Page 1 of Sweet Dreams

Chapter One

Lulu

“Come on baby, don’t fail me now,” I crooned to the boat-sized sedan as I pumped my foot down on the gas pedal once, twice, a third time, begging my grandfather’s treasured car to make the final turn into the Salus Glen Post.

The old sedan groaned, and I echoed it, bouncing lightly in my seat, as I cranked the wheel towards the saved space right by the back door. Creaking and squealing, the sedan shuddered to a stop, the front bumper only inches from the ‘Head Editor’ sign that denoted who usually parked here. Of course, the sign’s paint was peeling now, my grandfather’s name nearly erased by time and southern humidity. But, as I sagged into my seat, I could still see the vague outline of his name.

Lennon Yale.

My lips curled. Grandpa Lennon had made the sign himself, intent on making Salus Glen Post just as prestigious as any of the big city papers that he’d worked for before he and Grandma Mattie had moved here decades earlier. My smile slipped a little. I really should take some time to update it for him. That would brighten his day.

Grandpa had been a brilliant investigative journalist and had spent the first years of his career chasing criminals and investigating the biggest, most exciting stories in cities all along the East coast.

Until, well… until something happened. And then, he brought my dad and grandma Mattie here to a little nothing sized town too far outside of New Orleans to be of consequence. He’d traded in his investigative nature for that of a family man who had settled down, raised a son, and then that son’s daughter.

I shoved the heavy car door open, using my foot when it hit the apex and immediately swung back again. Yanking first myself out of the low-set sedan, then my shoulder bag, I stood and stared around the little parking lot.

Completely empty except for the blasted sedan.

Which meant I was either very, very early, or very late.

Based on my personality, I would say that I was probably late. I tossed a curl out of my face, making sure that the heavy, short locks didn't block my view as I made my way up the steppingstones towards the Post’s front door.

A soft bell twinkled above my head, the sound resonating around the interior. It was as familiar to me as any other part of this town and invoked a memory of hiding out here after school, watching Grandpa work hard on the bi-weekly issue.

“Grandpa Len?” I raised my voice, shouldering my bag as I closed the door behind me. The reception desk was empty, but the laptop was lit up and live. Grandpa’s longtime assistant and best friend, Bruce Miroslav, was noticeably absent.

“Hello?” I called again, moving towards the back office. The hardwoods under my soles groaned softly.

“What do you want to do about it?” Bruce was saying, his raspy voice barely a whisper. “We have to decide how we want to handle this.”

“We will handle it like we have everything else. As it comes. We will manage.” My grandfather’s baritone echoed in the little room. I heard the screech of a chair and his throat being cleared. “But, right now, I have bigger and better things to do. Like welcoming my favorite granddaughter.”

Sensing my prompt, I popped into the familiar office, my eyes skating from where Bruce stood to the side, a tense smile on his face, to the hulking man who was approaching. Lennon Yale was still a mountain of a man, even with his silver hair and the heavy lines creasing his brow. “I am your only granddaughter,” I said into his tweed sport coat, my face crushed there as his arms banded around me.

I sighed, as much as I could with his grip on me. His hugs were in a class all their own. He gave me one last hard squeeze, then eased me back onto the simple black heels I’d tossed on this morning.

“Even so, I’m allowed to have favorites,” Grandpa Lennon said, leaning back to stare down at me, “You are awfully dressed up, sweetheart.”

I snorted, then put a hand on my hip, “I don’t know what you’ve been working on today, but I am still planning on interviewing for this job.”

Bushed grey brows rose high and Grandpa Lennon pushed his glasses up his nose. “Interviewing?”

I raised my chin, “Yes, Mr. Yale, interviewing.”

“You really don’t need to, Lulu.”

“I want to, Grandpa, really.”

Grandpa Lennon’s mouth dropped open, but this time, it was Bruce who spoke up on my behalf, stepping forward with an arm around my shoulders. “Oh, shut it, Len, let the girl interview if she wants to.”

I slung a hand around Bruce’s slim waist and then grinned at Grandpa Lennon. “She wants to.”

Hands thrown up, Grandpa Lennon marched back around his desk, covered with stacks of papers, three different colors of post-it notes and a laptop that appears to be softly playing music.

Pure chaos. I breathed in, letting the familiar sights and sounds soothe my weary soul. I may not have planned for this detour, but now that I was here, there was something wholly calming about being back.

“I’ll get us lunch,” Bruce said, stepping towards the door, “For after the interview. Then, we can catch up, Lulu girl.”