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He shrugged. “It’s this place and these people. They’re like one big family.”
“No. They are one big family. But just like in every family, nothing is perfect. For the most part, the town pulls together in good times and bad.” She balled up the foil from her lunch and stuffed it in her coat pocket. “I take it life in New York is a lot different?”
“It definitely has some differences. Have you ever lived in a big city?”
She shook her head. “I moved away for college, but it wasn’t a large city. And then I returned to Bayberry to help my aunt with the business.”
He didn’t get to explain about his life in Manhattan, as more people were headed toward them with their arms full of donations. Not that he had much to say. He worked. Occasionally, he went out to dinner with friends or to sporting events. But most of the time, he worked. A lot.
As the crush of people dissipated, an older man in a dark gray wool cap ambled up to them with two nondescript cardboard boxes in his hands. “I’ve got some canned goods for you.”
Wes rushed to grab the boxes from the man.
“Well, thank you.” The man smiled. He looked familiar. It took Wes a moment to place him. And then he realized it was his former employer, whom Wes had worked for as a teenager. He didn’t say anything, though. Wes was certain he’d lived in this town for such a short time that no one would remember him.
Wes placed the heavy boxes in the bed of the truck with all the other donations Kate had collected. He had to admit this town went all out.
When Wes turned back to Kate, she said, “Mr. Plummer, I’d like you to meet Wes Adams. And Wes, this is David Plummer, our newspaper editor.”
The man stuck out his hand and as they shook, he said, “Wes, as in Wesley? Wesley Adams? Is that you?”
A broad smile lit up Wes’s face. “Yes, it is. I’m surprised you remember.”
“How could I forget you? You were one of my hardest-working paper boys.”
“But I wasn’t here long.”
“While you were here, you made quite an impression. It’s good to see you again. Have you moved back to Bayberry? Any chance you want to return to the newspaper so I can retire?” Mr. Plummer joked.
Wes shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m only here until Christmas. I’m consulting at the candle company.”
“Consulting, huh?” A gray brow arched and an inquisitive look gleamed in his eyes. “Any chance you want to give this reporter a lead?”
Wes laughed. He might’ve expected something like that in New York, but he’d never expected to be questioned by the press about his job here in Bayberry. “You aren’t serious, are you?”
Mr. Plummer pulled back his shoulders and lifted his brushy brows. “Sure I am. I’m a newspaper man and I smell a story. And you wouldn’t mind helping an old friend, would you?”
Kate stepped forward. “Mr. Plummer, I don’t think Wes has anything interesting to share with you.”
The man’s sharp gaze moved between the two of them. “Something’s going on here. I know it as sure as I’m standing here.” He eyed Kate. Then he turned and needled Wes with his inquisitive stare. “Which one of you is going to tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to go digging for the story? Because I’m not too old to do it. And the paper could use an eye-catching headline.”
Wes cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Plummer, but there is no story.”
The man sighed. “I’m not giving up. Probably why I’m still running a newspaper at my age, instead of sitting at home and putting my feet up.”
And with that he ambled off. Wes guessed the man wasn’t as old as he was letting on, but he did look concerned about something.
Wes waited until his former boss was out of earshot before he said, “Can you believe that?”
Kate nodded. “I can. Nothing gets this town stirred up more than some lively gossip. And I know Mr. Plummer is dying to be the first to the punch.” Then she turned her gaze to Wes. “But there isn’t a story, right?”
His eyes widened and then he lifted his hands. “I don’t have a story. I’m just doing my job.”
“A job you refuse to discuss with me.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to discuss it with you, it’s that I can’t. It’s not just you. I can’t discuss my job with anyone who isn’t my client. The stuff is confidential. It’s why businesses are willing to open up their books to me. They can trust me. Without that trust, I wouldn’t have any clients. Without clients, I wouldn’t have a job.”
Kate settled back on the tailgate. “When you explain it that way, it makes some sense.” Then she turned her face to him. “But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
