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Brad put a hand to his chest, and it reflexively fumbled for his shirt pocket before he remembered that he was trying to give up cigarettes, and that there were none there. He muttered under his breath.
His heart was still pounding from the adrenaline rush of a fight-or-flight morning, but it was also jumping with excitement. His instinct had been right: there had been a big story in that strange little clock.
He chewed his lip. Now if he could only get that girl alone, and convince her to have the letter appraised, it might be a story that could go viral. He could already see the headline: Amish beauty strikes it rich. Or maybe, Local antique hides priceless find.
Because that was probably the truth. Why else would that other guy have gone to so much trouble to track down an old, ugly clock? And why would anyone hide the letter in the first place, unless they believed at least that it was genuine?
He was already rehearsing his speech to Delores.
Delores, you won’t believe what I just found.
No, that sounded eager.
Delores, I could be sitting on the biggest story this paper has seen for years.
His mouth twisted. She’d probably crack an obscene joke.
Delores, I have an intriguing lead. I want your okay to check it out.
Yes, that was better. She might go for that.
He reached for a cigarette again, didn’t find one again, and mumbled in disgust.
“You what?”
Delores Watkins put her hand on one ample hip and tilted her head to one side in incredulous wonder.
“It could be legit, Delores. Think of it – a letter from George Washington, a national treasure, possibly worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, found in a local shop!”
“Are you crazy?”
“I saw it. It was on some kind of parchment-type paper, it was yellow, and the ink had gone brown. It looked genuine.”
She closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and nodded her head. “Sure, sure. Genuine. Like the time you wanted to go with the story that the mayor might be descended from Teddy Roosevelt.”
Brad looked away in irritation. “Can I help it if the guy falsified documents? And I wasn’t the only one who believed him – it actually ran on Channel 3!”
Delores shook her head. “Let it be a lesson to you, to check it five times before you come to me.” She turned and walked away.
Brad moved to keep pace. “And that’s what I want to do with this story. I want the green light to follow up, to have it checked out. Let me go back there. If I can convince the girl to have the letter appraised, and it turns out to be genuine, we’ll have something that could go viral online. If it’s not genuine, who cares? It’ll just be a few hours lost.”
“And money. I’m assuming you want the paper to pay for this?”
“Hey, does the paper want me to work for free? I’m telling you, Delores, this could be huge. I held the letter in my hand. The signature at the bottom read George Washington.”
“And the tab on the back of my shirt reads Valentino Tucci. I bought it at a dollar store.”
“Delores, just let me try. Three days. If she says no, I come back, and no harm done. If she says yes –”
His boss fixed him with ironic brown eyes. “—then we’ll all be amazed,” she finished sardonically. “Go back to your desk already, Brad. You’re nuts.”
Delores walked off, leaving him to stare after her. He bowed his head in frustration, and rubbed the back of his neck.
Then he looked up, and noticed that everybody else in the office was looking at him.
“Ah, shut up!” he mumbled good-naturedly, and giggling filled the room.
The next day, Delores Watkins looked up from her desk to see Brad Williams hovering over it.
“Delores, what if I foot the bill myself?” he asked, eyes on her face.
She looked up with a dry expression in her eyes. “I know what you make. You don’t have that much money.”
“I mean it. If I bomb, I eat the expense – the hotel, the appraisal, everything. If I score – metaphorically speaking,” he grinned “then the paper reimburses me for my expenses.”
“That girl must be pin-up material,” Delores observed, in an amused tone.
Brad flushed red, but rallied: “She’s a gorgeous green-eyed redhead. She’s photogenic as he– she’s photogenic,” he said quickly.
He leaned in close and hissed, “Picture the page views for Amish Barbie Gets Rich! I’m telling you, it will play like a Stradivarius, and all I have to do is get the confirmation that the letter is genuine. What do you have to lose?”
Dolores twirled a pencil between bright orange nails. “Okay, Romeo. Three days. Not that I believe it for a minute, but if you’re willing to foot the bill – okay. Go. Knock yourself out.”
Brad cracked a wide grin. “You love me, Delores—admit it!” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
She turned it toward him, but retorted, “I tolerate you. And guess what? I still expect you to finish your other assignments, while you’re gone.”
“I’m on it,” he called, but was already backing out of the office. He pointed a jubilant finger at the older woman. “You won’t be sorry, Delores!”
“I’m sorry already.”
Brad hurried off to his desk and rummaged around in the upper drawer. He grabbed a thumb drive, and a camera.
Another reporter watched him with a jaundiced eye. “So Delores finally gave in, eh?”
“She knows I’m right,” Brad told him.
“Fifty dollars says you’ll strike out. No Amish woman is going to agree to meet a strange English man—let alone a reporter!”
“You’re on. And you’re going to lose your money. You know why, my friend?”
The other man rested his chin on his hands. “Enlighten me.”
“Because I’m going to help that girl get rich,” he replied. He looked up and grinned. “And because women love me.”
The other man threw an eraser at his head. “Get out of here!”
