Prudence had called a staff meeting to get filled in on what was happening in the field. There were fresh donuts so I didn't mind. Now that there was no hotel anniversary to cover, I needed a new angle. I'd decided to write about Donna's unfortunate death. She deserved at least something of an obituary, and from what I'd gathered, Minnie was not going to write one. At the very least, it would shine light on how important it was to follow safety protocols.
While we waited for Prue to start the meeting, Myrna and I were comparing the deliciousness of our donuts. She opted for one of the cake donuts, and I grabbed a maple bar, my usual.
"I'm not entirely sure you can even categorize the cake donuts as donuts," I said as I licked maple-y goodness off my fingertip. "They're more or less just a round cake with a hole."
"I beg to differ," Myrna said. "They are still deep-fried like that yeast donut you're eating. When was the last time you ate deep-fried cake?"
"Good point. And I've never eaten deep-fried cake, but I'm not opposed to trying it."
We were still laughing about our silly donut debate when Prudence stepped out of her office. Lauren walked into the newsroom at the same time. If it had been Parker walking in late, Prue would have given him a scolding, but she smiled at Lauren and pointed out the box of donuts. Parker was already at his desk working on his third donut.
Lauren was wearing a shimmery blue mini dress and white ankle boots. She looked like she was about to go dancing in a mod bar. She waved her hand at the grease-stained donut box. "Those donuts smell heavenly, but I must decline. I've been reading how bad deep-fried, sugary foods are for your health—not to mention your waistline." Of course, Lauren had one of those freakish Barbie doll waistlines. Frankly, tiny waists were overrated. Lauren also liked to tell us things we'd known for years as if we 'old people' lived in literal caves with only cave drawings to give us information. Still, I couldn't help but like her, even with her teeny tiny waist.
"How is the fashion show article going?" Prudence made a check on her clipboard as she asked it. Our meeting agendas were very brief, but Prudence always checked off each item as she went. I'd concluded that it made her feel important.
"The fashion show is so much fun," Lauren laughed. "I can't believe I'm making a living doing things that I love. That's the way everyone should live their lives, doing what they love. The world would be a much happier place."
Parker rarely spoke up at meetings, but occasionally, he had a wry boomer style comment. This morning he was on an extra sugar high from the donuts. "Then who would pick up the garbage?" he asked. He spoke so rarely all of our faces snapped his direction. "Lauren said everyone should spend their lives doing what they love. Who would love to pick up garbage?"
Lauren shifted a little uneasily on her chair. "Well, you never know. Maybe there are people who like to pick up garbage because it makes them feel good to help keep the world clean."
I admired her confidence, but I felt she would have been better off just letting this one go. I'd discovered months ago that wasn't in her nature.
Parker laughed and returned to his donuts. His engagement with the staff meeting was over.
"Now, Sunni," Prue said my name in an almost scolding tone. It put me on instant defense. "I've heard all about the terrible accident at the hotel. Naturally, my friend, Carlton, had to cancel the anniversary celebration. What have you been working on?" Her tone was accusatory as if I'd been doing nothing. (Technically, I hadn't done much toward my next article, but that wasn't my fault.)
"Well, Prudence," I said with slightly gritted teeth. Then I remembered Myrna's and my theory that Prudence enjoyed upsetting us by giving us boring assignments or unnecessary busy work so I forced a smile. Parker had been concentrating on his donut, but the new turn in conversation caused him to look up from his chocolate glazed. He always enjoyed a good biting interaction between Prudence and me. This morning he was going to be disappointed because I was ready for her. "I thought I'd cover the tragic accident. It will provide our readers with a little caution about safety hazards in the kitchen. I could go through a list of helpful safety tips." Helpful safety tips sounded like exactly the kind of thing Prue would be all over. I was wrong.
"No, no, no, that won't do. The last thing Carlton wants is bad press about all this. He's already distraught about what happened."
"I could write up a nice column about Donna Garten, an obituary of sorts. She was a talented chef, and she ran a sheep farm with her sister, Minnie."
"No, I don't think so," she said succinctly, making sure each syllable was heard. "Carlton has asked me personally to make sure nothing about the incident is printed in the paper. Besides that, deaths and tragedies just don't line up with my vision for the paper. Sure, people want to stay informed when there is some kind of danger or menace, but since this was an accidental death, we'll avoid writing about it. I'll come up with something else. I've heard they're planning a pumpkin carving contest at city hall. Maybe something along those lines."
If my professors could see me now, I thought as I pushed my smile up higher. It was taking a good amount of effort to keep it there, but I wasn't going to let Prue win the psychological warfare she enjoyed so much.
She'd taken the wind out of me, and I almost didn't have the energy to fight back. But I needed to stay close to the case. Apparently, I was the only person in Firefly still considering Donna's death suspicious. Of course, I had some privileged testimony from a secret witness, and it was important. Thomas had heard the ruckus in the kitchen before Donna was pushed into the freezer. As far as I was concerned that was all the proof I needed that Donna was murdered.
"What if I do a story on Minnie Garten? She's Donna's sister." Before Prue could protest, I hurried ahead with my idea. "I won't mention Donna at all. Minnie runs the sheep farm. She works the wool from start to finish, from the sheep to the pillow or scarf. She dyes the wool, spins it into yarn and then teaches classes for knitting. It's all very interesting and homey." I added in the last word knowing it was a particular favorite catchword for my Martha Stewart wannabe boss.
I sensed that Prue loathed the idea of giving in and letting me follow my own idea. At the same time an article on wool being made into pillows and scarves was right up her alley. "I suppose you can write that story. We'll save the pumpkin contest for the next edition."
"I'll do the pumpkin contest," Lauren piped up. She shot a wink my direction. Lauren knew I didn't like to write about things like pumpkin carving contests. She was doing me a favor. "I love pumpkin carving," she added.
Prudence wrote a few things down on her clipboard and drew another checkmark. "Fine, Sunni, you work on the sheep farm article, but no mention of her recently deceased sister, please. And, Lauren, you can cover pumpkins next week. If there's nothing else, then we're adjourned. Go out there and get those stories." Prudence picked up a jelly donut and returned to her office.
"Thanks, Lauren," I said.
"You bet. I knew pumpkins wouldn't be your thing. I'm sorry she won't let you write about the accident at the hotel. I think it would be important for people to read." She picked up her small, clear purse. "I'm off to the last day at the fashion show. Looking forward to it. See you all later." She strolled confidently out.
Myrna sighed. "If I'd had that kind of worldliness and confidence in my twenties, I could have ruled the world."
I nodded as we watched Lauren glide past the window. "You and me both, Myrna. You and me both."