Barbecue and Bad News (11 page)

Compromise had never been her strong suit. She dated, and she’d had plenty of opportunities for relationships, but she’d managed to keep all of them at arm’s length ever since the divorce. Tripp had been the only one who had ever even gotten close to getting past the bulletproof shield she kept up in front of her heart.

It was probably best that way anyway. Especially for the last two years, as she continued to hide her connection to the Advice from Van column. That would have been nearly impossible if she’d had a spouse, or even a serious guy, in the picture.

The column wasn’t that long, but it took an incredible amount of time to get through all the stuff to put it together. The amount of mail she got each week for that column was crazy. What didn’t practically take down the server in the form of e-mails came in big tubs, sometimes even huge cotton USPS sacks, every single week. There were two people to pre-sort some of it, but she still went through the final review, because finding the letters that weren’t from the true nut jobs, that had potential for the next column, was just easier to do on her own. They’d tried hiring interns in that role, but the letters had to spark something in her to make the humorous impact that folks had grown to expect.

Savannah’s phone did a vibrating dance across the table, followed by the sound of clicking typewriter keys.

It wasn’t a total surprise to hear Evelyn’s ringtone.

Even if it had been Evelyn’s suggestion that she try to enjoy some downtime while writing those stories, it was highly unlikely that she’d be able to wait to hear how things were going. That woman never rested. They were alike in that way. She and Evelyn had gotten into such a routine of talking on the phone every morning that the line between friendship and employer/employee had blurred and stayed blurred.

Besides that, Evelyn had taken her under her wing when she first hit DC, and she was the closest thing Savannah had to a parent figure now. She’d never do anything to put that relationship at risk.

Savannah snagged the phone and punched the button to answer. “Tell me you absolutely adore that story I sent you yesterday.”

Evelyn’s bubbly laugh was enough to confirm her agreement. “I do adore it.”

Savannah raised her hands in the air in a little happy dance. Evelyn never pulled a punch. Savannah always knew exactly where she stood and exactly what Evelyn was thinking. There was no candy coating. Savannah loved that about Evelyn. “Now tell me how awesome I am for knocking it out so quickly.”

“Amazing
and
awesome.”

“Thank you.” Making Evelyn proud always felt good. “What’s up?”

“Checking in. How’re things going?”

“You got your story, didn’t you? I’d say they’re going well.”

“Got any angles for the others yet?”

“No, but I’m having tea with a sweet old lady on Tuesday. She knows everyone and everythin
g around here. I’m sure I’ll get something good from that.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“What’re you doing today?”

“I just met with the guy over at the paper about the police blotter. Thanks for letting me do that. It’ll give me some good details for the articles, but they really needed the help too. It’s just an old guy and his sister running the little paper down here. Nothing much else planned, but I’ll maybe get my brakes checked out, but that won’t take much time. Why?”

“Nothing big. I’ve got a courier on the way to your place.”

“Here? In Adams Grove?” Whatever on earth for? Maybe she was sending a fruit basket or something.

“Yes, there. Wouldn’t do me any good to send you stuff at your apartment up here.”

“With what?”

“The Van letters.”

“Ev—”

“Don’t worry. I know what you’re thinking. I’m going to hold up my end of the bargain, but if you’d seen Andrew’s face when he saw all that mail . . . He didn’t even know where to begin. I just need you to dig out a week’s worth of good ones to get him started.”

I’ll never get rid of this. Andrew Jones will never pull it off.

“I promise that’s the end. I told you we’d talk about it when you get back and we will.”

She sure hoped so. She let out a sigh.

“I heard that. Don’t get stressed out on me. I’ll extend the lease on your little home away from home an extra week and throw in a little bonus of use of the Nats box seat tickets if you do.”

Savannah loved a good hot dog at a Nats game. “Deal, if I can use the box seats this month
and
next month.”

“Done,” Evelyn said without even a second of hesitation. “He should be there shortly.”

Of course he would. Evelyn wasn’t calling to ask. She’d already set those wheels in motion hours ago. Heck, if Savannah knew Evelyn, she’d set it up during the parade!

It had been too long since she’d been to a Nats game. Evelyn was not a fan. Her husband had been, and one of his friends had gifted her those box seats in his honor when the team first came to DC. Evelyn mostly just dangled them as a bonus to inspire the behavior she wanted out of people. Call it manipulation, bargaining, whatever . . . it was what Evelyn did best. For just a tiny moment she allowed herself to imagine sitting in those box seats next to Dad. He probably wouldn’t have been proud of her for the contents of the Advice from Van column, but he would have absolutely flat-out loved watching a pro ball game from those seats. He was the whole reason she’d ever fallen in love with the sport.

A loud knock on her door sent Savannah tumbling back to the present.

The courier.

She scrambled up from the couch, and without bothering to look through the peephole first, she swung open the door and said, “You can just put the boxes over there.” She used a sweeping motion of her hand toward the sofa.

“Excuse me?”

Savannah peeked around the man standing in front of her. There were no boxes, although he’d have had no problems lugging some up the stairs with those arms.

“I’m your neighbor.” He held out his hand. “Mike Hartman.”

“Oh?” Savannah shrank back, embarrassed, then shook his hand. Well, he wasn’t at all what she’d pictured him to be. He was about the farthest thing from an old, stodgy, cigarette-scented private investigator as you could get. His grip was firm, and that was no surprise by the curve of his bicep. This guy was in great shape, and if he had a vice, it was probably sit-ups, not cigarettes. “You’ve got great taste in music.”

“Sorry about that.” He looked embarrassed. “Connor didn’t tell me anyone had moved in until this morning. I don’t normally crank it up like that. I thought no one was around. Sorry.”

“No worries. I enjoyed it.”

“Glad you didn’t hear me singing.”

She laughed. “No. Can’t say that I noticed. I guess the walls are better insulated than we thought, or you can carry a tune pretty well. Trust me, if I had sung, you’d have known it. The dogs would’ve howled and the paramedics would have probably raced up to save me from myself.”

His face relaxed into a smile.

“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself. If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“And if I get too loud . . . just pound on the wall.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” She meant it, but her attention was redirected at the sound of clomping up the stairway.

A familiar voice said, “Hey, girl. You had to be upstairs, didn’t you.”

She immediately recognized the guy carrying a wide corrugated USPS bin full of letters. This wasn’t just any courier. It was the mailroom guy, and he had a GINN tote over each shoulder too. “George? She let you out for the day?”

“Yeah, thought it was a sweet deal until I realized how far away you were, and how heavy these are without a cart! Where do you want these?”

“How many are there?”

“Six.”

She caught the scrunch of lines forming in Mike’s forehead. How the heck would she play this off?

“Just drop them in the living room. I’ll take care of them.”

George turned sideways and shuffled past her. The bin dropped to the floor with a thud. Then he whisked past them and ran downstairs to get the rest, which she could now see he’d left stacked at the bottom of the stairs.

“Need help?” Mike called down after him.

“No!” Savannah grabbed his arm. “No. He’s got them. He does this all the time.”

“What is all that?”

“She’s famous.” George was huffing, but it sure wasn’t stopping him from talking. She’d like to kill him about now. He knew it was supposed to be hush-hush.

“I’m not.” She rolled her eyes, playing it down with her new neighbor. “He’s kidding around.”

Mike didn’t look so convinced. “Fan mail?”

The courier busted out laughing.

She gave him the stink-eye and he immediately swallowed the rest of his hardy-har-harring.

She turned her back on George. “No. Not fan mail. It’s just part of my . . . research.”

Mike looked like he was trying to get a read on her. “Research?”

“Yeah.” If she were researching what made people crazy-mad, sad, or just downright combative . . . She had about all she’d need to make one helluva graph out of all this data. Of course, she didn’t really give two hoots about all that. She just did it for the paycheck, and for Evelyn. Evelyn had given her a chance at that paper when she really had no right to even earn an unpaid internship. For some reason Evelyn had believed in the little country girl.

Savannah would never be able to repay Evelyn for all she’d done for her. She remembered the outfit she’d worn to that interview. It was actually the dress she’d worn to prom. Bright purple, her favorite color, and shiny. Aunt Cathy had cut it off to make it short so she could wear it to the Valentine’s Day dance one year. It was the nicest dress she’d owned at the time. And entirely inappropriate for a business interview. But it must have touched Evelyn’s heart because she’d hired her on the spot.

She’d even hired Tripp to do some handiwork around the old building when she heard he was out of work. Once Tripp left to go back to Belles Corner, Evelyn made quick work of moving Savannah out of the awful neighborhood they’d lived in, saying it was one thing when she was married and it was all they’d been able to afford, but no place for a young woman on her own.

Yes, Evelyn had been a true blessing for her. It just proved over and over again that moving to DC had been the right thing to do.

Mike leaned against the doorjamb. “That’s an awful lot of mail. Sure seems to me that it would be easier to just do your research online.”

He had no idea just how much baggage she carried around, but she wasn’t about to get into that with him.

George grunted as he repositioned the box to get a better grip. “Oh, there’s four
times this amount in the online log.”

Mike’s eyebrow shot up. “Really.”

“He’s exaggerating.” Savannah dug a few dollars from her pocket and hurried George out the door before he helped her any more. She scrunched a GINN tote bag into a ball and shoved it into his stomach. Maybe Mike hadn’t noticed the logo.

With George on his way, she turned back to Mike Hartman. He didn’t look like he was ready to go anywhere. If Evelyn knew that George had practically blown the secret of who Van was, she’d fire him on the spot. Savannah sure didn’t want that to happen. Not only for George’s sake, but because she really didn’t want it to be known that she was the snarky one behind all those letters. If George got fired he might not keep that secret. That could be a real career-limiting move.

Mike cleared his throat. “You going to give me any details?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Nothing to share.”

A woof came from down the hall.

“You have a dog?”

“Yeah. I do.” He smiled. “For research.”

“Real funny.”

“Makes about as much sense as your story.”

They stood there, neither willing to budge. “I really have to get to work,” she said.

He turned and started for the door, then turned back. “Don’t get a paper cut.”

“I’ll be careful.”

She closed the door, thankful that he was gone but quite certain she hadn’t seen the last of him. If he was any kind of PI he’d probably have her figured out soon enough. She’d better get on his good side . . . and quick.

The next morning, Savannah stood outside the sheriff’s office, waiting. It wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to spend her morning. She’d thought it wouldn’t take but a few minutes talking to Jack down at the paper to resolve her questions about the incidents on the police log. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any answers and told her to deal directly with Scott on them.

Reluctantly, she’d headed down to the sheriff’s office. That “staying behind the scenes and out of the sheriff’s way” plan hadn’t lasted long.

She’d already been standing here outside his office for the better part of ten minutes waiting too, and it wasn’t easy to not eavesdrop, no matter how many times her mother had tried to drill into her head that eavesdropping was rude.

So he’d been a little grumpy Saturday; he really hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe she was just overreacting. Or holding a grudge. Wouldn’t be the first time she was accused of that.