“I got here four days ago, starting working at the newspaper three days ago, and the most exciting thing that’s happened so far is a random cow wandering downtown,” Coral protested.
“That’s because you don’t know where to look. I figure we should go to the Henhouse, grab a cup of coffee, and I’ll catch you up on everything you need to know about Blue Moon Junction,” Blanche said.
“No, if anyone’s going to catch her up on what she needs to know, it’s me,” Maybelle said. “Just let me grab my purse.”
“Don’t listen to a word that old horse’s patoot tells you, especially about me,” Blanche said. “And she can’t come with us, because I’m not speaking to her right now.” You could have fooled me, Coral thought.
“Horse’s patoot! Why, you pug-faced-”
“Outside! Both of you!” Bettina bellowed, and Coral suddenly had a brilliant idea.
“Ladies,” she said. “You’re both coming with me.”
As the two women followed her out the door, Blanche turned to holler over her shoulder “I’ve been thrown out of classier joints than this one, believe me!”
“It’s true,” Maybelle grumbled as they walked to Coral’s car. “She always was a troublemaker.”
Chapter Two
Ten minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the sprawling rural homestead of the McCoy family. The McCoy’s had lived in Blue Moon Junction since forever, from what Coral had been told, and they owned a big property with half a dozen houses, and acres of blueberry bushes, raspberry bushes, and strawberry fields, as well an apiary with hundreds of beehives.
In addition to their farm stand, they had a little specialty store in town which sold home-made jams and jellies and honey.
Flint had swept into town a few weeks ago, announcing plans to expand the family business. He was building a new, modernized factory on their property, and also had a construction crew swarming all over the house his parents and brothers and sisters lived in, updating it and adding a new wing on to the century old farmhouse. For reasons Coral did not understand, he didn’t want to talk to anyone at The Tattler. What kind of businessman refused guaranteed good publicity?
There were houses scattered all over the property, with various McCoy aunts and uncles and cousins and their families living in them. Blanche and Maybelle were still arguing as she pulled off the main road, but Blanche stopped long enough to point out the house where Flint was staying, and where he’d set up his office.
Coral pulled up in front of the house and parked, a malicious smile twitching at her lips.
Flint’s home was a three story Queen Anne style house with gingerbreading everywhere. Pansies and violets were artistically arranged in fresh red mulch around the front of the house. There was a huge wraparound porch with a porch swing and a wicker table and chairs.
The three of them walked into the front room which Flint had converted into a reception area. A bench with cushions faced an antique walnut desk. His secretary, a severe looking woman with hair pulled back into a bun so tight her skin was stretched, glanced up in annoyance.
“I’m sorry, Miss Colby, but Mr. McCoy isn’t in,” she informed her.
“Yes he is,” Coral said, settling onto the wooden bench that faced the desk. “I saw his car parked off to the side.” He drove a big Lexus. Pretentious jerk, Coral thought.
“Well, this should be fun,” Blanche said to Maybelle. “Now I have something to tell the ladies about at the bingo game tonight.”
Blanche and Maybelle settled down on the bench on either side of Coral. The receptionist shot Coral a dagger-eyed glare.
Coral turned to Blanche and Maybelle. “By the way, I was just wondering…you both went to high school together…which one of you was more popular?”
The subsequent shouts and shrieks contained language which would have made a sailor blush. The receptionist looked appalled. The phone rang, and she cried out “Ladies, please!” They both ignored her. The receptionist looked at the ringing phone again, as the two women shouted obscenities at each other, but she didn’t pick it up.
“You were a shameless hussy in high school!” Maybelle shouted. “And nothing’s changed, you octogenarian skank!”
“Octogenarian? I am 75, and you know it, you senile old bitch!”
“You all have to leave! Mr. McCoy is going to be busy all day!” the receptionist shouted over the din.
Coral settled back in the bench, pulled a paperback Nora Roberts book out of her purse, and smiled. “I’ll wait,” she said.
It only took five minutes for the receptionist to crack. She pushed her chair back, glowering at the three of them, and vanished through a door in the back of the room.
She appeared a couple of minutes later with the man who’d been so successfully dodging Coral’s interview requests – Flint McCoy.
Blanche and Maybelle fell silent, and all three women stared at him as he loomed in the doorway.