LITMIR.BIZ

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it. He roared with laughter.

      “You could teach us,” Michelle suggested. “Couldn’t you?”

      Cash just smiled. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Just a few basics for an emergency. But if you have an armed opponent, you run,” he said firmly. “Or if you’re cornered, scream, make a fuss. Never,” he emphasized, “get into a car with anyone who threatens to kill you if you don’t. Once he’s got you in a car, away from help, you’re dead, anyway.”

      Michelle felt chills run down her spine. “Okay.”

      Carlie looked uncomfortable. She knew firsthand about an armed attacker. Unconsciously, she rubbed the shoulder where the knife had gone in. She’d tried to protect her father. Her assailant had been arrested, but had died soon afterward. She never knew why her father had been the target of an attack by a madman.

      “Deep thoughts?” Michelle asked her.

      She snapped back. “Sorry. I was remembering the guy who attacked my father.” She frowned. “What sort of person attacks a minister, for goodness’ sake!”

      “Come on down to federal lockup with me, and I’ll show you a baker’s dozen who have,” Cash told her. “Religious arguments quite often lead to murder, even in families. That’s why,” he added, “we don’t discuss politics or religion in the office.” He frowned. “Well, if someone died in here, we’d probably say a prayer. And if the president came to see me, and why wouldn’t he, we’d probably discuss his foreign policy.”

      “Why would the president come to see you?” Michelle asked innocently.

      Cash pursed his lips. “For advice, of course. I have some great ideas about foreign policy.”

      “For instance?” Carlie mused.

      “I think we should declare war on Tahiti.”

      They both stared at him.

      “Well, if we do, we can send troops, right?” he continued. “And what soldier in his right mind wouldn’t want to go and fight in Tahiti? Lush tropical flowers, fire-dancing, beautiful women, the ocean...”

      “Tahiti doesn’t have a standing army, I don’t think,” Michelle ventured.

      “All the better. We can just occupy it for like three weeks, let them surrender, and then give them foreign aid.” He glowered. “Now you’ve done it. You’ll repeat that everywhere and the president will hear about it and he’ll never have to come and hear me explain it. You’ve blown my chances for an invitation to the White House,” he groaned. “And I did so want to spend a night in the Lincoln bedroom!”

      “Listen, break out those files on aliens that you keep in your filing cabinet and tell the president you’ve got them!” Carlie suggested, while Michelle giggled. “He’ll come right down here to have a look at them!”

      “They won’t let him,” Cash sighed. “His security clearance isn’t high enough.”

      “What?” Carlie exclaimed.

      “Well, he’s only in the office for four years, eight tops. So the guys in charge of the letter agencies—the really secretive ones—allegedly keep some secrets to themselves. Particularly those dealing with aliens.” He chuckled.

      The girls, who didn’t know whether to believe him or not, just laughed along with him.

      * * *

      Michelle stopped back by Minette’s office to tell her the good news, and to thank her again for the job.

      “You know,” she said, “Chief Grier is really nice.”

      “Nice when he likes you,” Minette said drily. “There are a few criminals in maximum-security prisons who might disagree.”

      “No doubt there.”

      “So, will Monday suit you, to start to work?” Minette asked.

      “I’d really love to start yesterday.” Michelle laughed. “I’m so excited!”

      Minette grinned. “Monday will come soon enough. We’ll see you then.”

      “Can you write me a note? Just in case I need one?” She was thinking of how to break it to Roberta. That was going to be tricky.

      “No problem.” Minette went to her desk, typed out an explanation of Michelle’s new position, and signed it. She handed it to the younger woman. “There you go.”

      “Dress code?” Michelle asked, glancing around the big open room where several people were sitting at desks, to a glass-walled room beyond which big sheets of paper rested on a long section like a chalkboard.

      “Just be neat,” Minette said easily. “I mostly kick around in jeans and T-shirts, although I dress when I go to political meetings or to interviews with state or federal politicians. You’ll need to learn how to use a camera, as well. We have digital ones. They’re very user-friendly.”

      “This is very exciting,” Michelle said, her gray eyes glimmering with delight.

      Minette laughed. “It is to me, too, and I’ve done this since I was younger than you are. I grew up running around this office.” She looked around with pure love in her eyes. “It’s home.”

      “I’m really looking forward to it. Will I just be reporting news?”

      “No. Well, not immediately, at least. You’ll learn every aspect of the business, from selling ads to typing copy to composition. Even subscriptions.” She leaned forward. “You’ll learn that some subscribers probably used to be doctors, because the handwriting looks more like Sanskrit than English.”

      Michelle chuckled. “I’ll cope. My dad had the worst handwriting in the world.”

      “And he was a doctor,” Minette agreed, smiling.

      The smile faded. “He was a very good doctor,” she said, trying not to choke up. “Sorry,” she said, wiping away a tear. “It’s still hard.”

      “It takes time,” Minette said with genuine sympathy. “I lost my mother, my stepfather, my stepmother—I loved them all. You’ll adjust, but you have to get through the grief process first. Tears are healing.”

      “Thanks.”

      “If you need to talk, I’m here. Anytime. Night or day.”

      Michelle wiped away more tears. “That’s really nice of you.”

      “I know how it feels.”

      The phone rang and one of the employees called out. “For you, boss. The mayor returning your call.”

      Minette grimaced. “I have to take it. I’m working on a story about the new water system. It’s going to be super.”

      “I’ll see you after school Monday, then. And thanks again.”

      “My pleasure.”

      * * *

      Michelle went home with dreams of journalism dancing in her head. She’d never been so happy. Things were really looking up.

      She noted that Roberta’s car was in the driveway and she mentally braced herself for a fight. It was suppertime and she hadn’t been there to cook. She was going to be in big trouble.

      Sure enough, the minute she walked in the door, Roberta threw her hands up and glared at her. “I’m not cooking,” she said furiously. “That’s your job. Where the hell have you been?”

      Michelle swallowed. “I was in...in town.”

      “Doing what?” came the tart query.

      She shifted. “Getting a job.”

      “A job?” She frowned, and her eyes didn’t seem to quite focus. “Well, I’m not driving you to work, even if somebody was crazy

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