Page 36 of Playing With Fire

“Clues. Wow.” The slow burn of anger from Friday night’s debacle flickered to life. Her voice was icy with disdain.

“I guess that’s why we needed to bring in a big shot from New York, so he could provide such penetrating insight. Can we expect a thrilling takedown in the main street? I do hope you’ll be wearing one of those big firemen’s hats for the photo.”

The Chief’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

His phone flashed with an incoming text. He grunted and stood up, brushing a hand across his immaculate hair.

“Any images will be coordinated through the media unit. And they won’t include temporary staff looking into trash cans. You can expect a photo of the Chief of the Temple Mountain Fire Department this afternoon.”

He threw her what was supposed to be a benign smile but looked to Jodi more like a snarl. “So, I gotta hurry you folks along. Got an important meeting coming up. Wheels of industry. My time isn’t my own.”

Jodi found herself expertly ejected from the room, followed by Ricky. The Chief exited and they were left standing alongside Ricky’s somewhat chaotic desk.

“Important meeting my foot,” muttered Ricky. “He’s having lunch with the mayor at the golf club.”

He straightened a pile of brochures about how to pick up dog poop.

“Here’s a real tip. Leroy is planning a tilt at the mayor’s job when the old boy retires at the end of the year.”

“Thanks, Deep Throat.” Jodi smirked. “So is every other town council wannabe in Temple Mountain.”

His eyes remained firmly fixed on hers. Jodi felt her unreliable heart speed up. She flicked away an imaginary spot on her blouse.

Cool, calm, and collected, she reminded herself. Don’t be fooled—again—by that earnest expression.

“Have you got time for lunch?” Ricky leaned against his desk, looking every inch the relaxed firefighter trying out for the next fundraising calendar. His eyes lingered briefly on the silk blouse and soft herringbone skirt. “By the way, you look...perfect.”

Jodi felt her cheeks go pink. She spent a few seconds trying to figure out if she should be flattered or offended, but his warm smile was too distracting.

“We need to discuss details for your big scoop,” he said gravely. “I expect you’ll want to trail me around the preschool taking photos of adorable children and grateful parents.”

Since that exact image had occurred to Jodi, she immediately dismissed it. And she had prior commitments. Cindy Flinders wasn’t getting any younger.

“I’d rather take Alma to judo lessons and watch while she learns to shout indecipherable threats and break innocent pieces of two ply into kindling,” she said tartly.

“Pity.” Ricky’s eyes were teasing. “So if I told you that my first presentation is to the parents’ group at the rectory, you wouldn’t be interested?”

She stiffened. On cue, her phone began to chime. She bit off a mild curse. A text appeared from Sally Lett promising a fabulous photo of the Chief with a fire extinguisher (oh the excitement!) by late afternoon. Hoping (aka expecting) for due prominence in the newspaper. Above the fold, naturally.

Jodi really, truly, needed to be on her way. But as Ricky had guessed, there was no way she was about to let him loose on the Beecham family without her. Not after Friday night.

“Can’t do lunch,” she said frostily. And then, against every professional and personal instinct, she made the universal hand sign for “call me”.

His laughter followed her all the way to the elevator.

***

In theory, the cyclical nature of a local newspaper allows the editor a brief restorative pause before plunging into the next issue.

And the latest Monitor was indeed a meaty issue, and one which had required all hands on deck to make deadline.

The Chief, of course, was on the front page, above the fold, but Cindy, looking full of pep, had the entirety of page three to herself, which (as anyone would agree) was pretty decent exposure. Her beaming children, grandchildren and great grandchildren also made an appearance in the remaining space left by the funeral home advertisements on the bottom third of the page.

Dougie Moon had followed up on the trash can arson story with a background piece on Temple Mountain buildings which had been lost to fire over the last century, complete with a few quotes from old-timers and a timeline composed of nifty graphics. An excellent two-page spread, thought Jodi, gazing at the pleasing mix of type, images, and white space.

Naturally, some sacrifices had had to be made to accommodate the late changes. The gardening column was missing a less-than-riveting photo of the regular columnist digging compost into his vegetable patch before bedding it down for winter, the recipe for windfall apple cake had been truncated (carefully), and the last two letters to arrive (both suspiciously alike in their complaints about the heinous no-smoking ban in aged care residences) were dropped.

But now that the newspaper was online (mostly) and in print, the relentless pressure to constantly update the news was never far from the Acting Editor’s mind. The breathing space between issues felt more like pausing between a set of lunges at the gym than the deep meditative breath that her yoga teacher encouraged.

---