MaryAnne Charlton hasn’t backed down about funding cuts. Emma’s working unpaid overtime, as are you. Everyone’s exhausted by the pace, and three people have quit in the last few months. Only one of them was replaced.”
“You make it sound like so much fun,” she said.
Laughing, he motioned for the waiter. “Let’s order,” he suggested. “Then we can talk.”
The menu was all wedge salads and sandwiches with cranberries on them. Wrinkling her nose, she looked up at him. “Cranberry sandwiches?”
“Have the shrimp and grits,” he told her. “It’s a crowd-pleaser.”
“Fine.” She handed the menu to the waiter.
“I’ll have the same.” Dells handed his menu to him. “Bring us some olives to start, and a green salad.”
With a nod, the waiter disappeared.
“So.” Harper took a sip of wine. “What’s this all about?”
“I’d like to offer you a job.”
Harper choked. “Wait…” she said, coughing. “What? Where?”
“At Channel Five.”
Her coughing attack subsiding, she stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am very serious. I’ve taken over as head of news. That’s why I’m back in town. I want you to leave the paper and come work for me.” He seemed to be enjoying this.
“But how?” She was bewildered. “I don’t know anything about TV. I’m a newspaper reporter.”
He waved that away. “A reporter is a reporter. I could list twenty famous television journalists who started out in print.”
It was true but Harper had never imagined herself in that group. “What would I cover?”
“Exactly what you’re covering now. Cops on the late shift—four to midnight. The only difference would be, instead of doing it for the paper you’d do it for Channel Five.”
“Isn’t that Josh Leonard’s beat?” she asked. “What would he do?”
“Oh, don’t worry about Josh. He’d sacrifice a testicle to move to the anchor desk. He’ll be thrilled if someone takes over crime.” He angled forward, holding her gaze. “Look, Harper, you’re the best crime reporter I’ve ever worked with. We make a great team. I want you with me.” He paused before delivering the kicker. “I will increase your salary by twenty-five percent.”
She opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again. Twenty-five percent. That was a huge amount of money.
Money for a deposit on a new apartment. To replenish the savings she’d just drained to buy a handgun.
She was tempted. Dells was right: They did work well together. He was a ruthless editor, very certain of what he wanted from each reporter. His instructions were clear and inviolable. But he also listened. When they’d worked together on the story about the district attorney’s son last year, he’d had faith in her theories, and fought to publish a story the owner wanted to quash. In the end, he’d been fired because he refused to let the owner lay off more workers. He was loyal.
The waiter appeared with a dish of olives, and his presence gave her an excuse to stay silent as she thought through her options. In truth, she’d never considered doing anything other than working for a newspaper. It was the job she’d wanted from the moment she first discovered journalism at Savannah State. From the very beginning, she’d fallen in love with the work. The pressure of a deadline that made it hard to think about anything except getting the story, the rush from knowing things nobody else knew.
But standing in front of a camera. Could she do that? She got along well with the TV reporters in town, but she didn’t always feel like they were doing the same job. She worked sources at the police station, got down and gritty at homicide scenes. She never thought about how she looked.
Natalie Swanson, Channel 12’s reporter, wore an inch of makeup all the time and her hair was styled and sprayed into an immobile helmet. She’d told Harper once that although she ran around crime scenes nightly, “I think half the viewers only watch to see if I’ve gained five pounds. I won’t give them the satisfaction.”
And Josh, who wore nearly as much makeup as Natalie, was a good reporter. But all anyone thought about was his tie, his hair. His miraculously white teeth.
The camera was a distraction. It made appearance the most important thing. The story came second. The news came second.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, when the waiter was gone again and her silence was becoming awkward. “I never thought about working in television.”
“You could do it,” he said confidently. “You’ve got the voice and the looks.” He gestured at her head. “That