Authors: Greg Herren
“You look like hell, kiddo!” Harold belted from across the room. “That pompous ass really got you good.”
Geez, why don’t we just put a freakin’ ad in the paper and announce it to all of East Quay, you idiot.
“I’m okay, Harold. Where’s Don?”
“Out with Hernandez, covering the extra PTA meeting. The parents and the teachers at East Quay High School are joining forces.”
“That was my story!” Eryn was furious. “I want to finish it.”
“Rex sees red when he hears your name, Goddard. Hernandez is on it.”
“This isn’t fair—”
“Get used to it. Nothing’s fair. You pressed charges against him. Don’t get me wrong, he deserved it, but I don’t want you in his face just yet.”
Fuming, Eryn laid her bag on the chair by her cluttered desk. “And what am I supposed to do instead? Lick stamps?”
“Watch it, kiddo.” Harold’s plump features darkened, and when he slowly licked his lips Eryn recognized the signs of an impending storm. “In fact, I want you to do an article about the Dodd woman.”
“Who?”
“The closest thing we have to royalty in this town. The old bat has a hundredth birthday coming up in three days. She and her family go way back. You know, the one that owns almost all of New England’s fishing industry.”
“Marjorie Dodd Endicott?”
“Yeah.”
“They don’t just own most of the fishing industry, but also half the town, along with the Belmonts. I didn’t know she was
that
old.”
“It’ll sell papers and ads if we run a this-is-your-life story on her. The Harding piece you did put you on the map. I want you to do something similar with the Dodd broad.”
Dodd broad?
Harold was a moron, and his lack of respect about other people never ceased to amaze her.
Why don’t I just say “screw you” and get out?
She bit her lower lip and reached for her bag.
Out where?
“I need you to cover her birthday arrangements. Supposed to be an all-day hoopla.”
“Sure. When?” Eryn wondered if he detected her tone of resignation.
“Oh, in about,” Harold checked the large clock on the wall, “thirty minutes.”
“Thirty! God, that barely gives me time to grab my stuff and get the car.”
That darn Volvo better not give me attitude.
Switching from resigned back to furious in a second, Eryn tugged the shoulder strap back over her head and made sure she had her computer, new tape recorder, and a notepad. She pulled on a baseball cap and hoped it would disguise the worst of her bruises. “Where is this ‘hoopla’ taking place?” She knew her not-so-subtle sarcasm was wasted on Harold.
“At the old lady’s mansion behind the marina. You know, just after the pier.”
“Got it. Want me to take photos too?”
That’ll cost you.
“Probably won’t be anything worth taking except maybe the old bat and whoever she shakes hands with. Be good to know who’s taking care of her stuff once she croaks. You never know, any dirt we can dig up on her might bring in more ads. That’s what pays our salaries.”
“I’m off.” Eryn didn’t wait to listen to the well-known litany.
In the parking lot, she stared gloomily at her old Volvo. She still hadn’t collected her Yamaha from the Sea Stone Café. She’d called Mike to let her know she’d be by after work and try to fix the problem herself, instead of calling AAA. Eryn was used to working on her bike and wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. In fact, she enjoyed tinkering with engines, when she found time.
It was hard to find time for her favorite hobby, but the hours she spent in the garage with her bike were worth gold. She drove past the marina, thinking it would be easy to swing by Mike’s later.
Always something.
She recapitulated the Dodd family history as she approached the house. As famous as the Kennedys, the Dodds had affected American history directly both politically and economically for more than three centuries. Marjorie, the head of the Dodd clan, still resided in East Quay where her dynasty had started out generations ago.
Marjorie Dodd Endicott had been a widow for more than forty years, having lost her husband in a boating accident. As far as Eryn knew, she had never remarried or been seen with a man since.
Cars overflowed the large circle in front of the Dodd mansion. Its beautifully aged cedar shingles and black slate roof had never yielded to a storm during its almost hundred years, and neither had its owner.
Eryn navigated her Volvo between a BMW and a Bentley and chuckled as she got out. “Be on your best behavior now, dear car. Looks like you’re out of your element here.” Shaking her head, she hurried toward the main entrance where livery-clad men stood guard.
“Eryn Goddard,
New Quay Chronicle
. Member of the press,” she announced, holding up her press card.
A guard scrutinized it thoroughly. “Do you have a copy of the invitation faxed to your newspaper’s office?”
“What? No. I don’t know anything about an invitation. My boss…”
Damn that idiot!
“Surely you must realize since I’m with the
Chronicle—
”
“I cannot let you in without an invitation, ma’am.” The man clearly wasn’t going to budge.
“Wait. Hang tight.” Eryn chewed her lower lip for a few seconds, then checked her watch. She still had time.
Picking up her cell phone she dialed the reception desk at the office. “Amanda? Hi. Eryn here. Do you see a fax about an invitation to a press conference at the Dodd Mansion? You do? Excellent. Now, can you fax it to my cell phone number in two minutes? Thanks. I’ll bring you some of that godawful tea you love so much.”
Eryn hung up and sat down on the wide staircase leading into the mansion. Her fingers flew as she placed her phone next to her PC tablet and allowed the Bluetooth to connect. Two minutes later the phone rang the special three-tone signal alerting her that a fax was coming in. Eryn let it download into the computer and then unplugged the phone.
Rising with the computer in her hands, she shoved it under the guard’s nose. “Here’s my invitation. Can I pass now?”
The guard looked impressed, and with a half smile he nodded. “Yes. Welcome to the press conference, Ms. Goddard.”
“Better late than never.” Pleased with herself for solving the problem, Eryn flashed him a smile and jogged up the stairs, the computer under her arm. “And only three minutes late. I deserve a medal.”
Inside, the cedar-shingle house appeared unchanged by time and very well kept. Eryn knew the Dodd family had lived here for at least four generations, and the current Mrs. Dodd Endicott was the last of her line. Eryn thought it was sad that Mrs. Dodd Endicott had lived so many years without any close family members.
A Welcome sign directed Eryn toward a large sitting room where at least fifteen other reporters had gathered in a small circle around a frail woman on a cobalt blue silk sofa. Eryn stopped in the doorway when she saw who sat next to her.
Dressed entirely in red, Manon looked perfectly at ease. The sight of her long legs disappearing up the above-the-knee-length skirt took Eryn’s breath away. Manon’s hair was swept up in a loose twist tucked into the nape of her neck. She looked relaxed, her elegant hands lay idle on top of each other on her lap, and the memory of how they had massaged her three nights ago rushed back.
Eryn’s own hands trembled as she flipped the top of her laptop to engage the tablet mode. She gripped the stylus with sweaty fingertips and tried to blend with the wall as she sat down behind the other the reporters.
Another press conference. And who’s here to support the center of interest? Of course
, she
is.
It wasn’t enough for Manon to invade her thoughts constantly, causing Eryn to daydream. She had to show up every time she turned around.
“Welcome to this press conference,” Manon began, and her voice created goose bumps along Eryn’s arms. “Mrs. Dodd Endicott appreciates your interest in her upcoming birthday, which coincides with the 150th anniversary of Dodd’s Fishing, Inc. Founded by Mrs. Dodd’s grandfather, it was one of the few companies that didn’t go under when the fishing industry was struck hard two decades ago. I could keep talking for hours about how I admire the way Mrs. Dodd diversifies her business, but I won’t.” Manon smiled and gestured toward the woman next to her. “Instead, I’ll let Mrs. Dodd Endicott answer a few of your questions.”
“Call me Marjorie.” The wrinkled face was faded like an aging rose, yet still delicately beautiful. Her voice was low, but she spoke with force and command.
I don’t suppose you live to be a hundred and remain at the helm of your ship without being tough and determined.
Eryn glanced at Manon.
Is this your future? Rich, powerful—and alone?
The reporters asked the usual questions: how it felt to turn a hundred, what her life had been like since she retired only a few years earlier, and if Marjorie had any special plans for her 101st year.
Marjorie answered every question politely, all the time maintaining a certain distance. Clearly Marjorie Dodd had dealt with the press before.
Eryn raised her hand. “Eryn Goddard,
New Quay Chronicle
. How long have you and Ms. Belmont been good friends?”
Marjorie tilted her head for a few seconds, peering between two other reporters. “Ms. Belmont began to visit me regularly when she was a child. We quickly became friends despite our age difference.”
“Do you and Ms. Belmont really own most of the buildings and real estate in East Quay?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Such power must entail tremendous responsibility. How do you handle it?”
“You’re right.” Marjorie seemed to consider the question. “It
is
a huge responsibility, and not all landlords take it seriously. The people and companies that inhabit the structures I own—as well as the ones Ms. Belmont owns—will testify to our care and maintenance.”
Reluctantly charmed by Marjorie’s candor, Eryn asked another question. “You can’t reach such a venerable age without gaining wisdom. What have you learned that is worth sharing with our readers?”
Marjorie laughed and shook her head. “Dear one, your assumptions aren’t very well based. Some people live a long time and don’t learn a damn thing. Yet some children are born with wisdom sprouting out their ears. Life has taught me lessons, but they may be valuable only to me.” She glanced at Manon. “But if you still want me to say something, there’s always the subject of following your heart.”
Eryn held her breath. Why did Marjorie look at Manon like that? Eryn noticed something resembling caution flicker over Manon’s face.
“Sounds like a cliché,” Eryn pointed out, putting a smile in her voice so she didn’t sound offensive.
“Certain clichés came into being for a good reason.” Marjorie sounded unfazed. “I defied convention when I insisted on going to college and on to university. When I started working my way up through the family business, my peers disapproved. I went against the wishes of my parents when I married my husband, a scholar uninterested in money or profit. I certainly rubbed people in my circles the wrong way when I kept working after getting married. We were never blessed with children, and I suppose work…was what I wanted and needed.”
Marjorie suddenly looked fragile, and Manon rose from the couch. “That’s it for today. As you know, we’re having a huge celebration at the city hall on Friday, and if you give your name and the name of your publication to the guards outside, you’ll receive an invitation. Thank you for coming.”
Everyone began to leave the room, and Eryn typed a few more notes on her computer before sliding it into her bag.
“I would like to speak to Ms. Goddard in private.”
*
Manon watched Eryn’s head snap up. Marjorie didn’t sound at all frail anymore, and Eryn stepped closer, cautious. “Yes?”
“Not like this, in here,” Marjorie said. “Why don’t we go into my study? The leather couch there is much more comfortable. Marie can bring us something to drink.”
Manon had to admire Eryn’s poise as they walked into a dark wood-paneled room. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and Manon helped Marjorie into the chair closest to its warmth.
“May I ask what this is about?” Eryn took a seat across from Marjorie.
“Certainly, dear. Let’s just give Marie a ring. Would you, Manon?”
“Of course.” Manon pulled a brocade rope by the fireplace. Marjorie’s determination to keep the house in its original state amused her. All the modern conveniences were available but well hidden behind an eighteenth-century façade.
“Now, Ms. Goddard. May I call you Eryn?”
“Sure.”
“Eryn, I asked you in here for a reason.”
“What can I do for you then?”
“You get straight to the point. I like that.” Marjorie turned her head as the door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped inside. “Ah, Marie. Please bring my guests a hot drink and some of your scones. I’ll have Darjeeling tea.”
Both Manon and Eryn opted for black coffee, and Manon returned her attention to Marjorie, who focused on Eryn.
“Do you work on commission?”
“Excuse me?”