didn’t laugh. “I didn’t bring you here. What do you want, Miss DeLucca? A favor? A lead?”
“An interview. For the Eden Town Gazette.”
“Why didn’t you ask me back at the station house?”
“Because I was afraid you’d say no.”
He nodded again, not saying anything.
Tess picked at the chipped edge of one nail. “Well?” she asked finally.
“No,” he said.
She scowled. “Why not?”
“I’m not news.”
“You know that’s not true. People are always interested in their public officials. Even in Chicago, you’d get a column. Up here, you get the front page and my undivided attention. You’re the biggest news to hit town since Simon Ford.”
Denko looked blank. So he didn’t know everything. Tess found that reassuring.
“Simon Ford,” she repeated. “The inventor? He bought Angel Island.”
“You mean, he bought a house there.”
“No, he bought the island. The point is, you’re our lead story. Well, unless my editor decides to run with the new traffic light out at the high school or the Lutheran ladies’ zucchini cook-off. But I think we’ve got a good chance.”
A corner of his nicely shaped mouth quirked up. “I’m flattered. But, no.”
“What do you have to lose?”
“My privacy?” he suggested dryly.
She arched her eyebrows. “What do you have to hide?”
“Not a thing.”
“Well, then…” She let her voice trail off expectantly.
He eyed her with a combination of amusement and annoyance. “You’re persistent.”
“In my job, you have to be.”
“In my job, too. And I’m not convinced letting it all hang out in the Eden Town Gossip—”
“Gazette,” she snapped, and then scowled. He was just yanking her chain.
“Gazette,” he corrected smoothly. “Anyway, I don’t like the idea that anybody in town with fifty cents can read all about my life in the paper.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of spin?”
“I don’t need spin.”
“Sure you do.” She leaned forward earnestly and just missed smearing her sweater in syrup. Very smooth, DeLucca. “You’re a stranger here. People aren’t going to feel comfortable talking to you. A piece in the paper is like an introduction. It gets your name and face out there, makes people feel like they know you, shows them you’re a regular guy. They’re more likely talk to you then.”
“All the people here need to know is that I’m qualified to do my job.”
“And are you?”
He didn’t rise to her bait. “Your search committee thought so.”
She waited. “That’s it?”
“Unless you want to talk to me. Like you said, I’m a stranger here. I could use someone to fill me in on who’s who in this town.” He sent some subtle masculine signal that brought Noreen scurrying over.
It figured the new chief would be good in restaurants, Tess thought glumly. Probably he could find parking spaces and kill spiders, too. That didn’t mean she had to roll over for him.
“If it’s gossip you’re after, you can get that down the street at the barbershop. If it’s stories about suspicious behavior, you can get those from Bud Sweet.”
He shrugged and reached for his wallet. “It always helps to have a civilian perspective. And you’re a reporter. An observer. That could make you useful.”
“Gee, how nice,” she drawled. “If I’d ever wanted to be a police snitch, that would make me feel all warm inside.”
He didn’t laugh.
Fine. She didn’t need the approval of some cool-eyed, tight-lipped cop. She didn’t want this attraction to him, either.
She twitched the check from Noreen’s hand. “I told you, breakfast is on me.” She counted out the money. Too bad Gazette reporters didn’t merit expense accounts. After the waitress left, she asked, “So, is that the deal? I be your source, you be my story?”
Denko slipped his wallet back into his pocket. A difficult maneuver in the tight confines of the booth, but he managed it gracefully.
“No deal,” he said. “I’m interested in developing ties to the community. But my private life stays private.”
Tess felt an instant’s sympathy. She sure didn’t want anyone digging around in her private graveyard.
Her eyes narrowed as she regarded the new police chief. What skeletons was Jarek Denko hiding?
Chapter 2
The Plaza Apartments’ one elevator was out-of-order again. Tess shifted the bag of groceries in her arms to open the fire door, propping it with her hip so her mother could walk through.
“I wish you’d let me take you out for dinner instead,” Tess said.
Isadora DeLucca smiled shakily. “Oh, cooking’s no trouble.”
No trouble for who? Tess wanted to ask, but years of protecting her mother’s feelings made her bite her tongue. If her mother needed to cook her a high-fat lunch to make up for all the years when Tess had opened cans to feed herself and her brother, well… Whatever her mother needed was fine with Tess.
The hallway smelled like cabbage and mold. No one who could afford to live anywhere else paid rent at the Plaza. The paint peeled, the radiators sweated and the toilets over-flowed. But the aging building provided a first shot at freedom for the very young, a last stab at independence for the very old.
Even on a reporter’s salary, Tess could afford better now. Mark thought she was crazy for not buying into one of the snazzy new condos going up by the lake or even moving to a newer, nicer apartment. But Tess told herself this apartment was fine. Mark was back. Her mother was on the wagon. Her life was fine. And if anything happened to make it not fine again, at least she wouldn’t be forced out of her home.
Tess had lived at the Plaza ten years, longer than any other resident except ninety-four-year-old Mrs. McMurty on the second floor. Against the advice of her doctors and the pleas of her son, Mrs. McMurty swore she would leave the Plaza only to go to her grave.
On her bad days, Tess imagined she’d escape the same way. Feetfirst and alone, having died of
