Chain of Souls (Salem VI) Read Online Free PDF

us don't want to sign. Our wives work, our kids are out of college, and we've all got a few bucks put away. Some of the others can't afford to turn down the money, and we old guys are stubborn and stupid," piped Jack Daniels. "We think in general you're a lousy editor who can barely put enough words together to order lunch. You're also a horrible person to work for, but we figure the evil we know is better than the evil we don't. If you'll do it with us, we want to buy the building and the printing presses and put out our own paper."
    John looked at the small group. Behind Daniels's joking demeanor, which was the only way the man ever expressed anything, he knew the old reporter was dead serious, and that meant the others were, as well. "I have to tell you I'm pretty sure the building and presses won't be for sale," John said. "I don't think Mrs. Lodge wants us putting out a paper. I think that's the whole point."
    "What's the old bag got to hide?"
    John ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. He glanced at Amy out of the corner of his eye, and he saw her give him a nod. "Um, it's possible that what she has to hide is so strange that reporting on it will make this paper sound like the
National Enquirer."
    Jack Daniels nodded. "I've felt for a long time we've been overly constrained to writing about the news people actually know about. We've never been able to write about two-headed babies or haunted buildings or UFOs or Elvis sightings. Think how many more papers we would have sold."
    "Think what you would have been like before you rotted your brains with booze," Hagstrom said.
    Jack Daniels gave him a wicked smile. "Not nearly as charming." He grew serious and turned to John. "We've all heard a few rumors about Jessica, so we know whatever the truth is it might be pretty weird. I don't think any of us are afraid to report on anything that happens in this town. Everybody else agree?"
    The other all nodded their assent.
    "You're saying you don't care about money and you don't care if you sound like a bunch of crackpots," John asked. "I've always sounded like a crackpot," Jack said, "so I'm in."
    "We're all in," Tim Monahan said. He was a tall, cadaverous reporter who had been at the paper for ten years, and before then had spent thirty years in a storied career at
The Boston Globe.
"There are nine of us all together. Me and Jack can do the reporting on the days Jack's sober. The other days I'll do it alone."
    "That'll be Monday and Thursday I'll be helping out," Jack said. "That is if I have to be sober."
    "Jackie can do the ad sales," Monahan went on, nodding toward Jackie McKinny, another old-timer and the best of the three-person ad sales staff. "Bert will keep everything running just the way he always has and Lucinda will keep us all straight." He went through a couple other key positions, and John realized that, along with Amy and himself, they had all the major holes filled.
    "So are you with us, you worthless sonofabitch?" Jack Daniels asked. He looked at Amy, "We, of course, would like you to join us, as well. But we also realize you're a bit younger than this group of fossils and you may need the money."
    Amy smiled and nodded. "I think I could be persuaded."
    Daniels's expression became serious. "It's a lot of security to give up."
    "It's Jessica's money. She's trying to buy our silence."
    "Then we're proud to have you," Daniels said. He looked at John again. "Well?"
    John wondered if her willingness reflected a rekindled sense of spirit or a hope that getting the two of them involved in a new daily paper would keep him close to home and not running off to track down Jessica Lodge. Either way, it didn't matter because he was in with both feet. He looked at the staffers standing in front of him and felt his eyes burn with tears of pride and gratitude. He blinked a few times to get things under control then nodded. "I'm in."
    "Well, don't get all emotional about it," Jack Daniels grumbled as he started walking