Bloodline(14)

Deck nods, finally abandoning his second sandwich to stand next to me. “Joanie is an incredible girl.”

“That’s what I told Dennis Roth over at the Gazette,” Ronald says, going serious. “It’s no big-city newspaper, but they do solid reporting. Now be a good daughter and head on over. He’s expecting you.”



I put Dennis Roth at fifty, and he is the skinniest man I have ever laid eyes on, his fingers nearly as long as my feet, his translucent green eyes wide beneath unruly red hair. I don’t know what’s in the Lilydale water, but between slender Dennis and giant Clan, this town could staff its own traveling sideshow.

When Dennis leaves his desk to greet me, he unfurls more than stands.

Dennis the Daddy Longlegs, dispatching the news.

“Mr. Schmidt speaks highly of you,” he says.

I wonder why the formality and whether he’s referring to Ronald or Deck. Ronald, I suppose. Dennis almost sounds afraid of Deck’s dad, but maybe that’s just the way he speaks.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t stop by earlier.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing, except that it’s habit.

Dennis indicates the chair in front of his desk and reclaims his own seat after I take mine. “My grandfather founded the Gazette in 1867, a decade after Johann Lily platted the town,” he says, stone-faced. “I’m pleased to say it’s grown since then.”

I can’t tell if he has a sense of humor. I passed only one other employee coming in, a woman who I’d also put in her fifties, her hair tight and short and seemingly cut with the same pruning shears I used on my bushes earlier this morning. She appeared to be sleeping when I arrived, surrounded by stacks of the Lilydale Gazette leaning precariously, some with dates over a year old. The sound of the front door closing caused her eyes to snap open, like a robot who’d been activated. She studied me top to bottom and then jabbed her thumb toward a single office in the back.

Dennis’s.

There’s a closed door in the rear of it, which I assume leads to a bathroom, and an open one that I guess leads to the research and records room. Although, given the hurricane state of the main room, I can’t imagine what sort of archives they keep.

“Journalism is an important business,” I say. Best to stick to vague facts until I can get a bead on him.

“Indeed.” Dennis steeples his elegant fingers and rests his chin on them. “Your father-in-law says you need a job.”

“I have a journalism degree from the University of Minnesota, and I’m an experienced reporter,” I say, not correcting his reference to Ronald as my father-in-law any more than I’d corrected Ronald calling me daughter. Pick your battles.

Dennis nods. “You can start today.”

My heart leaps. “Really?”

“I trust Mr. Schmidt. If he says you can do the job, you can. We need someone to cover tonight’s elementary school music program.”

The weight of the world settles onto my shoulders. For a brief moment, I thought I’d finally land my byline. At the Minneapolis Star, they’d confined me and the other female reporter to the Women’s News section. No bylines allowed there, just soothing stories of weddings and fashion and food. The handful of big stories I’d broken on my own, I’d had to hand off.

“You’re not interested?” Dennis asks.

My expression must be telling the whole story. I force a smile. “I’m delighted.”

He drums his chin, long fingers scuttling like a praying mantis across his skin. “There are only two of us here. You met Mrs. Roth at the front desk. She handles the administrative duties and types up the occasional piece. I write the articles and edit. We’re a small-town paper, and there’s no hierarchy here. Whoever’s free takes what comes in. Right now, it’s the school program.”

His newly kind tone warms me, resetting the whole interview, if that’s what you’d call this. “I’m thrilled, really. I was going a bit stir-crazy without work. Well, work outside of the house. This’ll give me a chance to see more of the town. To meet more of the folks.”

Dennis’s eyes grow hooded. “And for them to meet you. You’re the talk of Lilydale. We don’t get much new blood here.”





CHAPTER 9

I spend the afternoon immersing myself in Lilydale’s businesses, determined to meet the locals head-on. It’s the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever done, but if it’s necessary to do my new job, I’ll do it. At Tuck’s Cafe, I order banana cream pie and coffee and ask the waitress about her day. Inside Morrell’s Ace Hardware, I ask for paint recommendations to touch up my exterior house trim, something I have no intention of doing. I check in on our mail forwarding at the post office, fill out a form to update my driver’s license address at the county office.

Afterward, I stroll to Ben Franklin. I’ve stopped by there before, but this time I talk to the employees, feigning interest in the arts-and-crafts supplies they sell, selecting a new raspberry lipstick from their cosmetics department, exclaiming over their large display of penny candy behind the glass case, admiring the rack of enameled pins.

I’ve hated every moment of it, exposing myself like this, becoming visible and open to judgment. I feel not only naked but skinned. My mom was right about small towns, but here I am, trapped in one, dependent on the goodwill of these people to keep my new job.