eh?” Jenny observed. “I don’t suppose this nothing happened to be a wedding guest, did he?”
“I think I hear the timer going off on the pastries,” Jillian interrupted, hopping up.
“I’ll help.” Eric followed her into the house.
“You’re going to have to answer my question sooner or later,” Jenny called through the kitchen window.
Jillian pulled out the tray of bakery brioche and muffins she’d set to warm in the oven. “I can’t hear you.”
“You might as well give in,” Eric advised as he poured coffee from the press pot into three mugs. “She’s an expert at cross-examination.”
That was the problem with a large family, Jillian thought. Nothing could ever remain a secret for long—sooner or later everything got out.
“He’s just a man I met,” she said offhandedly as she carried out the platter along with plates and napkins, Eric following.
“Not just a man,” Jenny observed. “You like him.”
“Okay, I like him. But it was just bridal-party stuff at the wedding. Who knows what’ll come of it?”
“Do you want something to?” Jenny reached for the coffee mug Eric had set down before her.
“I want—”
“Cake!” Cole demanded, running up.
“Compromise,” Eric said, handing him a mug of hot cocoa and a blueberry muffin.
“Hot chocolate!” Happily, Cole settled in with his muffin and drink.
“Gee, I didn’t get any chocolate,” Jenny said.
“Don’t be so sure.” Eric settled back with the paper.
Jenny took a sip. “Mocha!” she exclaimed. “Do you know how much I adore you?”
“Feel free to remind me,” Eric said as he flipped open the paper.
Jillian shook her head at the Gazette. “You know, I’m torn every time I see that rag,” she pronounced, breaking the little ball off the top of her brioche. “Half of me wants to burn it and the other half is desperately curious to pick it up to see if they’ve printed any new trash about Robbie.” As if driving him away hadn’t been enough.
“Don’t give yourself ulcers over it,” Eric said. “That first story was a little strong but they’ve been better since.”
“Sure. Now they want a comment from him. Now that he’s gone. Or maybe they’re just sniffing around for a new story.”
“They don’t really have to. The tabloids have kind of taken it over.”
And it drove Jillian nuts. One day Robbie had been there, the next he’d been gone without a word. One letter, no phone calls. Five weeks. She shook her head. “It’s driving Nancy to distraction, especially since he’s supposed to be checking in with his parole officer.”
“I don’t know how she’s managing. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if Eric just disappeared like that,” Jenny said. “I’d be worried out of my mind.”
“She is. I just keep hoping it’ll all die down, but fat chance.” Jillian leaned back in her chair, staring at the paper that hid Eric. “It’s just one story after another after anoth—” Suddenly, she froze, staring at the banner. The Portland Gazette, it read. And on the line below, in fancy script, A Blazon Media Company.
A Blazon Media company.
“What’s wrong?” Jenny asked, frowning. “You look like you’d seen a ghost.”
“Eric, can I have the front page for a minute?”
“Hmm?”
“The front page. Just for a minute. Here, you can have the sports section.” She took the opening section with shaking hands. “Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered.
“You mind telling me what’s going on?” Eric asked.
“Nothing.” It didn’t mean anything, she told herself as she turned back to the editorial page, the part that carried the masthead. Just because Blazon owned the paper didn’t mean Gil worked for the Gazette. He could do any one of a number of things. Maybe he was in corporate, maybe he was in radio. Maybe he handled their Internet properties.
Or maybe, just maybe, he was the managing editor for the metro section of the Gazette.
“I’m going to strangle him,” Jillian said.
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