Millicent Price vs Ralph, Round 2

 

            So that’s what they did.  Maeve would go forward by one means or another, and Millicent would catch up. Eventually they arrived at her car, which was still where she had left it, and she was very glad to see this. It started right up, just like in the normal world.  She drove around the grandfather cedar three times to the right, and then turned right at the big rock, onto the highway taking her back to Milltown.
            On her way back home, Millicent tried to imagine how she would present this article to her boss on Wednesday.  A very good question indeed. She thought she would need to sleep on it.

(A bit of overlap... )

 
            Millicent woke up Wednesday morning with the problem still on her mind. Would this story fly? Was there any way it could?
            She decided to get her notebook out, read her notes and make a final decision about presenting her article.  She hadn’t even written it yet. Maybe she wouldn’t bother to.
            The notebook wasn’t in either of her jacket pockets, but the pen was. She checked her bag which had remained in the car, but it wasn’t there either. She got dressed then and went out to her car just in case it was on the seat or the floorboards. But it wasn’t there either. The notebook with her notes inside was nowhere in her possession.
            This was odd because she remembered Ralph handing it back with a puckish, amused expression on his big face.  She knew that he had handed it back.  Hadn’t he? Her memory of the whole episode seemed intangible, shifty. Thinking back, she could hardly believe the story he had told her. He must have been pulling her leg!
            Why did he have to be that way, she asked herself hopelessly.
            On her drive back in to the office, she continued to puzzle over the lost notebook. It superseded the question of whether she should write her article. Her boss, old Bill, had no imagination at all. Old Bill was actually the new boss. Her previous boss had tolerated her original interview with Ralph years ago, when she had learned his name and met Ramona also. Those seemed like simpler days to tell the truth. No hocus pocus, no funny business.  Just a straight interview.
            Now, Millicent was a pro.  She was used to dealing with difficult situations and impossible people. So, she was ready when she strolled into the newspaper offices when Bill said, “hey, Price, where were you all day yesterday?  I thought you had a morning appointment with some guy, then you were going to come back.”
            “Good morning Bill!” trilled Millicent in her most disarming manner. “Yeah, I did. I met some guy I’ve interviewed before, to talk about timber practices up north of here and it turned into a big, long ordeal and we went out for early dinner, so I just went home. It wasn’t a very exciting story. Nothing new. I might bag it Bill. Sometimes you’re the bird, sometimes you’re the windshield, or something like that.”
            With that, she slipped into her own little office. A safe escape. Bill, settled!
            This is where the story gets weird. Or maybe more correctly, remains weird.
            For there on her desk was her very own top bound, black Paperage brand notebook waiting for her.  It was placed squarely in the center of her desk. Tidy. A chill ran down Millicent’s spine. She was a pro, but this was a little much for even a pro. She went out to the hall and the coffee pot. Someone had done their duty and made coffee.  Good. She filled a cup and went back to her room.
            Millicent sat down at her desk. She put her cup down carefully to the right of the notebook. She realized that she was going to have to pick it up and look inside. Soon.
            The clock made that electronic clock sound. The sun shone in the windows. She picked it up and opened it. None of her notes were there. Not one scrap of her handwriting was in that notebook. She turned it over and looked at the back. Yes. Her name and phone number were written in her own hand on the back. So, the awkward facts remained awkward.
            She flipped through the pages. Wait, there was a bit of writing on the back page, the very last page. It was written in a large square masculine hand, with her own pen apparently. It said:

Hey Milly,

Every*Word*Is*True!

Love, Ralph

🤍

    She had to laugh. “You got me Ralph,” she thought. Then she thought, “he probably got that too!” “OK, buddy, you win this time.” She laughed a little too much maybe.
    The notebook went into a lower drawer in her desk.  Then, because Millicent was a pro, she got on with her workday.