Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [54]
With his sandaled foot, he pushed out the chair across from him and gestured for me to take a seat.
“Always the consummate gentleman,” I said. “What do you want?”
He frowned and pushed the chair with his foot again. “Shit, Harper, sit down for a minute and quit gawking at me like I just French-kissed your grandma. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“With a gracious invitation like that, how can I resist?” I remained standing and sipped my coffee. “Will Henry, I’m busy. So what is it?”
He stood up and pulled the chair out, running his tongue nervously over his wide-gapped teeth. “Benni, just give me a minute, okay?” He bent closer and whispered, “I have some information for Gabe, but I don’t want to go in to the station.”
That got my attention, just as he knew it would. I sat on the edge of the chair, setting my drink and purse on the table. “What information?”
“You want anything? A cappuccino? A muffin? It’s on me.”
“Just tell me what you want to tell Gabe.”
He sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his hard little belly, his wolfish expression returning. “Who shoved a branding iron up your butt, Harper? Why are you treating me like this? I haven’t trashed ranchers in months. And didn’t I do that article pointing out to all the veg-heads how many animal products they used without even knowing it?”
I felt the back of my teeth tighten. He knew why he rubbed me the wrong way, but I wasn’t about to get into it with him here at Eudora’s. We’d been on the outs ever since he wrote about the methamphetamine lab that had been found on Daddy’s best friend’s ranch last year. It had been booby-trapped, and the trip wire the horse stumbled over caused one of their ranch hands to be thrown and shatter his collarbone. The horse had broken his leg and had to be shot. Not to mention that after the police busted the lab, the cleanup was the financial and legal responsibility of the landowners. Living on the edge like most ranchers did these days, it almost drove them into bankruptcy. Will Henry’s paper only moaned about how much tax dollars the bust cost and complained that if all drugs were legalized, then things like this wouldn’t happen. Not one word about the victimization of the innocent rancher.
“If you don’t spit it out in the next minute, I’m outta here.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, sitting forward. The gray in his shaggy hair appeared yellow in the pale cafe lighting. “You have to promise that I won’t be dragged into this.”
I frowned. “You know I can’t promise that. Maybe you should be talking to Gabe if it’s that serious.”
“I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea. I don’t want my reputation ruined.”
“What reputation? Will Henry, everyone thinks you’re a mouthy jerk who’ll do anything to sell newspapers.”
His soft cheeks pulled in at my comment, and for a moment I regretted my words. I didn’t like deliberately hurting someone’s feelings, but there was something about Will Henry that made me want to bite before I was bitten.
“People think I’m a jerk?” he said, his voice a bit sad.
“Please,” I said, sighing deeply. “I’m tired. Could you just tell me what it is you want to tell Gabe?”
“I want to go on record that it wasn’t my idea . . . entirely. The concept was mine, but she did it.”
I felt like throwing my coffee at him. “Quit talking in circles.”
He leaned forward and whispered, “Nora was the Tattler.”
“What?”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said. I’m just ... shocked. She wrote all that hateful stuff? How . . . why . . . ?”
“I edited it, but she gathered the information and wrote the column. That woman was incredible. Between working at the library and all the festivals and other things she was involved with, she knew more dirt about people in this town than the priests down at St. Celine’s Catholic Church.”
“What possessed