town.
He sensed movement toward his desk and looked up. A short, husky man dressed in jeans and red plaid shirt had his hand out. “Dan LeBeau. We met at a Chamber lunch a few months ago. I own LeBeau’s Hardware.”
Simon took the hand in an awkward grip, palm to fingers, and let go quickly. “Right, Dan,” he said as if having a clear memory of the man. People expected to be remembered by the editor of their town paper. “What can I do for you?”
LeBeau glanced about the newsroom. In the corner Carole was typing into her computer, her headphones on. He nodded her way. “Your police reporter, she called me for her story.”
“What story is that?”
“I’ve got a finance manager, Bonnie, been with me for eight years. I found out this week she’s been stealing from me. It started out small, a few hundred dollars here and there. Then it got to moving thousands of dollars at a time into fake accounts, pretending to pay bills.”
“So you turned her in to the police, and Carole has the copy?”
“Yeah, but you can’t run the story.”
“We can’t?”
“It’ll kill my reputation around here.”
Simon wrapped up the remains of his tuna sandwich and glanced out the window. A long truck marked WORLD’S BEST MOBILE PETTING ZOO pulled up on Mechanic Street. There were no windows in the huge vehicle, which made him wonder, did North American Traveling Amusements Inc. treat its animals humanely? He could assign someone to go undercover and find out—Rigero, maybe, as an itinerant worker. But if the story closed down the carnival, the Register would never be forgiven.
“So,” LeBeau said, “you can understand my position.”
As far as Simon could tell, that position boiled down to I’ll be embarrassed, so you can’t run the story. “From my experience, readers always sympathize with the injured party,” he said. “They may be surprised you didn’t catch on sooner, but they won’t blame you. They’ll think you’re a good guy who got taken advantage of.”
LeBeau stepped closer to the desk. “Who’s going to buy paints and brushes from somebody who can’t keep track of tens of thousands of dollars? Some people already think I’m soaking them.”
“Are you?” The question was abrupt, but Simon was glad he said it in just that way. He had bought from LeBeau’s many times.
LeBeau cocked his head. “You charge what people are willing to pay. That’s the way it works.”
“It works that way because you have no competition. You have what, three stores?”
“Four. We just opened in Rawley.”
“So you have the only four hardware stores within thirty miles of here.”
LeBeau looked out of the window for a moment, conjuring his next argument. “Look, I’m a private company. My financial numbers are nobody’s business. I’m not pressing charges against Bonnie. We’re going to work it out between us.”
Simon glanced over at Carole. “I’m afraid you made it public the moment you called the police.”
LeBeau picked up the snow globe on Simon’s desk and shook it. Little flakes of white floated through the liquid, landing on the small skyline of Portland. “I advertise in the Register,” he said. “I was thinking of doing a big promotion for our new store.”
Simon stood up. “Advertising and editorial are separate departments, Dan. We can’t pick and choose what to run from the police log. It’s often embarrassing to someone, even advertisers.”
“I didn’t see you running a picture of the graffiti on your door a week ago. Wasn’t that news, somebody scrawling RAPIST on the front door of the Register?” He said the word louder than the rest, and even Carole with her earphones in looked over.
“You’re getting desperate now.”
LeBeau tossed the snow globe between his hands. “A lot of folks around here would like to know if our friendly little town paper is hiding a sexual predator.”
Simon moved toward the door, inducing LeBeau to follow. “We’re not hiding anything, Dan. But we do have a reputation to keep up for reporting all the local news, not just some of it.”
“Right, you make your reputation by ruining mine. That make you feel good?”
It was his job to report the news, regardless of whom it hurt. Journalists did that every day all over the country. What did he feel about it—proud, satisfied, sorry at times?
LeBeau dropped the plastic globe in Simon’s hand. “I didn’t think you’d have an answer for that.”
As Simon turned into the driveway of his home, there was the Volvo, parked slightly crooked, Amy’s trademark. He pushed in the front door and