Alpine Glow

Chapter 1-2

She burst through the door of the Alpine paper at 10:38, front door bell jangled. She had missed the building once and had to park down the street a few blocks. She tried to regain her composure as she waited in the lobby for the receptionist to return.

The room was sparse, a metal desk, two plastic and chrome chairs against the opposite wall, a dying plant in the window. It smelled like dust and newsprint. No one came. She peered down the hall to the left, small offices also empty.

“Hello?” No answer. “Hello?” She said louder. No one.

She glanced at her watch, 10:45. No doubt the interviewer had long given up on her showing. Were those voices she heard? She followed the sound to the right. Voices and machinery. They obviously printed the paper here. There were double doors at the end of the hall with windows. She could see the work room and people moving intentionally around the machinery. Perhaps someone in there would know where she should go.

The noise was ten times louder when she stepped through the doors. The press shook the floor in waves. Huge rolls of paper were sifting through at amazing speeds. A Hispanic man in grey work clothes had his back to her.

“Excuse me,” she yelled, or thought she yelled. He didn’t respond. “Excuse me!!” She screamed and touched his shoulder. He jumped causing her to jump. “Sorry,” she mouthed, shrugging her shoulders.

He placed his hand over his heart and staggered back in a mock heart attack and grinned, revealing a set of the most stunning white teeth she had ever seen. He indicated the door and they both went back into the hall.

“You scared me lady! What can I do for you?” He pulled orange ear plugs from his head.

“Sorry, I'm late for an interview with a...” She glanced at the paper, “Mr. Preston. Do you know where I can find him?”

He checked the clock through the doors of the workroom, “He goes to the police station at 11:00, probably went to the bank or post office first.”

“Should I wait?” She asked looking around vaguely.

“If you want, but he usually doesn’t get back until after lunch. One-ish.” It was his turn to shrug. Again he grinned. This time the charm was gone.

“Maybe I’ll try to catch him at the police station. Which way would that be?”

“Two blocks down, on the right.”

He replaced the earplugs and entered the double doors, a burst of sound escaped as he disappeared.

“Great,” she paused outside for a moment. The car was to the left, the police station to the right. The air was no longer cool. In fact, the sun was sharp on her forehead. It beat down on the concrete walk, bouncing back up her leg. It was shady to the right.

“What the hell,” she said as she turned right.

The police station was better staffed. There were two women at the front desk wearing police uniforms, which were not doing either one of them any fashion favors.

“Women working in a man’s world that gives no concessions for the female frame,” Bev thought.

The younger woman was very pale, her dark hair cut in a bob that made her round face look rounder and her skin lighter. The older woman's hair was teased in a high pile and she wore what appeared to be theatrical make up and acrylic nails that clicked the keyboard on which she was intently typing.

“Excuse me,” Bev leaned casually on the raised counter hoping to find some camaraderie. The young woman stared, the older kept typing.

“What can we help you with, Hon?” Her nails continued...click, click, click.

“I'm trying to find Mr. Preston from the paper. One of the pressmen told me he might be here.”

“Are you a reporter?” Click, click, click.

“Oh, no. I mean, well, I would like to be. I was meeting him for a job interview.”

The clicking stopped and both women now stared seeming to size her up. Perhaps they recognized one of their own kind, a woman, trying to do a traditionally masculine job. The clicking continued. Perhaps not.

“Second door on the right, down that hall,” she indicated the direction with the nod of her beehive head. The young receptionist slowly followed her with a hauntingly empty gaze.

She could see that there were three men in the small office ahead of her. The officer behind the desk was leaning back on his chair, hands raised over his balding head, his belly pushing the limits of his uniform and nearly touching the edge of his desk. In one hand he held his hat and with the other he scratched what red hair he had left. His expression was concerned, maybe even baffled.

The other gentleman in sight sat on the opposite side of the desk with his back to the open door. He was obviously tall, gauging from his long neck and the way he had to fold his legs to cross them in front of the desk. He was a sharp contrast to the heavy officer with his thick long hair and hallow frame. The third man was another policeman, judging from the pant leg and the boot that was visible.

She could hear bits of the conversation before she reached the door.

“I don’t care, Mac! We can’t keep this from everybody. It's newsworthy! You know how hard it is to fill that paper. This is actually interesting and you're telling me to keep a lid on it.” The tall man un-tangled his legs and put both hands on the desk, they were long and lean too.

“I didn’t say you could never print it, Hal. I’m just asking you to keep it quiet until we're sure what we're dealing with. I don’t want a panic on my hands.” For as soft as the officer looked he had a steely voice that demanded obedience. The tall man relaxed and sat back.

“For now,” Hal Preston conceded. Bev cleared her throat and knocked on the door frame.

“Excuse me,” she said for what seemed like the eightieth time that day. All eyes turned, chairs straightened.

“Yes, Ma'am. What can I do for you?” Officer “Mac” asked.

“I am looking for Mr. Preston. I'm Beverly Connors. I have, I mean, had an interview with him earlier.”

Hal Preston clamored, stood to his full height and extended his hand. She was right, he was at least 6’4”.

“I’m Hal Preston. I'm glad you caught up with me Miss Connors. This is Officer Matt McNeely, we call him Mac. The big man rose half way and shook her hand as well.

“Nice to meet you,” Mac’s handshake was sure and confident.

“Still formidable," she thought.

“I read your resume this morning. Impressive. Are you sure we can entertain you enough with our humble mountain paper? Miss Connors has a Masters in Journalism from DU,” Hal offered.

She glanced around the room. Slightly unnerved by the group interview.

“I'm looking for something part time right now, nothing grandiose,” she regretted using the word, it sounded showy. She began to sweat, “Something not so fast paced.” She tried to recover, “I came out here to, oh I don’t know, to...”

“Slow down?” It was the first time she had really looked at the officer in the corner. He stood and reached out his hand.

“Officer Sam Gant. Miss Connors.”

She hadn’t recognized him without his hat and glasses. He grinned warmly this time, that same playful look in his grey eyes.

“Mrs. Connors,” she corrected, completely befuddled. “I give up,” she thought and took his hand.

“When can you start, Mrs. Connors?” Hal interjected.

“Tomorrow?” Bev was momentarily confused. Had she just gotten the job?

“Great, I will fill you in tomorrow morning at the paper, say at nine? I'm glad you and Gant have met. You'll be working very closely with him on the police reports.” Hal made his way past her through the door.

“Oh.” She glanced at Officer Gant, he was still grinning. “Nine?” She verified.

“Yes, nine. Try not to be late Mrs. Connors. Papers are dated material. Important to be on time,” and Hal was gone in three long steps.

“Look forward to working with you Mrs. Connors.” Officer Gant emphasized “Mrs.” as he donned his official disguise and also slipped past her. She was left standing in the doorway.

“I got the job,” she said to no one in particular.

“Looks like it,” Mac had an “is there anything else” look on his face.

“Thanks,” Bev said weakly and bowed out of his office and out of the police station into the noonday heat.