably relaxed, and the newsroom seemed to heave a sigh of collective relief.
Meanwhile, Spike and Lynda slept on. In the hallway outside of the apartment, two policewomen waited as a their superior officer chatted with the landlord downstairs. After a few minutes, the detective inspector came up the stairs and faced two very skeptical women.
"Inspector Morse?" Sophie muttered.
"Couldn't you be any more original than that?" Laura added.
Marriner shook his head. "It worked, didn't it? Next time, I'll come up with a nice long pair of Polish names for you lot and we'll see how you like 'original'."
"So are we going in now or what?" Laura asked.
"Absolutely," Marriner said. He turned the door knob and the door quietly opened. He looked at the two girls. "Nice job picking the lock. I'm impressed," he said as he walked into the darkened apartment.
"Do we tell him it was already open?" Sophie asked Laura.
Laura shook her head. "Not a chance." They followed him inside.
The room was dark, but not so dark as to make navigation impossible. The first rays of sun were peeking through the blinds, and Marriner was busily fumbling with some electronic gadget he'd pulled from the grubby pockets of his coat.
"Stupid machine," he muttered. "A chronon detector should register particle decay, right? Everything can't be decaying, so what's the problem?"
Sophie eyed the machine. "Chronon detector?"
"Objects that travel in time give off signature patterns of chronons. Find the chronon, find the book."
"We travel in time, why doesn't it register us rather than the book?" Sophie asked.
"Very simple, the reason is....." Marriner halted for a moment. "I suppose that would be a problem, now that you mention it."
"Plan B," Laura whispered. "You take the bathroom, I'll take the sofa, and you--" and she looked at Marriner and smiled "Put your gadget away, Inspector, and go check his desk."
"I'm supposed to be in charge here," Marriner whispered, and batted Laura on the nose. Laura noted with some satisfaction he did indeed move off to check the desk.
"So, what are we going to do about Lynda?" Julie asked. "Is she still the editor or not?"
"That depends on Lynda--I haven't spoken with her, yet." Sarah said. She noted Julie's look of disappointment. "Julie, Lynda had certain visions in mind for the Junior Gazette when she took it commercially. She needs to run a paper for adults. She's not the right person to develop talent. That's where you come in, Julie. When Lynda returns, you are going to sit down with Matt and Bill Sullivan and get the old Junior Gazette concept running again with you in charge."
Julie seemed very surprised. "The old Gazette wasn't a money maker. Kerr as much as said so. Why bring it back now?"
"Because the new owner isn't interested in the Junior Gazette making money, Julie." Sarah got out of her chair and wandered over to a window and stared out on the grounds below. "The old Gazette didn't sell a lot of papers, but it got a lot of good publicity and got kids thinking about journalism as a career. I learned so much from the Junior Gazette, Julie, and I want to be able to pass that on to other kids. Why should we be the only lucky ones?" Col. Marriner and I share the same vision in that regard.
"So where does that leave Lynda, if we're going to go back to the old format?"
"Paul envisions several possibilities...." Sarah began, walking away from the window and back towards her chair.
"Paul?" Julie asked, with a raised eyebrow.
"Oops, sorry," Sarah shyly said. "I have a hard time thinking of him as, you know." She blushed a little. Maybe it was more than a little, though the tan masked it somewhat.
"Look at you," Julie marveled. "I don't believe this. You're falling all over yourself for him, aren't you?"
"Maybe," Sarah said, trying to regain her composure. "He's quite a guy."
"What do you really know about him, Sarah?" Julie asked bluntly.
"Enough." Sarah said. "I'm not sure I trust him yet, and I'm trying to make sense of what I've seen of him, and I don't have all the facts, but he has a good heart and has been through hell to get here. But I know enough to want this job and I'll see his wishes are carried out."
Daylight was now much more in evidence outside, and not a trace of the book had been found. The three thieves looked at each other and then at the bedroom door. Paul crept over and quietly pushed it open slightly. "They're still asleep," he whispered. "Do we risk it?"
Sophie and Laura pushed the door open and entered. Marriner shook his head. "Nothing like risk to get the blood going early in the morning," he thought to himself. "To be young and stupid again."
"Took them long enough to get this far," Laura said. She pulled out a tiny camera from her uniform pocket and started taking pictures of the sleeping couple. Marriner looked at her crossly, and she stuck out her tongue at him. "Insurance," she said in a whisper. "In case they're no longer friends someday."
Sophie had wandered around to the opposite side of the bed and was searching a nightstand and not finding anything. In a fit of puckishness, she lifted up the blankets on Spike's side of the bed and peered underneath. "What a cheat!" she whispered to Laura. "I bet they didn't even do anything." Marriner threw up his hands in disgust. "Why did I bring you two along anyway?"
"Well, now we know the book isn't under the blanket," Sophie whispered. "If you're going to search, do it right. Any luck?"
"Not in the closet," Marriner said. "I'm not even sure she's got it here now. We're running out of places to look."
At this point, Spike began to stir under the covers, and in stirring, accidentally kneed Lynda in the stomach. Marriner dove for the closet, and Sophie and Laura quickly hid under the bed. Lynda woke up, looked at the still sleeping Spike and then looked at the clock.
"Seven o' clock?" she muttered. "I should have been up hours ago." She got out of bed, absent-mindedly knocking her pillow on the floor, and left the room. Soon, the shower could be heard in the background and Marriner glanced out from the closet to see if Spike was still asleep. He was, but not soundly, and was stirring more.
"Let's get out of here, you two." Marriner exited the closet and cautiously stuck a head out into the living room.
Sophie and Laura rolled out from under opposite sides of the bed and joined him. All three got out of the apartment and closed the door-- Marriner locking it behind them.
"What a mess," Marriner muttered. "Of all the complete and utter--" he paused and looked at Laura, who was clutching something behind her back. "Now what could that be?" he asked her pointedly.
"Oh, something somebody tried to hide in the box springs under the bed. Sophie saw a hole and thought it might be worth a look." She handed the only known copy of Damn, biography of Lynda Day Thomson, currently existing in this time frame. Marriner clutched it to his breast, and then slipped it into one of his jacket pockets. "Time to get lost, you two. I'm proud of both of you," he said as he ruffled their hair.
A short time after they had checked in and retired to their rooms, the desk clerk phoned Kevin--not Kate, who was even more disposed not to like him now--and said he'd arranged for someone to give them some background on Paul Marriner's life. "Be in the lobby at 4:30, and she'll be there", he had said. Kate had come down to the lobby half an hour early and was taking in the scenery. The old man behind the front desk was reading a newspaper and was smoking another of his dreadfully stagnant smelling cheap cigars. The maid came through the lobby pushing a vacuum cleaner and disappeared down the hallway to where the first floor rooms were. Next to the lobby television set, two twenty-something guys who looked like they hadn't met with a bathtub in a very long time were watching "Batman" and comparing Robin to Batgirl and arguing which was the better partner. An Indian gentleman sat in a corner meditating quietly. Kevin ambled down the stairs and headed for the television, but Kate steered him towards the door, where a young woman had just entered and gone to speak with the desk clerk. The clerk pointed towards them, and the woman walked over.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Angie Becker. Francis tells me you want to hear some Marriner stories."
Kate and Kevin introduced themselves, but Kate took the lead in responding to her. "We're interested in stories, sure, but we'd like to know who he is and what to expect out of him. He just bought our newspaper, and we don't know what to believe about him or what kind of person he is."
"How much are you offering me for stories?" Angie asked bluntly.
Kate and Kevin exchanged glances. "We're not offering to pay you anything," Kate replied. "We couldn't afford to--we're not a big newspaper, and if Marriner knew we were here, he'd probably fire all of us."
Angie chuckled. "If he doesn't know you are here, he'll find out in due course. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, the bus station attendant will ring him up to let him know if anybody interesting is in town. Francis will, too. Paul made lots of friends here, and he still keeps in touch. He'll know you are here. Count on it."
"Not much cause for optimism, then." Kevin looked downcast.
"Relax, Kevin," Angie said with a sympathetic smile. "I like you guys. You're amateurs compared to the slick big city papers that come here trying to dig dirt and not get caught. Paul loves to match wits with them. So do we little people. We take their money, tell them wild tales, overcharge them on meals and souvenirs, and laugh when they print what we make up and the government denies it. They look silly, we get rich, and they never learn their lesson because Paul is always doing something to get their goat and they want nothing more in the world than to crush him."
"So you'll help us?" Kate asked nervously.
"I can't guarantee I'll tell you everything you want to know, but I'll tell you what I can."
"Great," Kevin said. "When do we start?"
"Not here," Angie said, pointing to the guests. "You never know who is listening in this place. Come home with me, I'll fix us some dinner, and then tell you some tales."
Cedar Rapids, Minnesota is not well known to most Minnesotans. Nobody in Cedar Rapids particularly minds this. The last census counted 12,472 residents in the town, not counting the 422 soldiers who call the Army Proving Ground at Fort Mitchell home. Cedar Rapids is proud of its heritage as a farming community and the grain elevators are probably the most recognizable feature in the town. If you want entertainment, you have your choice of whatever sport is in season at the high school, the local movie theater, or fishing in the Cedar River. There are five police officers in the town, who keep the drunks out of the gutter and the high school kids from cruising the streets at night in their cars. American flags fly everywhere in the town. Tourists are always welcome, particularly strangers with odd accents who stumble off the bus looking completely lost, which is quite an appropriate description of Kate and Kevin, roving reporters for the Junior Gazette. Julie had told them to go find out something about the new owner of the Junior Gazette, and bundled them off on a plane in the middle of the night mysteriously. Colin had asked to go, but Julie had refused to spare him. Marriner's financial people were due in the next morning and only Colin knew the state of the finances from one minute to the next. Anyway, Marriner had phoned and asked a favor of him and Colin found whatever it was--neither Kate nor Kevin knew--to be sufficiently interesting enough to put any thoughts of America out of his head completely.
"So what's the plan, then?" Kevin asked, as he grabbed his suitcase.
Kate shook her head. "Julie was supposed to have rooms reserved for us, so I guess we check in the hotel and get settled. Then we start sniffing around." She grabbed her own suitcase.
Kevin had walked out of the bus station and noticed immediately that the hotel was directly across the street from the bus station. "Nothing like small town simplicity, Kate," he remarked. "No long cab rides, no parking meters, and no traffic jams."
Kate joined him and looked at the hotel. "That's it?" she said haughtily.
"I don't think we've got much of a travel budget left, Kate."
"If we had any less, we'd be sleeping on park benches." She walked across the street. "Typical," she muttered to herself, though loudly enough for Kevin to hear. "Kate gets the second string again while Julie gets all the glamour back home. New editor, old editor, no difference."
They walked into the hotel and up to the front desk. Kate rang the bell on the counter and an old gray-haired man wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses came puttering out of a back room."
"I hope our reservations came through. My name's Kate Roberts, and this is my associate Kevin Maxwell."
The old man sized the two of them up. "You must be the newspaper folks from Britain," he said. "What's Paul done this time?"
Kate and Kevin exchanged mutual glances of surprise. The desk clerk looked vaguely amused at this. "Lord, I'm not one of those television psychics. Your editor called ahead and used the company credit card. Usually reporters are a lot sneakier than that, but you're welcome here anyway."
Kate muttered an obscenity under her breath. Kevin deliberately stamped on her foot and said "Col. Marriner bought our newspaper this week, and we're sort of curious about him. Lots of rumors about, you know."
"Rich and powerful mystery man?" the desk clerk suggested. "Seems to intimidate people very easily? Walks around like he owns the world?"
"That's him," Kevin said.
"He's dead." Kate said simply.
"Oh, you've heard that one, have you?" The clerk fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out a cigar, which he proceeded to light. After indulging in a smoke, the clerk smiled. "Well, Kate and Kevin, everything you heard is true. He's rich, powerful, intimidating, and he died. Pity that, I was very fond of his wife. Good kid she was. Used to see her in the restaurant next door having a soda with her friends when she was in school. Damned terrorist shot 'em both in the middle of a parade." The clerk took another turn at his cigar.
Kate tried waving the fumes away without much success. "Pardon me for stating the obvious, but if he's dead, how is it he...."
"Shucks, I thought you'd figure that out yourself," the old man said. "Dead people don't buy newspapers very often. That sly fox is so smart, he brought himself back from the dead, he did."
"Wearing some other body?" Kevin asked.
"Not my place to go telling people how to run their business," the clerk said simply.
"And you aren't the least bit bothered by someone coming back for the dead?" Kate asked incredulously.
The clerk took another smoke. "Now, I grant you that is unusual. If you live around here, you take the unusual for granted. Father Olsen said that if Jesus of Nazareth could do it, maybe Paul was on good enough terms with the Almighty to arrange something. I've never argued with a priest before, and I am not about to now at my age."
"Strange things are normal here?" Kevin asked. "This looks like a typical American small town, based on what they show on the television."
The desk clerk put down his cigar and laughed hoarsely. "Them's the towns you have to look out for, son! Only here, people's cows get blown up by mistake. Kids my grandson's age suddenly turn geniuses overnight. People disappear. People die and come back to life." The old man shrugged. "All in a day's work around here. We just mind our own business and let Paul Marriner mind his."
"Nobody questions this?" Kate asked. "Not even outsiders?"
"Depends on what you mean by outsiders. Press folk like yourselves, they don't believe me. Think I'm some kind of gooney old man that checked his brain at the door with his dentures. UFOlogists, paranormal investigators and such--they dig this place. Hold their conventions here in my hotel. Even have a seance in the back room now and then, if the spirit moves 'em..." He chuckled at this. Kevin and Kate even allowed themselves a smile between them. "Roswell of the Midwest we are, though the mayor never promotes that as our town slogan."
"But people dying....surely that must cause some stir." Kate remarked.
"The only things that die around here are spies, saboteurs, nosybodys, and space monsters. We never kill the tourists. Bad for business, you know."
"Assuming we're not space monsters ourselves," Kevin added. Kate stared at him. "I mean, you can never tell by appearances, can you?"
The desk clerk had another good laugh, and took another puff on his cigar. "Right at home you'll be here, lad." The clerk turned and grabbed a pair of keys from the rack behind the counter. "Rooms 8 and 9, up the stairs and to your left. Ring if you need anything, and I'll have a tour of local spots of interest arranged for you shortly." He handed the keys over to Kevin. Kate grabbed hers from his hand and stalked up the stairs, grumbling to herself.
"Better take the lady's bag up to her, son. Save yourself a second trip later." the clerk said.
"No bellhops?" Kevin asked hopefully.
"Gone to Mars on holiday. Sorry" the old man said, and strode off.
Julie Craig had settled into her temporary office chair behind her temporary office desk and surveyed the newsroom she now controlled. Things were still very chaotic two days after the fire, and while she liked the idea of herself as editor, the news room felt very different without Lynda's driving ambition to keep the team focused and heading in the right direction. Lynda was a problem. Eventually, once she got her personal problems sorted out, Lynda would demand to return to occupy the editor's chair, and Julie wondered how well the news team would take to having her back. Already, Julie had implemented some changes that she felt would make the team stronger. Tiddler had taken to her job as assistant editor well, and helped keep order when egos clashed. Frazz had written a brilliant piece on the reporting of the fire in the local papers. Julie had made a few suggestions to improve the piece, and Frazz was in early getting the finishing touches on the second draft done. Martin and Jane had taken charge of the street reporting team as de facto directors--Julie was content to let them organize things, as they had been around the Gazette longer than Julie herself had and knew how things needed to run. That Lynda herself would never delegate much authority beyond the assistant editor's chair was a policy Julie intended to change for as long as she was in office as editor. If Julie had any say, that would be a very long time indeed.
Colin was in early this morning, as well--that in itself was an amazing feat. Colin loved avoiding the office before noon, but with Marriner's financial team set to arrive later that day, Colin was busily trying to get the Gazette's financial house in order--or was he? Julie noted he seemed to be on the phone trying to swing a deal with someone for something having to do with televisions. Julie shook her head. Who knew where the Gazette's profits were hidden when Colin was involved? Out of the corner of her eye, Julie noticed someone entering the newsroom. Others in the room noticed the entry, too, and things grew very quiet as Sarah Jackson entered.
Sarah had dressed up a little bit more than she usually did during her days as a writer, opting to wear a blazer and skirt combination that looked reasonably business-like, although Julie noted the fit wasn't quite right, as if it had been borrowed for the occasion. Also borrowed, no doubt, was the pearl necklace Sarah wore. Julie had never seen this, either, and it seemed very out of character for the thrifty and unpretentious Sarah. The most striking feature Julie noted was Sarah's deep tan and sun-lightened blonde hair, which had been completely absent when she'd accompanied Spike down to the fire scene yesterday.
Julie rose from her chair and went to shake Sarah's hand. Sarah looked a little shaken at this, but followed Julie's lead. "You're the boss, now," Julie said quietly. Sarah nodded, and then hugged Julie.
"I may be the boss, but I'm still your friend, Julie." Sarah said.
Julie noticeably relaxed, and the newsroom seemed to heave a sigh of collective relief.
Meanwhile, Spike and Lynda slept on. In the hallway outside of the apartment, two policewomen waited as a their superior officer chatted with the landlord downstairs. After a few minutes, the detective inspector came up the stairs and faced two very skeptical women.
"Inspector Morse?" Sophie muttered.
"Couldn't you be any more original than that?" Laura added.
Marriner shook his head. "It worked, didn't it? Next time, I'll come up with a nice long pair of Polish names for you lot and we'll see how you like 'original'."
"So are we going in now or what?" Laura asked.
"Absolutely," Marriner said. He turned the door knob and the door quietly opened. He looked at the two girls. "Nice job picking the lock. I'm impressed," he said as he walked into the darkened apartment.
"Do we tell him it was already open?" Sophie asked Laura.
Laura shook her head. "Not a chance." They followed him inside.
The room was dark, but not so dark as to make navigation impossible. The first rays of sun were peeking through the blinds, and Marriner was busily fumbling with some electronic gadget he'd pulled from the grubby pockets of his coat.
"Stupid machine," he muttered. "A chronon detector should register particle decay, right? Everything can't be decaying, so what's the problem?"
Sophie eyed the machine. "Chronon detector?"
"Objects that travel in time give off signature patterns of chronons. Find the chronon, find the book."
"We travel in time, why doesn't it register us rather than the book?" Sophie asked.
"Very simple, the reason is....." Marriner halted for a moment. "I suppose that would be a problem, now that you mention it."
"Plan B," Laura whispered. "You take the bathroom, I'll take the sofa, and you--" and she looked at Marriner and smiled "Put your gadget away, Inspector, and go check his desk."
"I'm supposed to be in charge here," Marriner whispered, and batted Laura on the nose. Laura noted with some satisfaction he did indeed move off to check the desk.
"So, what are we going to do about Lynda?" Julie asked. "Is she still the editor or not?"
"That depends on Lynda--I haven't spoken with her, yet." Sarah said. She noted Julie's look of disappointment. "Julie, Lynda had certain visions in mind for the Junior Gazette when she took it commercially. She needs to run a paper for adults. She's not the right person to develop talent. That's where you come in, Julie. When Lynda returns, you are going to sit down with Matt and Bill Sullivan and get the old Junior Gazette concept running again with you in charge."
Julie seemed very surprised. "The old Gazette wasn't a money maker. Kerr as much as said so. Why bring it back now?"
"Because the new owner isn't interested in the Junior Gazette making money, Julie." Sarah got out of her chair and wandered over to a window and stared out on the grounds below. "The old Gazette didn't sell a lot of papers, but it got a lot of good publicity and got kids thinking about journalism as a career. I learned so much from the Junior Gazette, Julie, and I want to be able to pass that on to other kids. Why should we be the only lucky ones?" Col. Marriner and I share the same vision in that regard.
"So where does that leave Lynda, if we're going to go back to the old format?"
"Paul envisions several possibilities...." Sarah began, walking away from the window and back towards her chair.
"Paul?" Julie asked, with a raised eyebrow.
"Oops, sorry," Sarah shyly said. "I have a hard time thinking of him as, you know." She blushed a little. Maybe it was more than a little, though the tan masked it somewhat.
"Look at you," Julie marveled. "I don't believe this. You're falling all over yourself for him, aren't you?"
"Maybe," Sarah said, trying to regain her composure. "He's quite a guy."
"What do you really know about him, Sarah?" Julie asked bluntly.
"Enough." Sarah said. "I'm not sure I trust him yet, and I'm trying to make sense of what I've seen of him, and I don't have all the facts, but he has a good heart and has been through hell to get here. But I know enough to want this job and I'll see his wishes are carried out."
Daylight was now much more in evidence outside, and not a trace of the book had been found. The three thieves looked at each other and then at the bedroom door. Paul crept over and quietly pushed it open slightly. "They're still asleep," he whispered. "Do we risk it?"
Sophie and Laura pushed the door open and entered. Marriner shook his head. "Nothing like risk to get the blood going early in the morning," he thought to himself. "To be young and stupid again."
"Took them long enough to get this far," Laura said. She pulled out a tiny camera from her uniform pocket and started taking pictures of the sleeping couple. Marriner looked at her crossly, and she stuck out her tongue at him. "Insurance," she said in a whisper. "In case they're no longer friends someday."
Sophie had wandered around to the opposite side of the bed and was searching a nightstand and not finding anything. In a fit of puckishness, she lifted up the blankets on Spike's side of the bed and peered underneath. "What a cheat!" she whispered to Laura. "I bet they didn't even do anything." Marriner threw up his hands in disgust. "Why did I bring you two along anyway?"
"Well, now we know the book isn't under the blanket," Sophie whispered. "If you're going to search, do it right. Any luck?"
"Not in the closet," Marriner said. "I'm not even sure she's got it here now. We're running out of places to look."
At this point, Spike began to stir under the covers, and in stirring, accidentally kneed Lynda in the stomach. Marriner dove for the closet, and Sophie and Laura quickly hid under the bed. Lynda woke up, looked at the still sleeping Spike and then looked at the clock.
"Seven o' clock?" she muttered. "I should have been up hours ago." She got out of bed, absent-mindedly knocking her pillow on the floor, and left the room. Soon, the shower could be heard in the background and Marriner glanced out from the closet to see if Spike was still asleep. He was, but not soundly, and was stirring more.
"Let's get out of here, you two." Marriner exited the closet and cautiously stuck a head out into the living room.
Sophie and Laura rolled out from under opposite sides of the bed and joined him. All three got out of the apartment and closed the door-- Marriner locking it behind them.
"What a mess," Marriner muttered. "Of all the complete and utter--" he paused and looked at Laura, who was clutching something behind her back. "Now what could that be?" he asked her pointedly.
"Oh, something somebody tried to hide in the box springs under the bed. Sophie saw a hole and thought it might be worth a look." She handed the only known copy of Damn, biography of Lynda Day Thomson, currently existing in this time frame. Marriner clutched it to his breast, and then slipped it into one of his jacket pockets. "Time to get lost, you two. I'm proud of both of you," he said as he ruffled their hair.
A short time after they had checked in and retired to their rooms, the desk clerk phoned Kevin--not Kate, who was even more disposed not to like him now--and said he'd arranged for someone to give them some background on Paul Marriner's life. "Be in the lobby at 4:30, and she'll be there", he had said. Kate had come down to the lobby half an hour early and was taking in the scenery. The old man behind the front desk was reading a newspaper and was smoking another of his dreadfully stagnant smelling cheap cigars. The maid came through the lobby pushing a vacuum cleaner and disappeared down the hallway to where the first floor rooms were. Next to the lobby television set, two twenty-something guys who looked like they hadn't met with a bathtub in a very long time were watching "Batman" and comparing Robin to Batgirl and arguing which was the better partner. An Indian gentleman sat in a corner meditating quietly. Kevin ambled down the stairs and headed for the television, but Kate steered him towards the door, where a young woman had just entered and gone to speak with the desk clerk. The clerk pointed towards them, and the woman walked over.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Angie Becker. Francis tells me you want to hear some Marriner stories."
Kate and Kevin introduced themselves, but Kate took the lead in responding to her. "We're interested in stories, sure, but we'd like to know who he is and what to expect out of him. He just bought our newspaper, and we don't know what to believe about him or what kind of person he is."
"How much are you offering me for stories?" Angie asked bluntly.
Kate and Kevin exchanged glances. "We're not offering to pay you anything," Kate replied. "We couldn't afford to--we're not a big newspaper, and if Marriner knew we were here, he'd probably fire all of us."
Angie chuckled. "If he doesn't know you are here, he'll find out in due course. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, the bus station attendant will ring him up to let him know if anybody interesting is in town. Francis will, too. Paul made lots of friends here, and he still keeps in touch. He'll know you are here. Count on it."
"Not much cause for optimism, then." Kevin looked downcast.
"Relax, Kevin," Angie said with a sympathetic smile. "I like you guys. You're amateurs compared to the slick big city papers that come here trying to dig dirt and not get caught. Paul loves to match wits with them. So do we little people. We take their money, tell them wild tales, overcharge them on meals and souvenirs, and laugh when they print what we make up and the government denies it. They look silly, we get rich, and they never learn their lesson because Paul is always doing something to get their goat and they want nothing more in the world than to crush him."
"So you'll help us?" Kate asked nervously.
"I can't guarantee I'll tell you everything you want to know, but I'll tell you what I can."
"Great," Kevin said. "When do we start?"
"Not here," Angie said, pointing to the guests. "You never know who is listening in this place. Come home with me, I'll fix us some dinner, and then tell you some tales."