Chapter 13

Monday morning was a mad house at the River Bend Press. Horndecker had discovered yet another story from the mysterious Winston Conlee in the night box, and after reading it, turned it over to Rothenburg for his opinion.

“We got another story from that Conlee fellow. This one’s a real doosy. You manage to find out anything about him?” Horndecker asked just before his editor buried his nose in the new manuscript.

“Rothenburg shook his head. “Nothing yet. Since the stories have been showing up a day before publication, I was intending to hang out around the office Wednesday night to see if I could catch someone putting a story in the overnight box. However, he pulled a fast one on me and dropped it off last night, but don’t worry, I’ll track him down somehow and find out what he’s up to. He’s much too good a writer for this rag.”

Horndecker was indignant. How dare his editor call his paper a rag when its fast growing readership had put all the competition out of business? He was even getting requests for ads and subscriptions from as far away as the city.

He was about to say something but was interrupted by a well-dressed stranger entering the front office. Believing it was a businessman from the city enquiring about an ad purchase, Horndecker hurried out to greet him.

“You the owner of this paper?” The stranger briskly asked. He pulled out a copy of the River Bend Press he had tucked underneath his arm.

“Yes sir it’s my paper,” Horndecker proudly announced. “If you want to place an ad in it, you’re in luck. Since it’s early in the week we still have plenty of room left on some choice pages.”

“The stranger shook his head. I’m not looking to place any ads. I’m looking for Winston Conlee. I understand he’s one of your writers.”

Horndecker was at a complete loss. He didn’t know what to say because his arrangement with Conlee was so unusual.

“Yes, he is,” Horndecker finally admitted.

“Is he in? I have an urgent matter to discuss with him.”

Due to the stranger’s dead serious manner, coupled with Rothenburg’s suspicions about the elusive writer, Horndecker immediately thought the worse. He imagined his beloved newspaper being involved in a nasty plagiarism law suit. He shuddered at the thought. Despite all the favorable attention Conlee was bringing to the River Bend Press, he wished he’d never heard of him. Rather than admit any kind of guilt right off the bat, he decided to be honest but proceed with caution until he learned the true purpose of the stranger’s visit.

“Well, yes he writes for the newspaper, but he’s not available right now. Is there any way I can help you?” Horndecker replied.

The stranger was insistent. “No thank you it’s Mr. Conlee I must speak with. I’ve come all the way from the city and since my time is extremely valuable if you will be so kind as to tell me where he can be located, I’ll be on my way.”

Horndecker was still unwilling to admit his unusual agreement with Conlee, lest he look like a complete and total fool when the stranger served him with legal papers. He decided it was imperative he know the stranger’s full intentions before proceeding any further.

“Is it about his stories? If there’s a problem with them, let me make my position totally clear. Although Winston does write for me, my newspaper doesn’t encourages him, or suggests in anyway, his choice of topic. There for, I refuse to take any responsibility for any harm his stories may cause, or for any kind of plagiarism.”

The stranger stared at Horndecker and an amused smile crossed his face. “Perhaps you misread the intention of my query. I have no problems of any kind with Conlee or his writings. As a matter, I am so impressed with his stories I have come to see if he wants to write for me.”

Before the stunned Horndecker could reply, the stranger pulled a business card out of his wallet and slapped in on the front counter. “My name is Robert C. Lang. I’m editor in chief of the Edmonton Journal. When Mr. Conlee arrives at work, can you kindly inform him I’ll be at the hotel coffee shop, and that I have an extremely interesting proposition for him.”

Horndecker hummed and hawed and a flush of embarrassment colored his face. “Well, sir, we may have a bit of problem with that. You see, Winston Conlee doesn’t show up for work here. Nobody knows where he lives either, and nobody has ever seen or heard of him.”

“What?” Lang eyed Horndecker with suspicion. “You mean to say tell me you’re accepting those stories from a person you never met? How does he submit his stories and how do you pay him?”