Secrets of a Small Town. Patricia Kay
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you break the news to your mother.”
“You think I should wait before telling her?”
“There’s no hurry, is there?”
Sabrina looked down at her lap. Leland was right. There was no hurry. Nothing would change whether she told her mother today or two weeks from now. In fact, it would be easier to wait until her mother was feeling stronger and over the shock of her father’s death. She looked up, meeting Leland’s eyes. “No, there’s no hurry. And I’d be grateful for your help when I tell my mother.”
Because she needed some time before facing her mother, Sabrina stopped at the office of The Rockwell Record on the way home.
Johnny Fiore, the sports editor who also handled school news and obituaries, looked up from his desk as she entered the newsroom. “Sabrina, how are you?” He stood up to give her a hug.
“I’m okay.”
“We didn’t expect you back till next week.”
“I’m not here to work. I just stopped in to see how everything’s going.”
“She thinks we can’t do without her,” Kelsey Finnegan, the lifestyle/society/entertainment editor said, grinning at Sabrina.
“We can’t. Things are falling apart without you here.” This came from Vicki Barrows, the office manager/bookkeeper.
Sabrina smiled. She knew they were trying to lift her spirits, and for a moment, they had. “I just want to take a look at my calendar, then I’ve got to go, but I’ll be here on Monday.”
As she sat at her desk surrounded by familiar things, she felt herself growing calmer. Because she’d said she was going to, she checked her calendar and saw that she’d set up an appointment with one of their suppliers for the next morning. She buzzed for Vicki. “You’ll have to cancel tomorrow’s appointment with Jake Evans. Tell him I’ll call him to reschedule next week.”
“Will do. Anything else?”
“Maybe you could ask Bert to cover the city council meeting.” The Rockwell political scene was an area Sabrina had refused to give up, even as managerial responsibilities had pushed aside all other reporting duties.
“Sure thing.”
“How’s the ad count look?” Like most newspapers, advertising revenue dictated The Record’s size and provided most of its operating funds.
“As of the same date last year, we’re up twenty-two percent.”
Sabrina felt a surge of pride. They were having a banner year, due in large part to the hard work of Jan Kellogg, the new advertising manager Sabrina had hired in March.
Once all work-related details were taken care of, Sabrina logged on to the Internet and researched the town of Ivy, where Gregg Antonelli and his sister lived, and was pleased to discover a well-known chain motel located nearby. After making a reservation for the following night, Sabrina left the office and headed home.
On the way, all her worries came flooding back. How was she going to get through the rest of the day and all the ones to follow without raising her mother’s suspicions? Although, since her accident, Sabrina’s mother had been pretty self-involved, she was still fairly astute when it came to Sabrina and her emotions.
It was even harder than Sabrina had imagined to spend the afternoon and evening in her mother’s company without giving away her state of turmoil, but somehow she managed. She and her mother and aunt had lunch together, then Irene suggested Isabel might like to take a nap. “I know I would,” her aunt said.
To Sabrina’s relief, her mother agreed. While her mother and aunt rested, Sabrina kept her thoughts under control by spending the afternoon at the piano. Music had always been her escape, and today was no exception. She played all her old favorites—Chopin, Beethoven, Bach, Schubert, with a sprinkling of Scott Joplin thrown in.
That night, Sabrina was extremely grateful for her aunt’s presence at dinner. Irene kept the conversational ball rolling, something Sabrina knew she would not have been able to do if Irene hadn’t been there.
Toward the end of the meal, Sabrina said as casually as she could, “Mom, tomorrow I have to go to Columbus to research a story.”
Isabel stared at her. “So soon? Can’t someone else do it?”
“No, I’m afraid not. This man…he’s a whistle blower…” Oh, God, she hated lying. “And he only agreed to talk to me. It’s really important or I wouldn’t go. But you’ll be okay. Aunt Irene and Florence are both here. And I’ll only be gone one day.”
Her mother looked as if she wanted to protest some more, but Irene forestalled her by saying, “It’ll be good for Sabrina to get away, Isabel. And it’ll give us a chance to go through Ben’s clothes. You did say you wanted me to help you do that before I leave.”
Isabel nodded reluctantly.
Sabrina smiled at her aunt, who reached over and patted her hand.
The following morning, Sabrina was on her way by eight. By eleven, she was pulling her Expedition into the parking lot of the motel. Luckily they had a room ready for her. After unpacking her few things, Sabrina sat on the side of the bed and reached for the phone. Her father’s contact information for Gregg Antonelli was at his place of business—an Italian restaurant that he owned. Taking a deep breath, Sabrina punched in the numbers.
Gregg Antonelli told himself not to lose his temper, but there were times when Joe Ruggerio, his chef, tried Gregg’s patience to the point where he’d like nothing better than to tell Joe to take a hike. Joe was the best chef Gregg had ever had, yet sometimes the problems he created simply didn’t seem worth the benefits. Today was one of those days.
Gregg counted to ten. “Look, Joe, this has got to stop. Billy’s a hard worker. I don’t want to lose him.”
The expression on Joe’s florid face could only be described as a smirk.
Gregg’s jaw hardened. “I mean it. I want you to give me your word you’ll quit riding him.”
“Hey, if he can’t take the heat, he should get out of the kitchen!” Enamored of his own joke, Joe grinned and winked at Pedro, their dishwasher and Joe’s lackey.
Gregg was about to say something he’d probably regret when Lisa, the head of the wait staff, entered the kitchen.
“Gregg, phone call for you,” she said.
Saved by the bell, he thought, for if he’d given vent to his feelings, he wouldn’t have had to fire Joe. The temperamental chef would have walked out. That was the crux of the problem. Great chefs were difficult to find, especially when you couldn’t afford to pay top dollar, and Joe knew it.
Suppressing a tired sigh, Gregg headed for his minuscule office and punched the blinking line. “Gregg Antonelli.”
“Um, yes. Mr. Antonelli?”
Gregg didn’t recognize the female voice. “Yes,” he said patiently. “This is Gregg Antonelli. How can I help you, ma’am?”
“Mr. Antonelli, my name is Sabrina March.”
Gregg waited. The name meant nothing to him.
“I’m a, um, relative of Ben Arthur, who gave me your name. I know you don’t know me, but it’s very important that I talk to you about some urgent business. I’m only here in town for one day and was hoping we could meet this afternoon or evening.”
Gregg frowned. He hadn’t been aware that his sister’s husband had any relatives. In fact, if he remembered correctly, Ben had specifically said he had no close family to speak of. So who the hell was this woman and what could she possibly want?
“If Ben gave you my name and this number, then you know I own a restaurant. I’ll be tied up until at least ten-thirty tonight. But if you don’t mind