Allie folded her arms. “You know, we’re getting into a rut lere.”

“I know.” Charlie leaned over her. She slid down into the bed away from him, and he followed her down, pinning her to her pillow. “A little take-out Chinese, a little interesting conversation, a little great sex.” He slipped her nightgown off ler shoulder and kissed her neck. “My kind of rut.”

She savored his arm around her and his lips on her shoulder, but she kept her voice cool. “I have to get up and brush my teeth now. And then I think we should just sleep for once. We need some variety. This is getting boring.”

“Variety.” He moved his hand up her side, and she shivered. “Variety,” he went on. “Fine. Tomorrow, I’ll bring in a goat. But for tonight, I think we…”

Allie pulled away a little. “A goat?”

He blinked at her, surprised. “You’ve never done the goat trick?”

“The goat trick?” Allie blinked back at him. “Of course. I’ve done the goat trick. Thousands of times.”

Charlie sat up. “What? I didn’t think you were the kind of woman who’d do the goat trick thousands of times. I’m shocked.”

“You’ll get over it,” Allie said.

“I’m over it now.” Charlie moved back on top of her and kissed her, deep and long.

“Grocery stores are a dumb topic,” Allie said when she came up for air.

“Quiet, woman,” Charlie said and kissed her speechless.


* * *

Charlie’s next evening began well. As far as he could tell in his poking around the station during the day, there was absolutely nothing illegal going on. The closest thing he had to a clue was that the college kids collected “Turn Us On” stickers. As a lead to an in-station drug ring, it was pretty flimsy, about as likely as a lead to an in-station prostitution ring. Still, he’d checked out the bandstand Joe had talked about before and all he’d found were mosquitoes and mud. No drugs.

He was beginning to suspect that the letter had been a hoax. He was also beginning to suspect that Bill thought it was a hoax, too. At least, he didn’t seem to be particularly interested in how things were going. Beattie caught Charlie in the hall and grilled him on his living arrangements, his eating habits and his plans for his show, but Bill didn’t even ask him what he was doing about the letter.

It was all highly suspicious, and Charlie intended to pursue it, but first he had to get his radio act together so he didn’t make a fool of himself on the air. He shouldn’t have cared about that, but he did. He also found himself caring about the people at the station, with the exception of Mark, and feeling relieved as he became surer that he wasn’t going to have to bust anybody there. Joe combined the virtues of real friendship and great cooking, Karen was cheerful and extremely grateful, Grady was quiet and kind, Beattie looked at him with approval since she liked the city building and was now doing daily editorials on saving it, and even Bill seemed to be warming to him. At least he hadn’t called Charlie a moron again, even after the front-page story on the city building showed up in the Tuttle Tribune. Charlie particularly liked Harry, who, when not howling, was intelligent and, on this particular Thursday night, in a great mood.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Harry told him as soon as Charlie was in the booth. “Some woman called in and said she was having an argument with her boyfriend over leaving the car parked in neutral or in first, and asked my opinion.”

“That’s great,” Charlie said, confused.

“No, it was.” Harry’s face was lit with excitement. “I explained it to her, and then about five minutes later some guy called in to talk about it, and then a little later some other woman called in with a carburetor problem, and then a couple of other people, and it was great.” He leaned back in his chair, suffused with happiness. “I can’t believe it. People called my show.”

“Hey, if I had a car problem, I’d call you,” Charlie offered. “You know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, but now Tuttle knows. This has been great.” Harry got up and clapped Charlie on the back. “Really glad you’re here, man.”

“Oh.” Charlie blinked. “Well, I am, too.”

“Five people,” Harry stood up and stretched. “Great show.”

Charlie sat down in the vacated seat. The memory of the bumper stickers came back. Dumb idea, but… “Harry?”

Harry turned in the doorway.

“If you were going to buy drugs in Tuttle, where would you go?”

Harry’s face sobered instantly. “I don’t know. I hear the handstand’s the place to score.”

Charlie nodded. “I’d heard that, too, but it’s deserted most of the time.”

“Drugs’ll kill you in radio.” Harry said. “Bad for your voice. Hard to concentrate.”

“Right.” Charlie gave up and turned to the console.

“Charlie.”

He looked back over his shoulder at Harry.

“Don’t ask anybody else about the drug thing,” Harry told him seriously. “This isn’t that kind of place. People wouldn’t understand.”

Charlie nodded. “Right. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry hesitated and then left the booth.

Great. Now Harry thought he was a druggie. The things he did for his father and his father’s friends. Oh, well. At least he had the show. It was a weird thought, but after only two nights, he was beginning to look forward to the show. It was fun, but it was more than that. It made him feel good. He didn’t want to think about it too much because then he’d start cooperating with Allie, and he’d end up a star, after all.

That would be bad.

Of course, tonight’s show about old grocery stores should pretty much kill that possibility.

Charlie put on the headphones, made sure “River of Dreams” was in one of the CD slots for Sam’s dinner later, and watched the digital readout so he could slide in when the news was over.

Tonight was going to be one dull night on radio.


* * *

Four and a half hours later, Allie sat propped up against her headboard and watched as Charlie sat down on the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands. He really was upset, and she really did sympathize, but she really was ecstatic. Two scandals in three days. His ratings were going to go through the roof.

“Price-fixing,” Charlie said, his voice muffled by his hands.

“I didn’t know,” Allie said. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

6

“Price-fixing drove the mom and pops out of business.” Charlie repeated, and Allie tried to distract him.

“Maybe if we had some food-”

“It’s illegal.” He fell back onto the bed so that his head landed in her lap.

Allie loved the weight of his head on her thighs, so she began to stroke his hair so he’d stay there. What a wonderful night it had turned out to be. The callers alone had been spectacular.

Charlie kept his eyes closed, obsessing over the show. “That one old guy said they didn’t do anything about it five years ago because they couldn’t get enough evidence. Did you hear him say that?”

“Yes, Charlie.” Allie said. “I can’t believe all those people called in. Who would have thought so many of those little-grocery owners would have been listening at midnight like that?”

“Who would have thought?” Charlie turned his head to glare up at her. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

“Well…”

Charlie sat up. “Did you call them?”

“No!” Allie tried to look outraged, but it was hard since she was at least partially guilty. “I didn’t know them. How would I have known them?”

“What did you do?” His tone brooked no babbling.

“What makes you think-”

“Because you play those phones the way Glenn Gould played the piano.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You called Harry’s show and asked about carburetors and gears today, didn’t you?”

Allie glared at him. “Don’t you dare tell him that. I only called twice, all the others did it on their own.”

Charlie glared back. “Well, that was swell of you. Now, what did you do to me tonight?”

She took a deep breath, and he said, “Allie? The truth.”

Allie winced and surrendered. “Well, I did mention to the first guy who called in that if there were others like him, it would be a lot more effective if they called in, too.”

“Terrific.” Charlie collapsed back into her lap again. “Why don’t you just shoot me? I have to play ‘River of Dreams’ every hour because of you and now this.”

“You don’t want Samson to die, do you?”

“Sam now eats like you do. I don’t think death is an option anymore unless he ODs on formula.”

Allie was already pursuing another train of thought. “You know, that lawyer who called in about racketeering charges was something.”

Charlie moaned, his face hopeless.

Allie took pity on him. It was cruel to be happy when he was in hell. “Well, people called in about other things, too, remember. There was that guy who wanted to know what poem of Tennyson’s you quoted. And the lady who called in when you made fun of the way I eat and said all women should look like the ones in Rubens’ paintings.” Then she gave up and grinned in triumph. “And Johnson from the Tribune. I can’t believe the paper is sending out an investigative reporter. Isn’t it amazing how many people are listening to your show? It just shows how popular you are.”

“I don’t want to be popular,” Charlie said through his teeth.

Allie shifted on the bed as she prepared to move in for the kill. He was becoming a household word against his will; if she could talk him into helping her, she could take him national. “You know, Charlie. This may just be God’s way of telling you that you’re destined for success. I mean, there are DJ’s who would kill their mothers to get this kind of publicity, and you’re just doing it by luck. After this, your ratings are going to go through the roof.” He groaned and she stroked his hair again. “Just lie back and enjoy it, love. This is a free ride.”