On Monday morning, Camille walked into the Willow Grove Gazette office with a twinge of fear and a great deal of anticipation.
The young man setting type looked up from his work and froze in place.
“Good morning.” Camille gave him a pleasant but not dazzling smile. She glanced around the room, spotting an open door leading into another office. “I would like to speak to Mr. Hill, please.”
The typesetter hopped up from his chair, bumping a tray of lead type in the process. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get him.” He hurried across the room and knocked on the door sill. “There’s a lady here to see you, sir.”
A tall, thin man quickly appeared in the doorway. Camille estimated his age to be late fifties or early sixties. He smiled cordially as he approached. “I’m Ralph Hill. How can I help you?”
“I’m Camille Dupree.” Judging from the glint of recognition in his eyes, he had heard about her. “I understand you’re looking for a business partner.”
“I am.” Curiosity shaded his voice.
“I’m looking for a business.”
He broke into a broad grin. “Well, Miss Dupree, I think we have some talking to do. Come into my office.”
Hill motioned for her to precede him into the other room. He left the door partially open, waiting until she had taken a chair in front of his desk before he sat down behind it. “Do you know anything about running a newspaper?”
“No. But I owned a store in San Antonio.” She didn’t like shading the truth, but she was certain that if she told him she’d owned a saloon, he would show her the door. “I am experienced at bookkeeping, handling employees and generally running a business. I’m sure you could teach me what else I need to know. I’m impressed with the quality of your paper. There seem to be plenty of things to write about in Willow Grove, but you have good coverage of news from other parts of the country, even the world. That’s important.”
“I agree, though sometimes I just use that to fill up the paper when there isn’t enough going on around here.” He grimaced. “Or when there isn’t much advertising. Did Ty suggest you see me?”
“Yes, he did.”
“I thought he might have had something to do with it. Mrs. Nickson dropped off a little article about the box supper for this week’s issue. It doesn’t mention you or the mayor’s high bid, but she took great delight in telling me the story.”
“I’m surprised you hadn’t already heard about it,” Camille said dryly.
“Actually, I had. But as a newspaperman, it always pays to listen to someone else’s version.” Chuckling, he swiveled around in his chair and took a ledger from a shelf behind him. Laying it on the desk, he shoved it across to Camille. “As you can see, I’m still in the black, but barely. If I hadn’t done some extra printing—flyers and such—I would have closed shop a month ago. Several accounts are long past due, but my old ticker can’t handle the hassle of trying to collect the money.” He sighed heavily. “Actually, I haven’t had the energy to go around and solicit business. There are regular paying customers like Ty, but we have new businesses starting up almost every week. I just haven’t felt well enough to go talk to them about advertising.”
Camille opened the ledger and scanned the figures with a frown. “Some of these people owe you for months of advertising.”
“Which is why I no longer do business with them.”
“Are they so certain of their customers that they don’t need to seek more?”
“Some are. There’s only one ice house in town. Same for the photographer. There are three boardinghouses, but they’re full up. If someone vacates a room, word spreads so fast that half a dozen people will be lined up at the door before it shuts behind him. For now, the carpenters have more business than they can handle. I don’t think it’s even worth talking to any of those folks. But the others all have competition.”
“How long ago did you quit taking their ads?”
“Two months for some. Three for the rest.”
Camille tapped her fingertips on the page. “By now they may have noticed a drop in customers.” Studying the names of the businesses, a plan began to form, along with the excitement of a new challenge. “Shall we see how persuasive I am, Mr. Hill?”
“Be my guest, Miss Dupree.”
“I’d like to establish our business arrangement before I go talk to them, so I can officially represent the paper.” She studied the ledger again. “I’m willing to invest enough today to cover all expenses for the next three months, including a salary for you. Then we can see how things are going at that point.”
He considered her offer for a few minutes. When excitement lit his eyes, she knew her money, and perhaps her enthusiasm, compensated for any lack of qualifications.
“Sounds fair to me. If you can round up more business, you won’t have to put in any more money and will start getting a return on your investment. How do you see splitting up the ownership?”
“Seventy-thirty for now. This is your paper. I’m just a beginner. We can renegotiate in three months.” If I’m still here.
“You have an itch to do some writing?”
“I’d like give it a try later. I’ll trust you not to let me embarrass myself by publishing something awful.”
“I’ll make certain you don’t.” He stood and leaned across the desk, holding out his hand. “Welcome to the Willow Grove Gazette, Miss Dupree.”
She stood also and shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hill. What bank do you use?”
“First National.”
“Good. I opened an account there this morning. I’ll have them transfer the money into the Gazette account right away.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Now, I need to make a list of who owes you and how much. Anything you can tell me about them would be helpful, too.”
He stepped aside. “Take my chair. Here’s a notepad and pencil. Would you like some coffee?”
“No thanks.” Camille moved around the desk as Mr. Hill walked over to a corner cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee. After she sat down, he took the chair across from her. “I assume that these other businesses are all doing well enough to pay their bills?”
“Should be. Town’s booming.”
They spent almost an hour compiling the list and discussing the various owners. By the time she was ready to leave, Camille had a good idea of who might pleasantly tell her to go away and who might be belligerent. “Now, I need a copy of the paper. I left mine in the hotel room.”
“Sure thing.” Mr. Hill rose and walked out into the front office. He returned a minute later with Friday’s paper. He handed it to her, watching as she read over the ads. “How do you intend to proceed?”
She smiled, folded the paper, and tucked one end of it into her deep, drawstring purse. She added the notepad and pencil to her bag. Taking out a small bottle of perfume, she dabbed a drop of the rose scent beneath each ear. “I’m going to size up the competition of our errant customers. Then I’ll try to convince the folks on this list how much better off they’d be to pay their bills so they can advertise.” She batted her eyelashes. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll try to charm them into doing it.”
Mr. Hill laughed as she stood. “Miss Dupree, I like your style. Don’t be surprised if you catch me eavesdropping.”
“Just stand clear if anybody starts throwing things.”
Camille stopped by the bank first and asked them to deposit the money into the newspaper’s account. She visited several of the stores which had ads in the paper and inspected the merchandise, particularly any sales items highlighted in the ads.
When she came out of Siler’s Grocery, she spotted Ty standing in the doorway of his store. He crossed the street and walked down the boardwalk to meet her.
“You’re a busy lady this morning. I can understand your interest in the grocer’s and apothecary’s, but why the hardware store?” They walked down the sidewalk together.
“Have you been following me?”
“Nope. Just standing in my doorway, watching the goings-on in town. I can’t help it if you’re the prettiest thing around to look at.”
“My, my, flattery so early in the morning.”
“It’s easy.” His voice dropped a little lower. “Especially when I’ve been thinking about you most of the time since Saturday night.”
She’d been thinking about him, too. Far more than was wise. Camille glanced up at his face. If he just wasn’t so handsome, so nice to be around.
“Did you go see Hill?”
“I did. I am now part owner of the newspaper.”
“Congratulations. I figured he’d jump at having you for a partner. Have you been calling on customers?”
“In a way. I’m about to call on the people who owe us money. So I thought it would be wise to check their competitors’ stores, see if there is a way to compare the businesses.”
“Good idea. Sounds like you may have a knack for this business.”
Camille laughed, stopping in front of the Willow Grove City Bank. “We’ll see how successful I am.”
“You’ll have them eating out of your hand. Come see me later and tell me all about it.”
“I will. You’ll be at the store?”
“Should be. I haven’t done a lick of work all day.” He leaned a tiny bit closer and took a deep breath. “Mercy, woman, you smell good.”
“Part of the strategy. Befuddle their brains with perfume and a smile and before they know it, they’ve paid their bills.”
“They won’t know what hit ’em.” He smiled briefly, but it quickly faded. “Be careful.”
“Always.” Except around you, she thought. He had an uncanny way of slipping inside her defenses before she even realized it. “Go make some money.”
He chuckled. “You, too.”
She walked into the bank with a happy smile and asked to speak with the bank president.
A minute later, a heavyset man, strutting with self-importance, came out to meet her. “Good morning, Miss Dupree. I’m Edgar Montworth. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to you about your account at the newspaper.”
The man blinked, then hastily showed her into his office and offered her a seat. Taking his chair behind the desk after she sat down, he rested his clasped hands on his expansive stomach. “It isn’t time to renew my subscription.”
“I’m talking about the twelve dollars you owe for past advertising, Mr. Montworth. I am now Mr. Hill’s partner in the Gazette. My first task is to collect past due accounts so that we will be able to keep the paper solvent.” She flashed him a smile. “I’m sure you understand solvency better than anyone else in town. That’s why I feel certain that this is simply something that has been overlooked accidentally.”
“I…uh…perhaps that is the case.”
“Being new to Willow Grove, I can tell you that advertising in the local newspaper is very important. Why just this morning I opened an account at First National. Their ad is what brought them to my attention. Now, if Willow Grove City Bank had also advertised, I would have considered your bank, too.” At least until she talked to Nate and he recommended First National, saying he didn’t trust Montworth as far as he could throw him.
“Well, that is something to consider. The town is growing.”
“By supporting your local paper, you’ll show all the residents, both new and old, how civic-minded you are. Seems to me that’s a small price to pay for the goodwill of the community.”
“You are as persuasive as you are beautiful, Miss Dupree.”
“Thank you. Once your account is caught up, you will be billed on the fifteenth of the month. If your payment isn’t made by the thirtieth of that month, we will not accept your business until the bill is paid in full. After that, advance payment will be required.”
“You’re also a tough businesswoman,” said the banker, his good humor fading.
“No more than a man would be if he wanted to succeed.” She stood. “Mr. Hill publishes an excellent paper. I intend to see that it continues. If you’ll drop your payment off at the office by Wednesday, I’ll stop by on Thursday or Friday to discuss what you want in your ad for next week.”
He waved his hands in surrender. “A small price to pay for the goodwill of the community and the pleasure of your company for a few minutes.” Montworth came around the end of his desk as Camille turned to leave.
She wasn’t surprised to feel his hand rest against her back as they walked toward the doorway.
“Lovely perfume, my dear,” he murmured.
Camille made a mental note to go easy with the fragrance next time. “It’s called Summer Rose. I expect you could order a bottle for Mrs. Montworth at McKinnon’s or one of the other stores in town. It’s a bit pricy, but I doubt you spare expense when it comes to your dear wife.”
“Of course not.”
The pressure of his hand vanished.
“I look forward to seeing you later in the week, Mr. Montworth,” she lied through a fake smile. “Thank you for taking care of the misunderstanding.”
“Of course. That’s all it was. I’ll see that it’s rectified right away.”
Camille nodded her appreciation and escaped. At two of the grocery stores and the butcher shop, she used similar tactics—pointing out that their specials were only evident if someone walked by and saw the signs in the windows. She mentioned how new people in town were apt to turn to the paper for information rather than simply wander up and down the street comparing prices. It took a little talking, but they were finally convinced to pay their bills and run ads again the following week.
She took a slightly different route with the druggist, advising him to emphasize his twenty years of experience as an apothecary as well as playing up how he needed to attract those new to the area. It amazed her how they all seemed to discount that necessity. Willow Grove was not a large town, but there were many businesses vying for the same customers. The druggist eventually agreed to pay his bill and take out a small ad the following week.
The man who owned the hardware store was a cranky old grump. She soon discovered that he had a personal dislike for the newspaper editor. She suspected he might have taken out the ads with the intention of never paying for them. She didn’t waste more than a few minutes with him.
Mr. Hill had told her not to bother with the harness maker since he only owed for two weeks. Hill also said he was on the distasteful side. Camille had dealt with distasteful men most of her life, so she disregarded the editor’s advice—and quickly regretted it.
Sam Cline glared at Camille when she explained her reason for being there, then his lip turned up in a sneer. “You just trot your fancy backside right out that door and don’t bother to come back. I ain’t goin’ to pay you or old man Hill nuthin’.”
Camille narrowed her gaze, her temper rising. “I assume that you expect your customers to pay for the goods you provide them?”
“Dang right, I do. Cash money when they pick up their order.”
“But you don’t have the courtesy to do the same. Not even to pay something that is two weeks past due.”
“Those ads didn’t do one bit of good. Didn’t bring in no customers.”
Camille checked some reins draped over a hook, noting the prices. “I expect people compared your prices to the ones down the street.” She pulled the newspaper out of her bag and laid it down on the counter, turning it around so he could read it. “You’re charging twice as much as your competition.”
“Those are on sale. And they ain’t as good as mine.”
“Are yours so much better that you expect someone to pay double the price? Perhaps you not only need to consider how you pay your bills, you need to take a fresh look at how you price your merchandise.”
“Who are you to question how I run my business? You ain’t got no call to be paradin’ around town trying to do a man’s job. You go back to your kitchen where you belong and stay there. That’s the only place for a woman.” He leered at her. “Or maybe down in the district at Calico Sue’s.”
“You’re disgusting.” Camille grabbed the newspaper and stuffed it into her bag. Turning on her heel, she started for the open door.
“A gal like you would earn a pretty penny down there.”
She stopped, looking back at him. As her icy gaze skimmed over his greasy hair and dirty clothes, she curled her fingers around the Derringer in her skirt pocket.
He spat tobacco juice in the general direction of a spittoon on the floor near the wall.
“Do you consider yourself an expert on the ladies in the district?”
He took a deep breath, his chest puffing out. “Reckon you could say that.”
“Then it should be quite obvious that you wouldn’t be able to afford thirty seconds of my time.” She headed for the doorway.
“Why you—”
Cline’s footsteps thudded on the floor behind her. Camille quickened her pace.
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
Jerking open the door and stepping onto the boardwalk, she practically ran into Sheriff Starr.
He looked behind her. “Is there a problem, Miss Dupree?”
She released the gun and withdrew her hand from her pocket. “Not now.”
“Arrest her, Sheriff. She was trying to rob me.”
Starr glanced at Cline, then focused on Camille, his expression vaguely amused. “Seems to me you could pick a better place to rob, ma’am.”
“I only came by to collect the two dollars he owes the Gazette.” Moving beside the sheriff, she looked at Cline with contempt. “But he had other things in mind.”
“Knowing his propensity for trouble with the ladies, I expect he did.”
Cline frowned. “What’s propensity mean?”
“Ability.”
For a second Cline looked pleased, then he realized what the sheriff meant. “Ain’t done nuthin’ lately,” he muttered.
“Shall I throw him in the calaboose, Miss Dupree?”
“I don’t think you can arrest people for being insulting. But I would like the two dollars he owes the newspaper.”
“Hand it over, Cline.” When the harness maker hesitated, Starr shook his head. “Stubborn as a mule. Either pay the lady what you owe her or go to jail for attempted assault.”
“I didn’t do nothing to her,” Cline shouted.
“But you were about to.” Starr had clearly run out of patience.
Grumbling, Cline went behind his counter and took the two dollars out of the cash box. He came back to the sidewalk and handed it to Camille with a scowl.
She took the money and dropped it into her bag. Murmuring her thanks to the sheriff, she walked away.
“She insulted me.”
“Quit whining and go back to work.” The sheriff caught up with Camille. “I think you hurt his feelings.”
“That oaf doesn’t have any feelings. Besides, he insulted me first.” She glanced at Starr, smiling wryly at his uplifted brow. “I know it sounds childish.”
“Yep. But that’s the way most fights start. Do you have a pocket pistol?”
“Yes, a Derringer. I suppose now you’ll want it.”
“We allow women to carry a gun for protection. Though most of them don’t use it,” he added with a stern note in his voice.
“I wouldn’t have unless he tried to grab me.”
A frown darkened Starr’s brow. “You aren’t the delicate Southern belle you seem to be, are you, Miss Dupree?”
“Few women of the South are delicate, sir. Hardship forges a strong heart and a backbone of steel. I’ve been on my own for a long time. I can take care of myself.”
The sheriff scratched his temple with one finger, his expression rueful. “Well, ma’am, I don’t rightly think that’s the way things are going to be. Looking after folks in general is my job. And judging from the way Ty has been acting since you came to town, he’s decided that lookin’ after you is his.”