The Bachelor's Bride

Chapter 20-Jack

I tapped my pencil on my desk, my cheek resting in my hand, which was sure to leave a red imprint on my skin later.  I had a good story. I had statements and eye witnesses that would make it solid, but Etta was right. Statements didn't mean anything. I needed some solid evidence.

And there was only one place I would find it.

I looked up and saw James making his way down the busy aisle, his shoes tapping to the rhythm of typewriters click-clacking away. 

"Hey, James?" I called him over.

"Yeah?" He hurriedly ate the last of the sandwich in his hand and brushed the crumbs from his fingers. "What do you need, Muller?"

I leaned back casually in my chair, mischief in my eyes, "So you know the factory fire story I'm working on?"

"Yeah." James replied, leaning against the edge of my desk, crossing his arms. He raised a heavy eyebrow. "I know that look you're giving me. It's the look my sons give me before asking if they can do something they know I'm going to disapprove of."

I shook my head, "I just need help with a little investigating is all."

"Leave it to the police, Jack." James waved me off.

He started to leave but I stood up and grabbed his arm, pulling his face close, "The police aren't doing anything! I have to do this myself."

"You don't need me to help you do your dirty work." James pulled away, brushing off his sleeve.

"I need a partner in this, James. Please." I asked again, practically begging. "It's one man's word against another's and I need backup if I'm going to write this story and bring Mr. Jeffers to trial in court."

James ran his fingers through his blonde locks and sighed, his long torso bending with defeat, "Fine, Muller. What do you need me to do?"

"Meet me at the factory tonight. Ten o'clock sharp."
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At nine-thirty that night I crept out of my room and slipped on my heavy trench coat and a pair of old shoes. I shoved my keys in my pocket, trying to disguise the rattling noise.

I held my breath as I inched my way towards the front door, my hand reaching for the silver knob that would allow me to escape quietly.

"Where are you going?"

I spun around and saw Etta, her blonde hair hanging around her shoulders and framing her face. She was dressed in her nightclothes, her white robe tucked around her snuggly, not failing to show off her curves. Her arms were tucked around her, crossed over her chest. I forced my eyes up to her face. The scowl crossing her face told me she disapproved of what I was doing.

"I'm going to meet James. He works for the newspaper." I explained. I wasn't lying about that, I just wouldn't tell her what my plans with him involved. Half truths weren't exactly the same as lying.

Right?

Etta raised a skeptical eyebrow, "At such an ungodly hour?"

I could tell she was hurt. Though her voice didn't show any trace of her suspicions, I could see it in her eyes. She thought I was going out to meet another woman. That thought struck me hard in realizing that Etta didn't fully trust me yet. I couldn't blame her. I wouldn't trust me either.