Deadline. Metsy Hingle

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      Chapter Five

      “I don’t like this any more than you do, pal,” Spencer told the twelve-pound black-and-white cat he’d named George that sat meowing beside him on the couch in his apartment in Jackson. “But if you want me to keep you in cat food, I’ve got to finish this column. So stop with all the racket so I can think.”

      Apparently insulted, George jumped off the couch and headed for the kitchen. Not that he blamed the cat, Spencer admitted. With the governor’s election less than a month away, he’d had his fill of campaign rhetoric, too. He’d also had a bellyful of Everett Caine. Damn, but he didn’t want to see that man get in the governor’s mansion. But Caine had covered his tracks well. Except for a few questionable appointments and the steering of some legal work to his cronies’ law firms, he hadn’t been able to find anything to derail Caine’s bid for the governorship, and to prove, once and for all, what a lying snake in the grass he was.

      When his cell phone rang, Spencer ignored it. Instead he went back to staring at the computer screen on his laptop. Deadlines were a bitch, he thought as he looked at the half-finished column. He needed to finish the damn thing and turn it in before Hank had another hissy fit. Not to mention that the other newspapers that carried his column would be none too happy with him if he didn’t deliver the goods for which they were paying him.

      Rubbing his face, he pretended not to notice that his face felt as if it belonged to a grizzly bear. He reread what he’d written.

      WHAT ARE FRIENDS WORTH?

      By Spencer Reed

      Associated Press

      Or perhaps the question gubernatorial candidate Everett Caine has been asking his friends and business associates is how much is friendship with the man who wants to be the state’s next governor worth to them? Quite a lot it seems if Saturday evening’s fund-raiser at the Ritz-Carlton in Oxford, Mississippi, is any indication. It was there that Lieutenant Governor Caine collected another $1,000,000 for his campaign war chest from two hundred of his closest friends at a $5,000-a-plate black-tie dinner. Let’s hope that for that price steak and lobster were on the menu. What shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone is to learn that three individuals, who each purchased tables of ten at the fund-raiser, have had their names mentioned as part of Caine’s management team if he should win the governor’s race next month.

      While Everett Caine and his supporters are quick to point out the candidate’s record of good government, and purport him to be the man to wipe out the good-old-boy network that has long been the bane of Southern politics, this reporter has to disagree. Based on his own track record as a district attorney and lieutenant governor, Everett Caine has surrounded himself with friends who have helped him get into office. Payback? It sure seems like it to me.

      Lieutenant Governor Caine claims to be the candidate who will keep his promises, a man who pays his debts. A $1,000,000 dinner is no small favor and we can only wonder how this debt will be paid, and how much it will cost the State of Mississippi and its citizens if Caine wins the governorship….

      Spencer sat back in his chair, considered what he’d written and wished he could make the people see Everett Caine for what he was—a lying, self-serving politician who used people and tossed them aside. People like Jenny.

      That familiar ache in his chest started again at the thought of sweet, innocent Jenny. Jenny Wyatt—the girl who had been his friend and practically a kid sister to him, but who had died before she’d even had a chance to live. Dead before her twenty-second birthday because she’d gotten mixed up with the likes of Everett Caine.

      His cell phone rang again and this time Spencer snatched it up instead of letting it go to voice mail. “Yeah,” he snapped.

      “Now, sugar, is that any way to answer the phone?”

      Spencer paused, glanced at the caller ID feature, noted the number was the Magnolia Guesthouse in Grady. He smiled. “Well, now, Mary Lee, if I’d known it was you calling, darling, I would have been a lot nicer.”

      “I bet,” she said with a sniff. “I haven’t seen you in ages, Spence.”

      Spencer didn’t have to see Mary Lee to know that the sexy little blonde was pouting. The woman was flat-out gorgeous and she was used to men tripping over themselves whenever she batted those baby-blue eyes of hers at them. He had neither the desire nor the inclination to be one of those men. “Darling, I’ve been working. I thought I told you that when we talked the other day.”

      “But I miss you,” Mary Lee cooed.

      Spencer laughed. “From what my momma tells me, Shane Russell’s been giving old Donny a real run for his money. You didn’t mention that when I called you.”

      “I didn’t see any reason to mention it,” she informed him. “Besides, I was happy to hear from you—even if you did only call me for a favor.”

      “Darling, you know I like hearing that sweet voice of yours.”

      “Then prove it and come pay me a visit.”

      Not about to go that route, he said, “And just when would you manage to see me if I did come down? From what my momma tells me, you’re being wined and dined by those two fine gentlemen seven nights a week.”

      “Your momma’s exaggerating,” she said.

      “You mean Shane hasn’t been sending you flowers from my momma’s shop every day for two weeks now?”

      “Well…”

      “My momma said she’s having to get roses from Jackson because she’s gone through all her local suppliers filling Shane’s orders to you.”

      Mary Lee giggled. “It is kinda sweet, isn’t it? Shane is such a nice boy.”

      Spencer winced. “Darling, no male over the age of twelve likes being referred to as a boy and sending a woman flowers every day isn’t sweet. It’s serious. The man’s obviously in love with you.”

      Mary Lee sighed. “I suppose he is.”

      “Let’s not forget poor old Donny either. From what I remember, that fella’s got it bad for you, too. Darling, you need to put those two men out of their misery and marry one of them.”

      “I just might do that,” she informed him. “That is unless a certain newspaperman gives me a reason not to.”

      “Mary Lee,” he began, a warning note in his voice because he didn’t like the direction of the conversation.

      “Come on, Spence, haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like if you and I got together?”

      “Sure I have, darling. I’m a man, aren’t I?” He laughed. “But you know as well as I do that it would never work. Aside from the fact that I’m too old for you—”

      “You’re only ten years older than me,” she protested.

      Ignoring her, he repeated, “Aside from the fact that I’m too old for you, the two of us as a couple would never work. We’re too much alike. We both like getting our own way too much. You’d want to be out СКАЧАТЬ