Shortly before seven-thirty, she uploaded her column to Trent Media. It would appear in all the on-line and print editions of their group of newspapers. By tomorrow letters to the Pet Tales e-mail address would come in. She loved reading the stories from her followers. Some were fun and made her laugh. Others drew tears, reading about precious pets that had crossed over the rainbow bridge.
She lifted her special mug that bore pictures of her babies, a birthday present from Madge, and sipped on her tea. Their break room in the restored Victorian home included a kitchenette. Coffee and cold drinks were available at all times, courtesy of the owner. He also supplied breakfast treats every morning from one of her favorite luncheonettes, the Book and Brew. The owner just happened to be Mason’s wife, Mollie.
A churning sound from her stomach was a reminder lunch was five hours ago and all she’d brought was a salad with grilled chicken. All her life she’d fought the never-ending battle to keep her weight down. So maybe she wasn’t a skinny-Minnie, but had nice curves. It was a good thing she liked fruits and vegetables.
It would be close to eight o’clock when she got home, too late to cook. Scannelli’s, a favorite of the locals, made the best pizza around and was five blocks from her house. She’d pick up a couple of slices and bring them home.
“Time to go home to my critters.” She opened her bottom drawer to take out her purse. The paisley print cloth bag was roomy and she reached inside to get her keys, but that was the other problem. Too much space, but she knew exactly what she carried around on a daily basis.
“The keys should’ve been on top,” she said and started taking everything out and setting it on the desk. Wallet, package of tissues, nasal spray, bottle of Advil, brush and a plastic bag of dog and cat treats.
Georgie held up a can of ladies mace and personal key chain alarm. “I’d be mugged before I could pull these out.”
Her fingers were searching the bottom of the bag when she found the large key ring among loose change, but her hand encountered a piece of paper that she’d never seen before.
“What the heck?” The piece of map measured approximately three by three in size. It wasn’t just the surprise of finding some strange object in her purse. Cold hard reality said someone had invaded her personal property. Who had the audacity to go into her purse?
Faces of the people she considered trusting friends exploded in her mind. Mason Trent, the owner and editor of the paper, maintained an open door policy so the office doors were rarely closed.
Eight to ten employees frequented the newspaper at various times during the day and night. Reporters occupied two other offices. Mason had his own, as well as Frederica, the office manager. Debbie, their receptionist, handled walk-ins and assisted people with personal ads. It was also her job to deliver the mail to each office.
Larry, the in-house computer tech, managed subscriptions and want ads. He’d be in and out to consult with Madge on graphics. Janet, their circulation manager, oversaw home delivery and carriers stopped in to see her. Bernie, the reporter who handled entertainment as well as the publicity for the Footlight Theater came in and out of their office on a daily basis.
That left her with the same disturbing question. Who’d been in her purse? Touched her personal possessions? Just as important, what was the significance of the map?
She studied it more closely. The Garden State Parkway was clearly marked and the exit for County Road 48 was a direct route to Beacon Pointe.
“Why would someone give me a section of a map telling me where I live? This is nuts,” she sighed in frustration. “Someone likes to play mind games and I’m not playing.”
She put everything back in her purse and decided to toss the piece of map into the circular file, but stopped when she read what was written on the back. “More to come.”
“Oh great, another teaser.” Female curiosity had her putting it in an envelope and filing it in the side drawer of her desk under Lost and Found.
Dean Hollis used the white towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead before taking a drink from his water bottle. These kids were getting better at playing racquetball and kept him hopping the past fifty minutes. He enjoyed volunteering at the community center. The vigorous activity helped keep him in shape in case he had to chase down lawbreakers.
His class of eight middle-school students had scheduling competition with play rehearsal, baseball and soccer games. Marion Cavanaugh and Chase Vance were two of his best students so he was able to spend quality time enjoying his favorite sport. The best friends were sitting together on the floor sharing a book and laughing.
“Lesson’s over for today.” Rather than have them get up, he lowered to their level and sat next to them. He picked up the soft sided book, totally unfamiliar with graphic novels. “The Pawsome 3 Meet the New Jersey Devil.”
“Those books are so good! They’re about a dog, cat and a talking bird,” Marion explained. “They’re best buds and go on crazy adventures in New Jersey. The parrot is a talking encyclopedia.”
“He talks to Alexa and gets fun facts.” Chase added.
“The bird asks questions of Alexa.” Dean flipped through a few pages and shook his head at the absurdity. H. Jorge. The guy used a unique way to get kids to read about their home state. He passed the book back to Marion.
“Let’s review a few of the rules. Marion, when you serve, your foot is not to be over the serve line. Touching allowed, but not over. Chase, I know you’re eager to hit the ball once it bounces off the front wall, but you have to wait until it crosses the encroachment line. The hash marks on the floor are there for a reason.”
“I know. It will be a point for my opponent if I step into the safety area, but Marion is taller than me.”
“But when you lobe the ball, you have a little more power, so you both have different advantages,” Dean pointed out to Chase.
“You’ve told us a million times safety comes first. Anytime you think you’re going to get hit with the ball, turn away and protect your face with the racquet.”
“Marion is correct and that means,” he prodded, staring at Chase.
“Make sure you’re out of center court when the ball is being served, keeping safe.”
Dean glanced toward the glass wall of the gym and noticed Chase’s father standing on the other side, grinning with obvious pride. Marion had already informed him Mr. Vance was doing car-pool duty.
He stood up and offered a hand to each kid. “Your ride is here. Put your equipment and water bottles in your backpacks,” he reminded them before they scrambled to the door.
“Dad! Did you see me? I lobbed the ball into the wall and it came back straight and didn’t go up to the ceiling.”
Excitement filled Chase’s voice. Dean was really proud of their achievement.
“I did and I’m very proud of you, Chase and Marion too!”
“I caught the tail end of your class. Dean, you’re a brave soul to enclose yourself in a cracker box size room with a bunch of kids swinging racquets,” Chase’s father said, passing the kids their nylon wind breakers.
“Thanks, Jackson. It’s a lot easier keeping kids contained in a 20 x 40 room than a soccer field. You handle many more as principal of the high school.”