Local Hero (3 page)

His brow lifted. She was facing him again, that half smile on her lips. Obviously she was trying to make amends. He didn't think she should get off quite that easily. “Comic books are anything but a hobby with me, Mrs. Hester Wallace. I not only read them, I write them.”

“Holy cow, really?” Radley stood staring at Mitch as though he'd just been crowned king. “Do you really? Honest? Oh, boy, are you Mitch Dempsey? The real Mitch Dempsey?”

“In the flesh.” He tugged on Radley's ear while Hester looked at him as though he'd stepped in from another planet.

“Oh, boy, Mitch Dempsey right here! Mom, this is Commander Zark. None of the kids are going to believe it. Do you believe it, Mom, Commander Zark right here in our kitchen!”

“No,” Hester murmured as she continued to stare. “I can't believe it.”

Chapter 2

Hester wished she could afford to be a coward. It would be so easy to go back home, pull the covers over her head and hide out until Radley came home from school. No one who saw her would suspect that her stomach was in knots or that her palms were sweaty despite the frigid wind that whipped down the stairs as she emerged from the subway with a crowd of Manhattan's workforce.

If anyone had bothered to look, they would have seen a composed, slightly preoccupied woman in a long red wool coat and white scarf. Fortunately for Hester, the wind tunnel created by the skyscrapers whipped color into cheeks that would have been deadly pale. She had to concentrate on not chewing off her lipstick as she walked the half block to National Trust. And to her first day on the job.

It would only take her ten minutes to get back home, lock herself in and phone the office with some excuse. She was sick, there'd been a death in the family—preferably hers. She'd been robbed.

Hester clutched her briefcase tighter and kept walking. Big talk, she berated herself. She'd walked Radley to school that morning spouting off cheerful nonsense about how exciting new beginnings were, how much fun it was to start something new. Baloney, she thought, and hoped the little guy wasn't half as scared as she was.

She'd earned the position, Hester reminded herself. She was qualified and competent, with twelve years of experience under her belt. And she was scared right out of her shoes. Taking a deep breath, she walked into National Trust.

Laurence Rosen, the bank manager, checked his watch, gave a nod of approval and strode over to greet her. His dark blue suit was trim and conservative. A woman could have powdered her nose in the reflection from his shiny black shoes. “Right on time, Mrs. Wallace, an excellent beginning. I pride myself on having a staff that makes optimum use of time.” He gestured toward the back of the bank, and her office.

“I'm looking forward to getting started, Mr. Rosen,” she said, and felt a wave of relief that it was true. She'd always liked the feel of a bank before the doors opened to the public. The cathedral-like quiet, the pregame anticipation.

“Good, good, we'll do our best to keep you busy.” He noted with a slight frown that two secretaries were not yet at their desks. In a habitual gesture, he passed a hand over his hair. “Your assistant will be in momentarily. Once you're settled, Mrs. Wallace, I'll expect you to keep close tabs on her comings and goings. Your efficiency depends largely on hers.”

“Of course.”

Her office was small and dull. She tried not to wish for something airier—or to notice that Rosen was as stuffy as they came. The increase this job would bring to her income would make things better for Radley. That, as always, was the bottom line. She'd make it work, Hester told herself as she took off her coat. She'd make it work well.

Rosen obviously approved of her trim black suit and understated jewelry. There was no room for flashy clothes or behavior in banking. “I trust you looked over the files I gave you.”

“I familiarized myself with them over the weekend.” She moved behind the desk, knowing it would establish her position. “I believe I understand National Trust's policy and procedure.”

“Excellent, excellent. I'll leave you to get organized then. Your first appointment's at”—he turned pages over on her desk calendar—“9:15. If you have any problems, contact me. I'm always around somewhere.”

She would have bet on it. “I'm sure everything will be fine, Mr. Rosen. Thank you.”

With a final nod, Rosen strode out. The door closed behind him with a quiet click. Alone, Hester let herself slide bonelessly into her chair. She'd gotten past the first hurdle, she told herself. Rosen thought she was competent and suitable. Now all she had to do was be those things. She would be, because too much was riding on it. Not the least of those things was her pride. She hated making a fool of herself. She'd certainly done a good job of that the night before with the new neighbor.

Even hours later, remembering it, her cheeks warmed. She hadn't meant to insult the man's—even now she couldn't bring herself to call it a profession—his work, then, Hester decided. She certainly hadn't meant to make any personal observations. The problem had been that she hadn't been as much on her guard as usual. The man had thrown her off by inviting himself in and joining them for dinner and charming Radley, all in a matter of minutes. She wasn't used to people popping into her life. And she didn't like it.

Radley loved it. Hester picked up a sharpened pencil with the bank's logo on the side. He'd practically glowed with excitement and hadn't been able to speak of anything else even after Mitch Dempsey had left.

She could be grateful for one thing. The visit had taken Radley's mind off the new school. Radley had always made friends easily, and if this Mitch was willing to give her son some pleasure, she shouldn't criticize. In any case, the man seemed harmless enough. Hester refused to admit to the uncomfortable thrill she'd experienced when his hand had closed over hers. What possible trouble could come from a man who wrote comic books for a living? She caught herself chewing at her lipstick at the question.

The knock on the door was brief and cheerful. Before she could call out, it was pushed open.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wallace. I'm Kay Lorimar, your assistant. Remember, we met for a few minutes a couple of weeks ago.”

“Yes, good morning, Kay.” Her assistant was everything Hester had always wanted to be herself: petite, well-rounded, blond, with small delicate features. She folded her hands on the fresh blotter and tried to look authoritative.

“Sorry I'm late.” Kay smiled and didn't look the least bit sorry. “Everything takes longer than you think it does on Monday. Even if I pretend it's Tuesday, it doesn't seem to help. I don't know why. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you, I've an appointment in a few minutes.”

“Just ring if you change your mind.” Kay paused at the door. “This place could sure use some cheering up, it's dark as a dungeon. Mr. Blowfield, that's who you're replacing, he liked things dull—matched him, you know.” Her smile was ingenuous, but Hester hesitated to answer it. It would hardly do for her to get a reputation as a gossip the first day on the job. “Anyway, if you decide to do any redecorating, let me know. My roommate's into interior design. He's a real artist.”

“Thank you.” How was she supposed to run an office with a pert little cheerleader in tow? Hester wondered. One day at a time. “Just send Mr. and Mrs. Browning in when they arrive, Kay.”

“Yes, ma'am.” She sure was more pleasant to look at than old Blowfield, Kay thought. But it looked as if she had the same soul. “Loan application forms are in the bottom left drawer of the desk, arranged according to type. Legal pads in the right. Bank stationery, top right. The list of current interest rates are in the middle drawer. The Brownings are looking for a loan to remodel their loft as they're expecting a child. He's in electronics; she works part-time at Bloomingdale's. They've been advised what papers to bring with them. I can make copies while they're here.”

Hester lifted her brow. “Thank you, Kay,” she said, not certain whether to be amused or impressed.

When the door closed again, Hester sat back and smiled. The office might be dull, but if the morning was any indication, nothing else at National Trust was going to be.

* * *

Mitch liked having a window that faced the front of the building. That way, whenever he took a break, he could watch the comings and goings. After five years, he figured he knew every tenant by sight and half of them by name. When things were slow or, better, when he was ahead of the game, he whiled away time by sketching the more interesting of them. If his time stretched further, he made a story line to go with the faces.

He considered it the best of practice because it amused him. Occasionally there was a face interesting enough to warrant special attention. Sometimes it was a cabdriver or a delivery boy. Mitch had learned to look close and quick, then sketch from lingering impressions. Years before, he had sketched faces for a living, if a pitiful one. Now he sketched them for entertainment and was a great deal more satisfied.

He spotted Hester and her son when they were still half a block away. The red coat she wore stood out like a beacon. It certainly made a statement, Mitch mused as he picked up his pencil. He wondered if the coolly distant Mrs. Wallace realized what signals she was sending out. He doubted it.

He didn't need to see her face to draw it. Already there were a half-a-dozen rough sketches of her tossed on the table in his workroom. Interesting features, he told himself as his pencil began to fly across the pad. Any artist would be compelled to capture them.

The boy was walking along beside her, his face all but obscured by a woolen scarf and hat. Even from this distance, Mitch could see the boy was chattering earnestly. His head was angled up toward his mother. Every now and again she would glance down as if to comment; then the boy would take over again. A few steps away from the building, she stopped. Mitch saw the wind catch at her hair as she tossed her head back and laughed. His fingers went limp on the pencil as he leaned closer to the window. He wanted to be nearer, near enough to hear the laugh, to see if her eyes lit up with it. He imagined they did, but how? Would that subtle, calm gray go silvery or smoky?

She continued to walk, and in seconds was in the building and out of sight.

Mitch stared down at his sketch pad. He had no more than a few lines and contours. He couldn't finish it, he thought as he set the pencil down. He could only see her laughing now, and to capture that on paper he'd need a closer look.

Picking up his keys, he jangled them in his hand. He'd given her the better part of a week. The aloof Mrs. Wallace might consider another neighborly visit out of line, but he didn't. Besides, he liked the kid. Mitch would have gone upstairs to see him before, but he'd been busy fleshing out his story. He owed the kid for that, too, Mitch considered. The little weekend visit had not only crumbled the block, but had given Mitch enough fuel for three issues. Yeah, he owed the kid.

He pushed the keys into his pocket and walked into his workroom. Taz was there, a bone clamped between his paws as he snoozed. “Don't get up,” Mitch said mildly. “I'm going out for a while.” As he spoke, he ruffled through papers. Taz opened his eyes to half-mast and grumbled. “I don't know how long I'll be.” After wracking through his excuse for a filing system, Mitch found the sketch. Commander Zark in full military regalia, sober faced, sad eyed, his gleaming ship at his back. Beneath it was the caption: “THE MISSION: Capture Princess Leilah—or DESTROY her!!”

Mitch wished briefly that he had the time to ink and color it, but figured the kid would like it as is. With a careless stroke he signed it, then rolled it into a tube.

“Don't wait dinner for me,” he instructed Taz.

***

“I'll get it!” Radley danced to the door. It was Friday, and school was light-years away.

“Ask who it is.”

Radley put his hand on the knob and shook his head. He'd been going to ask. Probably. “Who is it?”

“It's Mitch.”

“It's Mitch!” Radley shouted, delighted. In the bedroom, Hester scowled and pulled the sweatshirt over her head.

“Hi.” Breathless with excitement, Radley opened the door to his latest hero.

“Hi, Rad, how's it going?”

“Fine. I don't have any homework all weekend.” He reached out a hand to draw Mitch inside. “I wanted to come down and see you, but Mom said no 'cause you'd be working or something.”

“Or something,” Mitch muttered. “Look, it's okay with me if you come over. Anytime.”

“Really?”

“Really.” The kid was irresistible, Mitch thought as he ruffled the boy's hair. Too bad his mother wasn't as friendly. “I thought you might like this.” Mitch handed him the rolled sketch.

“Oh, wow.” Awestruck, reverent, Radley stared at the drawing. “Jeez, Commander Zark and the
Second Millennium
. Can I have it, really? To keep?”

“Yeah.”

“I gotta show Mom.” Radley turned and dashed toward the bedroom as Hester came out. “Look what Mitch gave me. Isn't it great? He said I could keep it and everything.”

“It's terrific.” She put a hand on Radley's shoulder as she studied the sketch. The man was certainly talented, Hester decided. Even if he had chosen such an odd way to show it. Her hand remained on Radley's shoulder as she looked over at Mitch. “That was very nice of you.”

He liked the way she looked in the pastel sweats, casual, approachable, if not completely relaxed. Her hair was down too, with the ends just sweeping short of her shoulders. Parted softly on the side and unpinned, it gave her a completely different look.

“I wanted to thank Rad.” Mitch forced himself to look away from her face, then smiled at the boy. “You helped me through a block last weekend.”

“I did?” Radley's eyes widened. “Honest?”

“Honest. I was stuck, spinning wheels. After I talked to you that night, I went down and everything fell into place. I appreciate it.”

“Wow, you're welcome. You could stay for dinner again. We're just having Chinese chicken, and maybe I could help you some more. It's okay, isn't it, Mom? Isn't it?”

Trapped again. And again she caught the gleam of amusement in Mitch's eyes. “Of course.”

“Great. I want to go hang this up right away. Can I call Josh, too, and tell him about it? He won't believe it.”

“Sure.” She barely had time to run a hand over his hair before he was off and running.

“Thanks, Mitch.” Radley paused at the turn of the hallway. “Thanks a lot.”

Hester found the deep side pockets in her sweats and slipped her hands inside. There was absolutely no reason for the man to make her nervous. So why did he? “That was really very kind of you.”