Chapter One

Had I known people I have feelings for were going to start turning up dead, I doubt I would have been so critical of the day. As it turned out, I was unaware of the horrors that awaited me. So the complaining began.

April showers bring May flowers. I would like to add to that catchy phrase, if they don't drown first. The monstrous clouds over central Pennsylvania threatened to hang steady until the last drop of moisture was squeezed from each one. This created growing irritability and restlessness in man and beast.

To prove my point, the Ferguson's terrier got a taste of blood after sinking razor-sharp, petite fangs into my wrist instead of the newspaper I slipped inside the screen door. As I rounded the corner of Front Street and Broadway, the big black tomcat that prowls outside the video store growled and hissed at me from his hunched position beneath a leaky awning.

So as it rained cats and dogs, I, Fay Cunningham, publisher of The Susquehanna Valley Daily, questioned my decision to make a second major lifestyle change within the last year.

"A few more blocks and all second thoughts about my decision will disappear," I repeated to myself as I flung rolled newspapers onto porches.

Yes, indeed. Once I climb the steps to Joe Wise's rundown mansion that stands on the upper side of Broadway, and am invited inside for the routine afternoon tea and conversation, all negative thoughts will be chased away by this self-made millionaire's words of wisdom.

The fifteen minutes it took me to reach Joe's front porch had made my need to see him more urgent. Besides suffering from a growing state of depression and a powerful craving for a meal loaded with fat, I was wet and chilled to the bone. I dropped my umbrella and watched it skip across the concrete floor as I hurried toward the closed door that should have been flung open by now.

The ancient door knocker received a ferocious work out from me before I heard footsteps in the foyer. A complete minute must have passed before I could respond to the live Barbie doll who opened the door a crack to say, "Yes, can I help you?"

Stammering, "Yes ...Joe. Is he here?"

"Mr. Wise is napping," I was told, and watched the door close completely before my temporary state of surprise passed and I gave the door knocker another rap.

The door creaked open a few inches, while doll-eyes glared down at me. "Is there something else?"

My eyes seemed unable to leave hers as I slipped a newspaper through the crack.

"Joe's paper."

Her thanks was barely audible as she latched onto the rolled newspaper before the door slid shut, with the sound of the key turning in the lock immediately afterward.

I have no idea how many seconds I stood, dazed and confused, before I picked up my umbrella and reluctantly left Joe Wise's property.

I arrived at the local gossip corner a half hour earlier than usual. Too early for the mid-afternoon regulars. The edge of town restaurant's L-shaped parking lot was almost vacant. My gas guzzling Lincoln was right where I left it nearly two hours ago. It was an unwelcome surprise to see Mitch Malone's economically efficient dwarf-sized pickup truck parked alongside my car.

I wasn't in the mood to see the fit-as-a-fiddle former police chief. The truth is, I didn't want him to see me temporarily ease my depression with a smorgasbord of unhealthy food. I wanted to indulge and enjoy, without hearing him remind me of how I was defeating the purpose of my 'on foot' paper route. Then I'd have to remind him, my decision to do the route was not just to knock off the forty pounds I gained after quitting my twenty year, pack-a-day, nicotine addiction. I also wanted to open the lines of communication with my customers. Hear first hand, compliments, suggestions, and complaints about the newspaper I publish.

The bell over the restaurant's door announced my entrance. I got a pleasant whiff of cigarette smoke and fat frying as I watched Willie zip out of the kitchen and go directly to the coffee machine the instant she saw me. "It's gettin' pretty wicked lookin'," she said in reference to the coffee.

"How 'bout I just make a fresh pot," she offered after giving me a closer look.

"Don't bother. I need a shot of something stiff."

Willie chuckled as she went ahead and filled a mug with the scorched black brew. I waited until she started around the counter before heading to the end booth where Mitch was seated. His nose remained in the newspaper he had spread out in front of him when I slid into the seat across from him.

Willie put my mug of coffee down on the center of the newspaper. I am certain she did this to antagonize Mitch. It didn't appear to faze him though. He went right on reading.

"I'll have your salad in a jiffy," she told me, and started to take off again. That is, until my words stopped her in her tracks.

"Make it a burger, fries, and super thick chocolate shake."

Mitch's fascination with the agricultural section of the newspaper halted. I didn't have to look. I could feel his eyes glaring at me.

"Must a been one heck of a day."

I waited until I heard Willie shift into high gear again and head for the kitchen before responding.

"I've had better."

"Suppose old man Wise was too busy gloatin' to pay you any attention."

"Gloating?"

"You shouldn't let that man's actions get to you, Fay."

I don't know if my face was beginning to tingle from anger or confusion. Perhaps it was a combination of both. It was my anger I acted on when I called back toward the kitchen.

"Hey, Willie, add a hot fudge sundae to my order."

"You're only hurting yourself, you know."

His comment managed to put me on the brink of tears. I knew if I couldn't stop them, it would prove another victory for the reformed Mitchell Malone. Of late, the man was beginning to become my biggest daily irritant with his purified lifestyle and arrogant attitude. It was days like this one, I missed the former chain-smoking, overweight, foul-mouthed alcoholic he once was.

I am not certain just how I pulled it off, but I stiffened my spine, blinked back the tears, and was about to tell him what he could do with his advice when he started again. Only this time, he was back to attacking Joe Wise.

"It wouldn't surprise me if he wasn't on the phone plannin' the biggest bash of his life."

"You still like it rare, I hope?" Willie said, as she put the plate of food in front of me.

I looked directly over into Mitch's eyes when I responded. "A little blood in the diet's good for what ails me."

Willie giggled.

Mitch didn't find my statement amusing. His way of letting me know it was to fold up his newspaper, pick up his Stetson from the seat next to him, plop it down on the graying waves on top of his head, and start scooting out of the booth.

It was at that moment, I knew we were even for the day. The perfect time to part company. Too bad I couldn't allow it. At least not until he explained his comments about my dear friend, Joe Wise.

"If I don't eat this plate of lard, will you tell me why Joe was supposed to be higher than a kite today?"

He took nearly a full minute of sitting on the edge of his seat contemplating his decision. Actually, he was pouting. In the meantime, my food was cooling down fast. When he slid his cowboy-clad feet back under the tabletop and looked my way, I knew he decided to stay.

"Joe didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"His lifelong nemesis turned up dead this morning."