The Game Changer, стр. 57

Chapter 21

“I was glued to my computer,” Joyce said when I arrived at work Monday morning. “It was so awesome. You didn’t say his name, but I definitely knew you were thinking about Paulie Henderson. Let me tell you about what he did to my son in the third grade.”

She continued—something about glue sticks and a stepped-on foot and a missing lunchbox—and I mostly stood there and appreciated that this was the first time I’d ever seen or heard Joyce be this animated. She was excited, and it was my podcast that had done that.

“I mean, what kind of monster does that to a third grader?”

“Another third grader?” I ventured.

She pointed at me, her freshly-manicured fingernail glistening in the morning sun that was shining warmly through the front plate glass windows. “A third grader without a conscience,” she corrected.

“I don’t know if stolen glue really translates to murder later in life,” I said.

“It’s about whole-life morality,” she said sagely. “I’ve never liked that boy, I’m telling you. He’s bad news, and his father is as crooked as the day is long. But don’t you dare tell Mary Jean I said that.”

Well, I could give Joyce one thing—she was the one person in all of Parkwood who was willing to say that she didn’t think Paulie Henderson was an angel on earth. She was also the first person to be excited about my work on the podcast.

So why did I feel so hollow?

I knew why, and it immediately ushered in a pang of guilt over what happened with Daisy. It wasn’t my podcast or her podcast. It was our podcast, and that was what made it work.

You’re not a bumpkin, I’d texted Daisy the night before.

Two hours later, she’d texted, I know. I’d quickly replied, I never thought you were, and she’d responded, Thanks. So the good news was she probably didn’t hate me forever. The bad news was, I wasn’t exactly sure where we stood with responses like those.

“Is that Hollis?” a voice called from across the office. Mary Jean.

“I may want to interview you later,” I said to Joyce.

She wiggled in her chair. “Really? I’ve never been interviewed for anything before. I’ll be famous.” Then she seemed to remember something and her eyebrows dropped seriously. “Mary Jean’s been waiting for you all morning,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t think she’s very happy.”

“I’m sure she’s not,” I said on a sigh.

“And just as sick as ever. She’s sort of like a caged bear back there.” She leaned across the desk and whispered. “She even told Ernie to wake up and get to work this morning. No doughnuts.”

Yikes. That was serious.

“Thanks for the heads up,” I said.

“Sure. And you just let me know when you want my story.”

“Will do,” I said, heading toward Mary Jean’s voice, which was calling out again.

She sat at her desk, surrounded by chosen, used, and forgotten readers and red pens, as usual. She glanced at me over the top of her glasses, reminding me of the stern librarian in the university library who would shush you if you turned pages too noisily.

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully.

“Not good for everyone, wouldn’t you say?”

“What do you mean?”

“The chief has already been by,” she said. “He heard your little show.”

I forced a smile. “Chief Henderson is a listener?” That didn’t seem likely. But when I thought about it, it made perfect sense. He could know exactly what I was up to if he tuned in.

And did that mean Brooks listened, too?

She did not return the smile. In fact, it seemed like the wider I smiled, the deeper she frowned. “The chief is an angry member of the community who is ready to sue us for libel,” she said.

“That’s ridiculous. Libel has to be written down, and I wrote nothing. I spoke it, which makes it slander, but even then it had nothing to do with the newspaper. I would fight that lawsuit if I were you, Mary Jean. Fight it all the way to the Supreme Court. Besides, I didn’t use anyone’s names, except for Coach Farley.”

She laid down her pen and took off her glasses, which she contemplatively chewed. “Hollis, do you want to work here?”

I tried not to think about Tiana Gregory and the job that potentially waited for me back in Chicago. A job offer that would come with a lifetime price tag that I wasn’t sure I was willing to pay.

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Then you have to abide by the rules.”

“With all due respect, Mary Jean.” I licked my lips nervously. “I am abiding by the rules. My podcast has nothing to do with my job here.”

“In Parkwood, everything you do has to do with your job here. Everyone knows you’re one of our reporters. They think I’ve sanctioned this hooey about that coach being murdered.”

“It’s not hooey,” I said. “And you said nothing about moonlighting when you hired me.”

“It is hooey, but I’m not going to convince you of that, am I?” She slid a pair of readers onto her