Better Late Than Dead: Episode 6

This is episode six of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. However, it can be purchased on Amazon in the Kindle or paperback versions.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. 

      

Episode 6

Rich stayed the night at a motel. He overslept and arrived at the newsroom at 8:30. He sat in his chair, and the phone rang immediately. He picked it up.

“Larsen.”

“Larsen, this is Briggs. My office now!” he snapped.

“Let’s make it in fifteen minutes,” Rich said casually. “I have a couple of ideas I want to put on paper before I forget them.”

“Now!”

“I’ve been doing now for two years.” Rich hung up.

Briggs bolted from his office with a paper in his hand, straight for Rich’s desk. Rich casually looked up and returned to typing. Briggs slammed the paper on Rich’s desk. Rich continued to type.

“What did I tell you to do yesterday?” Briggs bellowed.

The newsroom suddenly became quiet.

“You don’t remember?” Rich asked sarcastically.

“Don’t play stupid games with me,” Briggs said. “What assignment did I give you?”

“First of all, stupid games are probably the only ones you can understand, and secondly, you sent me to the sheriff’s office to interview him on the proposed upgrades to the county jail.”

“What did you write about?”

“Well, as I recall, I was able to cover all the renovations and what it would cost. And I think I did quite well in explaining why the renovations were needed. I highlighted that all surrounding counties had undergone renovations and that our county was falling behind. I think I did a really good job in highlighting how the sheriff’s department continues to serve the community with diligence and professionalism.”

“But then you go and write that the sheriff said, as far as he was concerned, Tillman Township can rot. And there’s nothing out there worth protecting. That is irresponsible reporting.”

“No,” Rich said, “that’s a quote, and he never said anything was off the record.”

“Of course, he didn’t say anything,” Briggs said. “He trusts us.”

“I think having the trust of our readers is significantly more important,” Rich said.

“This paper makes decisions for the community every day,” Briggs said. “We run this town.”

“Your hubris is barely palatable,” Rich said.

“Listen, Sheriff Morris is our man,” Briggs said. “We put him where he is, and we intend to keep him there. No two-bit beat reporter is going to go rogue on us. You get that.”

“It doesn’t sound like Morris is the newspaper’s man; what it really sounds like is that we are Morris’s newspaper.”

“Morris is on his way,” Briggs said. “I want you in my office when he gets here. And have the best apology you can muster. Get on your knees and grovel if you have to.”

“How did he find out about it?” Rich asked.

“It was leaked to the radio station,” Briggs said. “If they report it and we don’t, it will look like we’re holding out, not doing our job to inform the public.”

“Then we should run it,” Rich said, “because it’s the truth.”

“It’s already been stopped,” Briggs said. “It was a joke. And that’s what you’ll tell Morris when he gets here.”

“He won’t see it as a joke,” Rich said. “He said it. It’s a quote.”

“You be ready with that apology,” Briggs said.

“Not gonna do it,” Rich said.

“Clear out your desk,” Briggs said. “You’re fired.”

“I’ve given you a special gift,” Rich said. “Cherish it. You’ve wanted those words to pass through your lips ever since I arrived. How does it feel?”

Briggs smiled smugly. “It felt really good.”

“When you get back to your office, take a peek out your window and into the parking lot. Note my Jeep. It’s fully packed. I’m leaving. So, I quit.” Rich smiled. “What a wonderful conclusion. We both leave satisfied. But mine is just a little better than yours. Wouldn’t you agree? Because I orchestrated the whole thing.”

Briggs stared and quivered. Rich stood. He pulled a pen from his pocket. “This belongs to the newspaper.” He tossed it on the desk.

Briggs stood motionless. Rich walked around him. Rich smiled as he walked down the steps.

Sheriff Morris and two deputies met Rich just outside the door to the newspaper’s parking lot.

“Larsen,” Morris said, “go with my deputies.”

“Why?”

“They’ll explain.”

New Book: Better Late Than Dead Available On Amazon

 The latest serialized novel, Better Late Than Dead, is now available on Amazon in a Kindle edition or paperback. This is the eighth novel in the Rich Larsen adventure series.

This novel begins with Rich Larsen's life two years after returning home. He ran away from home 9 years earlier. Seven of those 9 years are in the previous 6 Rich Larsen adventure series.  

Starting this past August 15, two episodes of Better Late Than Dead are published each week. Thus taking 45 weeks to complete online. The book can be purchased now, rather than reading two episodes a week, which would take nearly a year to complete. 

Here are the titles and links to the previous Rich Larsen books;

The Desperate Summer of '62

The Id and The Odyssey

Sailing Beyond Beyond

Odyssey In Paradise

Ere The Ghan and After

African Escape

The Pilgrim's Return

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 5

This is episode five of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins.

Episode 5

Rich drove the Jeep into the driveway at home. He turned the engine off. It seemed strange to him that, two years after the death of his dog, Duke, he still expected Duke to run, bark, and wag his tail to happily greet him.

The odor of the evening meal greeted Rich at the back door: pot roast with potatoes and vegetables. He walked through the kitchen. He greeted his mom and went to the bathroom to wash for supper.

Dad sat at the head. Mom and Rich sat across from one another. They passed the food and began eating.

“How was your day, Mom?” Rich asked.

“So, so,” Mom said.

“How ‘bout you, Dad?”

“Same ole, same ole,” Dad said. “What about you?”

“Well, this may come as a surprise…”

Mom interrupted. “You’re moving out.”

“Yeah,” Rich said.

“Where ya movin’?” Dad asked, seeming more interested in making sure he had plenty of potatoes.

“I’m moving to…” Rich grinned, and his eyes moved back and forth from Mom to Dad. “Well?”

“I thought you might complete my sentence,” Rich said.

“Those fancy places on the west side?” Mom asked.

“No,” Rich said. “I’m moving back to Maine.”

“What!” Dad stopped chewing. His look was nearly scornful. “I called a friend who is the news editor of a newspaper in Augusta, Maine. He has a job for me.”

They continued eating as if nothing had been said. Only the sounds of the utensils against the plates could be heard.

“I start the first of the month,” Rich said, and waited for some sort of question or curiosity. “As soon as I get a place, I’d like for you to come up and visit,” Rich said.

“Nothin’ there I’m interested in,” Mom said.

“Just lobster,” Dad mumbled.

“Potatoes too,” Mom said. “I bought some Maine potatoes at the grocery store last week.”

“I like the ones from Idaho better,” Dad said.

“They grow potatoes just north of here,” Mom said.

“They ain’t very good,” Dad said. “They use them for potato chips. That’s about all they’re good for.”

“Didn’t you work with a guy who was a potato farmer?” Mom asked.

“Bob Shoemacker,” Dad said. “And it was sugar beets, not potatoes.”

“Who was the potato farmer?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know a potato farmer,” Dad said.

“Bob Shoemacker grows potatoes, not sugar beets,” Mom said. “Remember, he brought us a fifty-pound bag of ‘em.”

“The only person to bring us fifty pounds of anything was Sam Ellers,” Dad said. “And that was fifty pounds of apples from his dad’s orchard.”

Rich cleared his throat.

“What!” Mom said.

“I wanted to talk about moving,” Rich said.

“So, you’re moving,” Dad snapped. “People are always moving.”

“I know, but I wanted to talk about us,” Rich said.

“What about us?” Mom said.

“Yeah,” Dad said. “Is there something wrong with us?”

“No,” Rich said. “It’s just that I wanted to leave on better terms than I did the last time.”

“The last time!” Dad gripped his fork.

“Yeah, Dad,” Rich said. “I took all the blame, not to be gracious but to put forth the truth. It was my fault.”

“We weren’t good enough for you,” Mom said, shoving her plate forward.

“Look, there’s nothing more I want to do than hug both of you and shed a tear as we say goodbye.”

“What about the first time?” Mom said. “We had plenty of tears, but you weren’t around.”

“Your mom got fired because of you,” Dad snarled. “She worried herself sick.”

“And you should have seen all the looks we got,” Mom said. “We were outcasts. Nobody talked to us. We lost all our friends.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I lost all of mine, too,” Rich said.

The fist holding the fork hammered on the table. It echoed like a crashing chandelier. Rich calmly leaned back in his chair. His chest tightened, and his head began to tingle. Suddenly, it was nine years ago. He felt like a fifteen-year-old boy.

“Mom, Dad, I didn’t want to bring up bad memories or for any of this to happen.”

“We began to lead a peaceful life,” Dad said.

“Yeah, and I came back,” Rich said.

“You only came back to show us how good and decent you turned out without us,” Mom said. “You’ve been rubbing our nose in it for two years. Everybody is saying how proud we must be of what you have done with your life. A writer. Sailed around the world. A reporter for the newspaper.”

“No sir,” Dad added. “You ain’t gonna be like one of us heathens. You’re refined.”

“You know,” Rich said, “I’ve never said a word to anybody about sailing around the world or writing two novels. The only person I’ve said those things to is a guy I work with and the personnel manager at the paper. Mom, I’ve heard you on the phone telling everyone about me. And Dad, a couple of your old buddies told me that you told them all about me.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other with nothing to reply. Rich turned to his mom.

“Do you remember the night you tried to kill us all by aiming the car at a tree?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Mom said. “No such thing happened.”

Rich turned to his Dad. “That night, you and Mom were drinking. You didn’t know what theater I was at. You couldn’t find me when it was time to pick me up. You went back to the bar. You never looked for me. And in a drunken tirade, you blamed Mom for infidelity. And you blamed it all on me! That went through my head for six years, and only after I found Bridgett was I able to forget and forgive.”

“But you won’t forgive, right?” Dad barked.

“Forgiving is only possible with remembering,” Rich said. “It takes cutting, digging, and scraping. It’s painful. Did you do any of those things?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dad said.

“Did either of you ever talk about that night?” Rich said, bracing his emotions.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Mom said.

“Will you go with me to the records section of the courthouse?” Rich asked. “There is a complete report on the accident. You two said a dog ran out in front of you, but Mom, you were overheard sobbing and saying you wanted to kill us all.”

Mom stood and swiped her plate off the table. “Why, why are you doing this!!!” She panted.

“I don’t know,” Rich said. “I don’t know. I wanted us to heal. When I first came home, I thought we were well on our way. I tried on several occasions to talk, but you were both looking for an exit each time. I knew it would be hard. I was always willing to shoulder more than my share of the blame. I would take it all.”

“Look what you’ve done,” Dad gnashed. “You haven’t changed one bit.” His jaw tightened, and his lips quivered.

Rich stood. “I’m sorry,” Rich said. “I’ll pack. I’m leaving tonight.”

Rich plodded up the steps. He packed a garment bag, a duffel bag, and a seaman’s bag. He hauled everything to the Jeep. Mom and Dad watched the television as he walked by the living room entrance. They paid no attention.

He started the Jeep. He looked up at his bedroom window. The light was on. Thoughts ran through his mind about how many times, while away, he wished he could lie in the solitude of that room and feel safe and loved. He paused.

The room fell dark.

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 4

This is episode four of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins.   

Episode 4

Rich picked up his portfolio from his desk. On his way to the steps, he stopped at the door to the sports newsroom. Stan looked up from his desk. Rich tossed his head for Stan to follow him.

They met outside. “What’s up?” Stan asked.

“Have you had breakfast?” Rich asked.

“I finished a beer from last night,” Stan said. “Does that count?”

“I’ll meet you at Ted’s,” Rich said.

“Let me go back upstairs and get my bottle of Maalox,” Stan quipped.

“I’ll meet ya there,” Rich said.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a booth at a rustic little lunch diner named Ted’s.

“Whatcha havin’, boys?” a round waitress in her fifties asked.

“I’m buying,” Rich said, “so if you want the steak and eggs, I’m okay with that.”

“Nah,” Stan said, “I had the steak here a month ago, and it’s still in my gut. Pancakes and sausage links.”

“Excellent choice,” the waitress said sarcastically and looked at Rich.

“Two eggs over, bacon, and hash browns, toast,” Rich said.

“Comin’ right up,” the waitress said and walked away.

“You better watch how you talk to her,” Rich said.

“She’s an old friend,” Stan said. “She’ll spit on my pancakes just to show how much she likes me.”

“So,” Stan said, “you get a raise or something?”

“I got another job,” Rich said, giving a crooked grin.

“No way!” Stan said. “Around here?”

“I’m moving to Augusta.”

“Where exactly is Augusta?”

“Capital of Maine.”

“Is that right?” Stan said. “Good for you.”

“I have a friend who's the news editor in Augusta,” Rich said. “I got off the phone with him not more than half an hour ago.”

“Does Briggs know?”

“I’ll tell him toward the end of the week,” Rich said.

“You want your paycheck, right?”

“I want my paycheck,” Rich affirmed. “And if you don’t mind, keep this between us. I want to go quietly. You know, Monday morning, there’s an empty desk, and it takes another three days for everybody to sense something is different.”

“You’re a sly dog,” Stan said, smiling.

They talked over breakfast. The waitress removed the plates, and they continued to talk as they sipped coffee.

“Look,” Stan said, “this makes me feel uncomfortable. You look around this newspaper, and you've got guys who have been there for years. It’s where bad writers go to continue writing bad. It’s not hard to figure; they don’t pay. You move up because somebody retires or dies. I only know of two guys, now three, who moved on up to better paper.” Stan leaned forward and said very seriously, “You are going to a better paper?”

“The best in the state,” Rich said, “but it’s not a big state.”

“So,” Stan said, “if something comes open in sports, can you give me a call? I don’t want you to go to bat for me, just give me a heads up. If I can do the rest on my own, well, you know the rest.”

“Stan, you’re a good writer,” Rich said. “This paper doesn’t reward talent. It’s just a rag that cranks out filler for advertising. When you run a weekly footer for car dealerships, that’s a really big clue.”

“I remember in one of my journalism classes in college, our professor used to laugh at this paper. I never told anybody where I was from.”

“Sam White always said too many journalism students leave school thinking they’re going to step right into the shoes of the next Nellie Bly or Ernie Pyle. And they’re more likely to end up being Gomer Pyle. He said he told his students to sack groceries, pump gas, and write for a community newspaper to get their start and write like they’re writing for The Times.”

“Hmm,” Stan said, “community newspaper, that’s what my prof said this paper is.”

“So what’s next on your docket?” Stan asked.

“I got a few stories to tap out,” Rich said. “I’m not sure whether to inform personnel or Briggs first.”

“I think our employees’ handbook says either one,” Stan said.

“And it says something about the customary two weeks’ notice,” Rich said. “But if I gave two weeks’ notice to Briggs, he’d fire me right away.”

“Sounds to me like you just figured it all out,” Stan said.

“Then I’ll have to square things with mom and dad,” Rich said. “Frankly, I think it will be a relief for them. Relationships are never stagnant. They grow together or grow apart. When they start to grow apart and can’t be fixed, it’s sometimes best to leave them where they are and move on. There comes a time when you have to realize you’ve done all you can do.”

“A wound can be stitched, but there is always a scar,” Stan said.

“Thanks, Stan, I needed to hear that.”

They left the diner and drove off in separate directions. Rich finished his day. He drove home, rehearsing how to break the news to his mom and dad. He wanted it to go well and expected it. He thought they might express sorrow, but would wish him well. What he was now doing was more natural than what happened nine years earlier, when he left home with no notice. A proper goodbye can now occur. At least that is what Rich hoped.

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 3

This is episode three of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. 

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins.   

Episode 3

Tension between Rich and Briggs escalated over the next two weeks. Three times, Briggs stormed from his office and slammed Rich’s work on his desk. Each time, Rich saw him coming. He did little more than raise an eyebrow. Rich knew that Briggs’ actions were meant to intimidate him. He was not about to allow himself to be intimidated by anyone.

However, Rich reasoned that he did not need this drama. At home, his mother and father had become distant. Maybe a twenty-four-year-old son living at home was causing unforeseen stress. He entertained the notion of moving away. He knew the day would come, but thought it might not come under the current acrimonious circumstances at the newspaper. And as for the relationship with his parents, it seemed to fade. Rich tried to open up an earnest conversation. However, his mother and father would say that was in the past and not to open old wounds.

It was Monday morning. Rich walked to his desk at 7:45. He grabbed the papers in his in-basket and skimmed through them. He set them aside and pulled his appointment book from his inside jacket pocket. He had a 10:30 appointment with a city councilman and a 1:45 appointment with a local union president.

The newsroom had a quiet phone booth where reporters could talk in private. Rich turned in his chair and looked at the booth. It was empty. He got up and walked to the booth. He sat and called the Augusta Times in Maine.

“Butch Hagler, please.”

Rich waited. “It’s Rich Larsen.”

“Rich Larsen! I was just thinking about you. Are you in town?”

“No, I’m calling from my hometown newspaper in Ohio.”

“I always wondered what happened to you and if you were in that mess with Sam White up in Rockland. Man, that was a shocker.”

“Sure was.”

“So, besides the local newspaper, what have you been doing? When did you leave Rockland?”

“I left Rockland just before things happened in Rockland with Sam. Actually, Sam gave me his sailboat.”

“His pride and joy?”

“Yeah, he had a baby and said he’d never sail it the way he wanted to. So I put some work into it, and on a whim or whatever, he gave it to me. I left Rockland six years ago. I sailed Sam’s boat around the world. That took four years. I was married briefly, but my wife died suddenly.”

“Oh, Rich, I’m so sorry to hear that. How long ago did it happen?”

“A little more than two years ago.”

“That’s so sad. I don’t know what else to say.”

“You’ve said all that can be said.”

“What brought you back to Ohio?”

“I need to reconcile with my parents.”

“And?”

“Not so good. I’m thinking about moving on.”

“Do you need a job or reference? I’m the news editor. A big shot now. I drive a Porsche and have a mortgage.”

Rich chuckled. “And I have a room with my parents, drive an old Jeep.”

“But ya don’t have a mortgage,” Butch quipped. “Tell ya what, Rich, you get up here the first of the month, and I’ll match whatever the Buzzardville Crossing Gazette pays plus ten percent. I’ll even put you up for a couple of weeks until you find your own place.”

“That’s music to my ears.”

“So Thomas Wolfe was right,” Butch said.

“Yep,” Rich said, “you can never go home again.”

“I look forward to seeing you,” Butch said.

“Likewise.”

Rich hung up. He walked out into the newsroom. The room was full, and typewriters clattered out the news of the day.