If Winter Comes (7 page)

Was something wrong
with her? Wasn’t she pretty enough, attractive enough to appeal to him? Or did
he already have a girlfriend? The question tortured her. He had women, she
realized. He was certainly no monk. But why had he asked her out in the first
place, and what did he really think of her? Had it all been a ploy to get her
interested in his urban renewal program?

Bryan Moreland was one
puzzle she couldn’t seem to put together, and he got more complicated by the
day.

Bill Peck gave her an
odd look the next morning when she explained why she couldn’t attend a City
Planning Commission session with him.

“We’ve done three
pieces on that damned downtown revitalization theme of his already,” he said
dourly. “Don’t you think he’s had enough free publicity?”

“I’m working on a
story, in case you’ve forgotten,” she replied, irritated.

“A story? Or the
mayor?” he returned.

She gathered her purse
and camera and went toward Edwards’s office in a smouldering fury.

“I’m gone,” she told
him.

“Wait a sec. Come in
and close the door,” he called.

She shut out the sounds
of typewriters and ringing telephones. “What’s up?”

He motioned her to a
chair. “Suppose you tell me that,” he replied.

Her brows came
together. “I don’t understand.”

“Moreland took you out.
Then, this bogus story this morning—Carla, you’re not getting involved with
him, are you?” he asked kindly.

“Why…no,” she lied.
“But, he isn’t even involved…”

“Your informant called
me this morning.”

“Is he after a job?”
she asked with a flare of anger. “First Bill, now you…is he going to call
everyone on the staff?”

“He knows you’re seeing
Moreland,” he replied calmly, leaning back in his chair, “and he thinks the
mayor may be involved in this.”

She felt something
inside her freeze. A cold, merciless, nameless something that had been in bud.

“He isn’t,” she said.

“How could you possibly
know? Be reasonable. You haven’t even been able to get to the records.”

She clutched her purse
in her lap, her eyes staring at the skirt of her simple beige dress as she
fought for control.

“All we know for sure,”
she replied, “is that land was purchased by the city for a new airport. The
evaluation was twenty-five thousand dollars an acre—a steal even though it was
in a sparsely populated section. But the city paid a half million for it.” She
sighed. “It’s not unusual for a realtor to mark up his asking price when he
knows he has a buyer like the city. But Daniel Brown said that the land owner
only received two hundred fifty thousand dollars and that records will bear him
out. The problem,” she added ruefully, “is that when I asked for the records of
the transaction, that icy-voiced little financial wizard promptly called the
city attorney and they refused to let me see the records on the grounds that it
hadn’t been formally approved by the city council.”

“That’s a lie,” Edwards
said.

She nodded. “I know,
and I told the city attorney so. But we did a piece on his department last
month that he didn’t like, and he can quote the obscure law to you verbatim if
you call and ask him.”

“God deliver me from
disgruntled lawyers!” he groaned.

“It doesn’t matter,”
she said. “I’m going to ask the mayor for permission to look at them.” She
smiled. “I think he’ll agree.”

He eyed her.
“Unscrupulous little minx.”

“Me?” she blushed.

“You. Get out of here.
And if you don’t have any luck with Moreland, I’ll get our legal staff on it.”

“No problem.”

She walked out the door
in a daze. Was she trying to get close to Moreland to get information? It might
have been that way at the beginning. But not anymore. She remembered what Edwards
had said about Moreland being involved in what could be the biggest city
scandal since the City Council chairman was arrested picking up a streetwalker.
It couldn’t be true. Not Bryan Moreland. Perhaps Edwards had misunderstood
Brown. She smiled. She’d have a talk with the ex-cop tomorrow. It was about
time she got the whole story firsthand.

Moreland was waiting
for her in his office with a woman she recognized as the new mayor of a city in
a neighboring state: Grace Thomas.

“Grace, this is Carla
Maxwell,” he told the older woman, “with the
Phoenix-Herald
. She’s going
to do a follow-up on the revitalization.”

“Nice to meet you,”
Grace said with a pleasant smile. She was years older than Carla, a
contemporary of Moreland’s most likely, despite her dark brown hair that didn’t
show a trace of gray. “I’m very interested in the renewal idea. It might be
feasible in my own city.”

“If you’re both ready,
let’s get moving,” Moreland said as he helped Grace on with her plush wool
coat. “I’ve got a budget meeting in two hours, and that doesn’t leave us much
time.”

Carla watched the way
the older woman’s eyes slid sideways to Moreland as he held her coat, and she
wanted to drop her heavy camera on the woman’s foot. It was ridiculous to feel
this surge of jealousy toward the visiting mayor. After all, she wasn’t even
pretty, and she was wearing a wedding ring! But that didn’t stop her from
wanting to push Moreland away from her.

Inexplicably, Moreland
looked up at that moment and caught the expression on her face, and something
darkened his eyes.

She averted her gaze
quickly while Mrs. Thomas went right on talking about her city council woes
without even noticing the undercurrents around her.

Walking through the
streets with Moreland and City Planning Commission Chairman Ed King and the two
other commission members, Carla was impressed with plans to renovate the
run-down area. While Mrs. Thomas pumped King, Moreland dropped back beside
Carla.

“Interesting, isn’t
it?” he asked quietly, indicating the windowless old houses with their sagging
porches and littered yards. Some were deserted, but children played aimlessly
in the yards around others, and deserted store buildings were interspersed with
the homes.

“Tragic,” she replied.
“It reminds me of shacks I’ve seen back home. Poverty has many addresses.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Is this area where
you’re concentrating?” she asked as she paused to photograph a house with
blackened, paneless windows where a little girl stood, ragged and barefoot,
clinging to a post.

“Yes. I got a
manufacturing chain to bear almost half the cost of construction; their
headquarters office is located near here. When we get this project going, you
won’t recognize the neighborhood.”

“How about the people?”
she asked, gazing up at him. “You can change their environment, but can you
change them? Poverty doesn’t go away because the setting is changed. How about
employment?”

He smiled. “One step at
a time, honey. I’ve got experts working on that aspect of it.”

She glanced ahead,
where Mrs. Thomas had cornered Ed King and his two planners. “Why won’t your
legal department let me look at the airport land purchase records?” she asked
suddenly, catching his eyes.

Both heavy brows went
up, and he paused before he replied, “Honey, that’s between you and Ed King.
I’ve told you before, I’m not going to interfere.”

“But…”

He turned away. “We’d
better catch up.”

She followed along,
puzzled and a little disappointed at the answer he’d given her. And try as she
might, a nagging suspicion began to work on her mind.

“Mr. King tells me that
the slums account for half of all your arrests,” Mrs. Thomas was saying as they
walked.

“That’s right,”
Moreland agreed. “And fifty percent of all disease, as well as thirty-five
percent of all fires. With proper housing, we could save almost a million
dollars a year in fire losses and communicable disease.”

Carla found herself
beside Ed King, and the mayor’s voice faded in her ears as she put the question
to the planning commissioner. “May I ask you a question, Mr. King?” she asked
abruptly.

He glanced at her, eyes
sharp through his heavy glasses. His bald head gleamed in the cold sunlight.
“If it concerns the airport land purchase, I’m sure the city attorney told you
that the information is privileged until the council formally approves the
purchase.”

“Excuse me,” she
countered coolly, “but the council approved the purchase two meetings ago,” she
snapped her notebook closed, “and construction on the terminal is already
underway.”

“You choose to
misunderstand me,” he said with a cold smile. “the council hasn’t approved the
paperwork. A formality, of course, but legally binding. Check the city
charter.”

“I have,” she told him,
her green eyes narrowed. “If everything is up and aboveboard, Mr. Chairman, why
all the secrecy?”

He purpled. “As usual,
you reporters want to make something of nothing! I’ve told you, it’s a
formality, the figures will be released.”

“When?” she shot back.

“Carla!” Moreland
stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence to thunder her name. She jumped,
turning to face him. “That’s enough, by God,” he growled. “This isn’t an
interrogation.”

The clipped, measured
tones made her flinch. “I apologize,” she said tightly. “I didn’t mean…”

“If you’ll excuse me,
Bryan,” King said curtly, “I think I’ll pass on the rest of the tour. You know
my position.”

“Sure,” Moreland said.
“We’ll talk later.”

“A pleasure to meet
you, Mrs. Thomas,” King told the visiting mayor with a smile. He ignored Carla
as he walked away, taking his planners with him.

“Well,” Mrs. Thomas
said with a mirthless laugh, “I suppose that little scene ended my chances of a
discussion with your planners.”

Carla flushed to the
roots of her hair. She pressed her camera close to her side. “I…I have an
interview with the public works commissioner at eleven,” she said unsteadily.
“I’d better get going. Thanks for the tour.”

She almost ran for her
car, deaf to Moreland’s deep voice calling her name.

She was shaking all
over by the time she got to Tom Green’s office. He was a public accountant, and
she had a feeling he’d made a good commissioner, if for no better reason than
his outspokenness.

At least, she thought
wearily as she waited in his outer office, he wouldn’t be angry. She could
still see Bryan Moreland’s dark, accusing eyes. Why, oh, why did she have to
open her big mouth? It was all part of the job, but the argument had left a bad
taste in her mouth, along with Moreland’s obvious disapproval.

“Miss Maxwell?” the
secretary repeated. “You can go in now.”

She put on her best
smiling face and went into Tom Green’s carpeted office.