Overload (63 page)

The older woman smiled and nodded. "I need that job. Even though it don't

pay much." She stood up. "Well, I'll be getting back."

"Thanks," Nancy said. "I appreciate what you did. Let me know when you

need anything."

Favors for favors, she bad discovered early, were part of journalism's

commerce.

Returning to her desk, still wondering if the memo referred to Birdsong

and p & lfp, or not, she met the city editor.

"Who was the old lady, Nancy?"

"A friend."

:'You hatching a story?"

'Maybe."

"Tell me about it."

She shook her head. "Not yet."

The city editor regarded her quizzically. He was a graying veteran of

newspaperdom, good at his job but, like many of his kind, he had reached

the outer limits of promotion. "You're supposed to be part of a team,

Nancy, and I'm the coach. I know you prefer being a loner, and you've

gotten away with it because you get results. But you can push that game

too far."

She shrugged. "So fire me."

He wouldn't, of course, and they both knew it. Leaving him frustrated,

as she did so many men, she returned to her desk and began telephoning.

She tried Irwin Saunders first.

A secretary declared he was not available, but when Nancy mentioned the

Examiner, he came cheerfully on the line.

:'What can I do for you, Miss Molineaux?"

'I'd like to discuss the Sequoia Club's donation to Mr. Birdsong's power

& light for people."

There was a second's silence. "What donation?"

"It's our understanding . . ."

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Saunders laughed aloud. "Bullshit! Nancy . may I call you that?"

"Sure."

"Nancy, that kind of I-already-know-but-would4ike-some-confirma-tion

statement is the oldest reporter's ploy in the book. You're talking to a

wily old fish who doesn't take those baits."

She laughed with him. "I'd always heard you were sharp, Mr. Saunders."

"Damn right, kiddo."

She persisted, "But bow about a linkup between the Sequoia Club and p &

lfp?"

"That's a subject, Nancy, about which I'm unlikely to know anything."

Score one for me, she thought. He had not said I don't know. Only I'm

unlikely to know. Later, if he had to, he could claim he hadn't lied. He

probably had a recorder going at this moment.

"My information," she said, "is that a Sequoia Club committee decided . .

."

"Tell me about that alleged committee, Nancy. Who was on it? Name names."

She thought quickly. If she mentioned the other names she knewCarmichael,

Quinn-he would be on the phone immediately to caution them. Nancy wanted to

get there first. She lied, "I don't have any names."

"In other words, you don't have a damn thing." His voice was suddenly less

friendly. "I'm a busy lawyer, Miss Molineaux, with a heavy case load.

Clients pay me for my time and you're wasting it."

"Then I won't waste any more."

Without replying, he hung up.

Even while talking, Nancy had been leafing through a phone directory in

search of "Quinn." Now she found it: Quinn, Dempster W. R. Trust Priscilla

Quinn's old man to have one more name than most other people. Nancy dialed

and after the second ring was informed by a male voice, "This is the

Dempster Quinn residence." It sounded like the sound track of Upstairs,

Downstairs.

"Mrs. Quinn, please."

"I'm sorry. Madam is at lunch and may not be disturbed."

"Disturb her," Nancy said, "by telling her the California Examiner intends

to mention her name, and does she want to help us get the facts straight?"

"One moment, please."

Not only moments passed, but several minutes. Eventually a cool female

voice inquired, "Yes?"

Nancy identified herself.

"What is it you want?"

"Mrs. Quinn, when the Sequoia Club executive committee, of which

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you are a member, met last August and decided to team up with Davey

Birdsong's power & light for people, what was . . . ?"

Priscilla Quinn said sharply, "That committee meeting, and the entire

arrangement, are supposed to be confidential."

Bingo! Unlike lawyer Saunders, Quinn was not a wily fish. Nancy now had the

confirmation she had sought, a confirmation she would never have obtained

by asking direct questions.

"Well," Nancy said, "word seems to be around. Maybe Birdsong talked."

She heard what sounded like a sniff. "Very likely. I would never trust that

man in the slightest degree."

"Then may I ask why you agreed to support his .

"I did not agree. I was the one who voted against the whole idea. I was

defeated by the others." A note of alarm entered Priscilla Quinn's voice.

"Are you planning to print any of this?"

"Naturally."

"Oh dear, I don't want to be quoted."

"Mrs. Quinn," Nancy pointed out, "when you came on the line I identified

myself, but you said nothing about any of our conversation being off the

record."

:'Well, I do now."

'It's too late."

The other woman said indignantly, "I shall telephone your publisher."

"Who won't do a thing," Nancy shot back, "except tell me to go ahead and

write the story." She paused, considering. "What I will do is make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"I have to use your name as a member of the Sequoia Club executive

committee. There's no way I can avoid that. But I won't mention that I

spoke to you if you'll tell me how much money was paid by the Sequoia Club

to p & lfp."

"But that's blackmail!"

"Call it a trade-fair exchange."

There was a brief silence followed by, "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You can. Go on-take a chance."

A pause again. Then, very quietly: "Fifty thousand dollars."

Nancy's lips pursed in a silent whistle.

As she hung up, instinct told her she had spoiled Mrs. Dempster W. R.

Quinn's lunch.

An hour or two later, having handled some other, routine news chores, Nancy

sat at her desk thinking, calculating. So how much did she know?

Fact one: Davey Birdsong had cheated students and collected considerably

more money than was needed to run p & Ifl).

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Fact two: The Sequoia Club was backing Birdsong with money-a lot of it.

That alone was a news scoop which would raise many eyebrows and almost

certainly damage the club's reputation as a high-level, prestigious body.

Fact three: Birdsong was involved in something he didn't want found out,

hence his elaborate precautions when be visited that eastside house.

Question one: What did he do there; did it relate to the large amounts

of money he had accumulated; and what went on in the house? Nancy still

hadn't the faintest idea.

Fact four: 'ne girl from the house, Yvette, was scared sbitless about

something. Question two: What? Same answer as to question one.

Fact five: Number 117 Crocker Street was owned by the Redwood Realty

Corporation. Nancy had found that out earlier today from the tax

assessor's office. Later, posing as a credit bureau investigator, she had

telephoned Redwood and learned the property had been rented for the past

year to a Mr. G. Archambault, about whom nothing was known except that

he paid the rent promptly. Question three: Who and what was Archambault?

Go back to question one.

Conclusion: The jigsaw was incomplete, the story not ready to break.

Nancy mused: She would have to wait and be patient until her meeting with

Yvette six days from now. At this moment she was sorry she had agreed to

delay that long, but having made the promise she would keep it.

Briefly Nancy wondered: Would she be in any danger, having tipped off

Yvette about her interest, and then going back? She didn't think so.

Anyway, fear of consequences seldom bothered her.

And yet . . . Nancy had an uncomfortable feeling she ought to share her

knowledge with someone else, talk over what she had, and ask a second

opinion about what to do next. Logically, she should go to the city

editor. She might have done it, too, if the son-of-a-bitcb hadn't handed

her that coach-and-team crap earlier today. Now it would look as if she

was sucking around him because of it. Screw you, Mr. Charlie!

For the time being, Nancy decided, she would continue to keep the whole

ball of wax to herself.

It was a decision which later, looking back, she would bitterly regret,

15

In his office, Nim was going through the morning mail. His secretary,

Victoria Davis, had already opened and sorted most of the letters and

memos, putting them into two folders, one green, the other red-tbe

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latter reserved for urgent or important subjects. Today the red file was

full to overflowing. There were also, placed separately, a few unopened

letters marked "Personal." Among these Nim recognized a familiar, pale

blue envelope with a typewritten address. Karen Sloan's stationery.

Lately, Nim's conscience had troubled him about Karen-in two ways. On the

one hand he cared about her very much indeed, and felt guilty because he

had not visited her since the night they made love, even though they had

talked by telephone. And on the other hand, there was Ruth. How did his

love affair with Karen fit in with his reconciliation and new rapport

with Ruth? The truth was: it didn't. Yet he could not suddenly toss Karen

aside like a used Kleenex. If it had been some other woman he could, and

would, have done it instantly. But Karen was different.

He bad considered telling Ruth about Karen, then decided nothing would

be gained by it. Besides, Ruth bad enough problems without adding to

them; also, he would be the one who would have to decide about Karen.

He was ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but for the time being he

bad put Karen on a mental shelf and, for that reason, delayed opening her

letter now.

The thought of Ruth, though, reminded him of something else.

"Vicki," he called through the open office door, "did you get those hotel

reservations?"

"Yesterday." She came in, pointing to the green folder. "I wrote you a

note; it's in there. The Columbus had a cancellation, so you have a

two-bedroom suite. They promised me it will be high and with a view."

"Good! How's that last revision of my speech coming?"

"If you'll stop asking questions to which I've already given you an-

swers," Vicki told him, "I'll have it ready this afternoon."

He grinned. "Get out of here!"

In a week's time Nim was due to address the annual convention of the

National Electric Institute. His paper, which had already gone through

several drafts, would be about future power demands and was entitled

"Overload."

The big national NEI convention, important to the public utility industry

and its suppliers, was being held locally this year-in the C~bristopber

Columbus Hotel. It would last four days. Because there were numerous

social events, it occurred to Nim it would be an interesting change for

his family if they moved with him into the hotel for the duration of the