Lies That Bind. Barbara McMahon
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in a friendly hug.
“Betsy?” She hugged the woman back. Betsy had been more Eliza’s friend than April’s. She and Eliza had embarked on a fledgling catering business in Maraville, though Betsy was keeping her regular job until their new company was financially secure. She was the first friend from school other than Cade that April had seen in the two days she’d been in town.
“You look fantastic,” Betsy said. “I can’t believe you’re a supermodel in Europe. All I’ve ever done is stay in Maraville and marry Dexter Bullard.”
“Sounds like as good a way to live as any,” April said diplomatically. Truth to tell, she’d once hoped to do something very much like that. After two failed marriages, those dreams had changed.
“Come in and have something to eat,” Betsy said.
“Not just now. Maybe tomorrow. I ate lunch before I went to see Maddie.”
No matter how glad she was to see Betsy, April didn’t feel up to talking with an old acquaintance. Tomorrow, she promised herself.
“Okay, then. Maybe I’ll stop by the house later and we can catch up.”
April nodded. She’d heard a lot about Betsy from Eliza already. She’d have to look up some of her own friends—if any had remained in Maraville. But not today.
Continuing her walk down the main street, she passed the library, noticing a poster with a picture of Jack Palmer, CNN correspondent, prominently displayed on the door.
She did a double take. Jack Palmer here in Maraville? She often saw him on television at home, where her satellite connection pulled in both CNN and his feed to the BBC. What in the world was a reporter of his reputation doing in Maraville? According to the poster, giving a series of lectures starting today.
Intrigued, she walked into the cool building. The scents of old books assailed her and she smiled at the once-familiar smell. She’d spent many afternoons in this place as a child. Fewer afternoons as she grew older.
Following the signs to the public meeting room, April wasn’t surprised to find it almost full. Glancing at her watch, she saw Jack was scheduled to begin his talk in a few moments. Taking a chair in the last row, she leaned back. She was tired, but she might as well rest here as at home. At least she’d be entertained and feel less guilty for not helping Eliza more.
JACK HOBBLED to the chair before the small table and sat down. He’d walked over from Sam’s place and his leg was throbbing. The librarian introduced him and he nodded, letting his gaze travel around the room. It was crowded. He wouldn’t have thought this many people in Maraville would be interested in anything he had to say.
There were the older people he’d expected. Sam had stopped by. He saw several other men their age, and some teenagers. In the back of the room his regard paused a moment on one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Blond hair seemed to float around her head. Even from this distance he could see the deep blue of her eyes. Probably a wife of one of the town’s leading citizens.
“Thank you for coming,” he began. “I didn’t expect such a turnout. Television often portrays news reporting as glamorous and exciting. I can attest to the exciting part, on occasion. But glamour is often missing.” He launched into the talk he’d roughed out the night before. He didn’t need notes. He knew what he had to say. He wanted these people to know how difficult it was to get unbiased information, and the hardships reporters and camera crews faced. He provided insights into what drove the men and women who reported the news, interspersing his lecture with incidents he or one of his friends had experienced. Sometimes he drew laughter. Sometimes he saw tears in the eyes of his audience. One teenager seemed to hang on his every word.
Finishing up, Jack asked if there were any questions.
“When are you giving another talk?” the teenager asked eagerly.
“Same time next week. I’ll cover a different aspect, so if you come back, you won’t hear the same thing.”
“Awesome,” the kid said, grinning.
He quickly answered other questions. Until Etta Williams announced the talk was over and the audience began to rise from their seats.
The librarian hurried over. “Thank you so much, Mr. Palmer. That was fascinating. I do appreciate your coming today. I can’t wait for next week.”
Jack nodded, wishing his foot didn’t hurt so much. Sitting still for so long only made it worse. Next week, if it wasn’t better, he’d have to request a stool or something to elevate it.
Sam came over to the table.
“Need a ride home?”
Jack nodded, and Sam said he’d pull the car around in front. Once he left, Jack rose and prepared to hobble outside. The teenager who had hung on his every word came up to ask more questions. Then one of the older men stopped him to talk about the way news was reported these days. Another woman thanked him for risking his life so Americans could know what was really going on.
The blonde from the back of the room hovered near the door. Jack made his way slowly toward her.
“Mr. Palmer,” she said, when he drew level with her.
He nodded. By this time, the two of them were the only ones left in the room.
“Yes?” He leaned heavily on his cane, willing the pain to go away.
“I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee with me. I want to talk to you about something.”
“Someone’s waiting to give me a lift home,” he said, wondering how anyone could have eyes so clear and blue. She was on the thin side, almost as tall as he was. Was she interested in a reporter’s job? With her looks, she could be a TV anchor even if she didn’t have two thoughts to rub together. If she only read the reports, audiences in America would lap up the news.
“Another time then?” she said.
“What’s this about?” Despite her beauty, he couldn’t help her get a job.
“I’m April Jeffries.”
“Friend of Cade’s?” he asked, making the assumption. How many Aprils lived in Maraville? He’d noticed how people in the audience had eyed her, as if she wasn’t quite one of them. A certain level of curiosity would be normal if she’d been gone for twelve years and only returned for a visit.
“That’s right. How did you know?” She seemed startled.
“Instinct. What can I do for you, Miss Jeffries?”
“Call me April—everyone does. I want help in finding someone.”
“Jo?” He couldn’t do more than Sam could.
“You are tapped into the local grapevine. No, not Jo, as it happens. I understand Maddie already has a private detective working on that. I want help finding my birth parents.”
APRIL HAD MADE the decision to ask for help as she listened to Jack Palmer describe some of the ways he researched facts. She knew he reported from foreign locales, but the basics of investigative methods would be the same. Maybe he’d have some pointers for her on how to expand her search for her parents. She wasn’t sure what contacts reporters had, but if he could tap sources unavailable to the general public, it might help with her search.
She could tell from his expression she’d surprised him. What—had he thought she was some groupie wanting to cling to a famous reporter?
“I’m not into finding missing persons,” he said abruptly. “Try the sheriff’s office or Social Services. A private detective. Those are the kind of agencies who can help.” He headed out the door.
Stung by his curt response, April watched him go. “Don’t you think I’ve already tried all those avenues?” she muttered.
She was annoyed she’d asked him for help. He probably thought she was