Private Scandals

Marshall Pike, Roger Crowell.”
    “Yes, I recognized you.” Marshall offered a hand. “I watch you both often.”
    “I just caught part of your act myself.” Roger slipped his bag of candy into his pocket. His thoughts were still focused on the letter, and he promised himself he’d slip it back out of her trash at the first possible moment. “We need copy on the dog show, Dee.”
    “No problem.”
    “Nice to have met you, Dr. Pike.”
    “Same here.” Marshall turned back to Deanna when Roger walked away. “I wanted to thank you for keeping things sane this morning.”
    “It’s one of the things I do best.”
    “I’d have to agree. I’ve always thought you report the news with clearheaded compassion. It’s a remarkable combination.”
    “And a remarkable compliment. Thanks.”
    He took a survey of the newsroom. Two reporters were arguing bitterly over baseball, phones were shrilling, an intern wheeled a cart heaped with files through the narrow spaces between desks. “Interesting place.”
    “It is that. I’d be glad to give you a tour, but I do have copy to write for Midday. ”
    “Then I’ll take a rain check.” He looked back at her, that sweet, easy smile at the corners of his mouth. “Deanna, I was hoping, since we’ve been through the trenches together, so to speak, you’d be willing to have dinner with me.”
    “Dinner.” She studied him more carefully now, as a woman does when a man stops being simply a man and becomes a possible relationship. It would have been foolish to pretend he didn’t appeal to her. “Yes, I suppose I’d be willing to do that.”
    “Tonight? Say, seven-thirty?”
    She hesitated. She was rarely impulsive. He was a professional, she mused, well mannered, easy on the eyes. And more important, he had exhibited both intelligence and heart under pressure. “Sure.” She took a square of notepaper from a smoked-glass holder and wrote down her address.

Chapter Three
    “ C oming up on Midday, the story of a woman who opens her home and heart to Chicago’s underprivileged children. Also the latest sports report with Les Ryder, and the forecast for the weekend with Dan Block. Join us at noon.”
    The minute the red light blinked out, Deanna unhooked her mike and scrambled up from the news desk. She had copy to finish and a phone interview scheduled, and she needed to review her notes for the upcoming “Deanna’s Corner.” In the two weeks since she had pinch-hit for Lew, she’d put in more than a hundred hours on the job without breaking stride.
    She whipped through the studio doors and was halfway down the hall toward the newsroom when Angela stopped her.
    “Honey, you only have two speeds. Stop and go.”
    Deanna paused only because Angela blocked the way.
    “Right now it’s go. I’m swamped.”
    “I’ve never known you not to get everything done, and at exactly the proper time.” To keep her in place, Angela laid a hand on her arm. “And this will only take a minute.”
    Deanna struggled with impatience. “You can have two, if we talk on the move.”
    “Fine.” Angela turned and matched her stride to Deanna’s. “I’ve got a business lunch in an hour, so I’m a little strapped myself. I need a tiny favor.”
    “All right.” With her mind already on her work, Deanna swung into the newsroom and headed for her desk. Her papers were stacked according to priority: the precise notes to be transcribed and expanded into copy, the list of questions for the phoner and her cards for “Deanna’s Corner.” She turned on her machine and typed her password while she waited for Angela to explain.
    Angela took her time. She hadn’t been in the newsroom for months, she mused, possibly longer, since her offices and studio were in what CBC employees called “the Tower,” a slim white spear that shot up from the building. It was a not-so-subtle way to separate the national and non-news programs from the local ones.
    “I’m giving a little party tomorrow night. Finn Riley’s due back from London this evening, and I thought I’d give a little welcome-home thing for him.”
    “Mmm-hmm.” Deanna was already working on her lead.
    “He’s been gone so long this time, and after that nasty business in Panama before he went back to his London post, I thought he deserved some R and R.”
    Deanna wasn’t sure a small, bloody war should be called “that nasty business,” but she nodded.
    “Since it’s all so impulsive, I really need some help