Chapter One
The seaside of Holiday Junction buzzed with its usual summer activity. A family of four wandered past the large bay windows of the Junction Journal office, with their beach chairs and coolers stacked up on wagons. Looking at the family gave me a little envy, since it was still a workday for me.
I couldn’t help but smile when I noticed the couple’s children were high-stepping in their bare feet as soon as they walked on the hot sand.
“Ouch! Ouch!” one of them yelled.
“You’re fine!” the woman called out. “Run to the water!”
The breeze drifted through the open window, ruffling the pages of my notepad, carrying a saltwater scent that mingled with the faint aroma of coconut suntan lotion. The effect created the perfect coastal atmosphere.
I sat behind my cluttered desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and notes, preparing for a massive interview with celebrity chef Ted Monroe scheduled for this morning. Suddenly, I got a couple of unexpected visitors.
I was ready to head out with my camera and notepad for the interview when Diffy Delk, a local lawyer, burst through the office door with my boyfriend, Darren Strickland.
Darren had recently passed the bar to become a lawyer, and just a few weeks ago, Diffy offered Darren a position at his law firm. Darren wasn’t a partner or anything, but it was a start.
“It’s for fathers with human children,” I explained to Diffy for what felt like the umpteenth time as I got up to leave.
“It doesn’t state that here in the rules or even in the asterisked fine print, and I am a father.” Diffy Delk stood over my desk with a stack of papers filled with legal jargon. He tossed a photo on top of them.
I picked up the photo and couldn’t help but smile at Dave the Rooster, who was Diffy’s pet and a very important security guard at our tiny little one-building airport. Dave was able to sniff out anything that didn’t belong through security better than any dog I’d ever seen.
That wasn’t saying much, though. I actually hadn’t seen too many dogs sniff out bad things, but you got the picture.
Diffy was a smarmy sort of lawyer. The type you’d see chasing ambulances down. You knew the kind. He was trying to weasel his way into this year’s Father’s Day BBQ contest, which would be held at Mama’s Leisure Center.
“Diffy, Dave the Rooster doesn’t count,” I said, trying to keep my patience. “This cook-off is about celebrating human fathers and their families.”
Diffy stood over me in his usual brown suit pants. His short-sleeved burnt-yellow silk shirt, which he wore with a matching tie, was tucked into his pants so tightly that I was sure I’d be able to bounce a penny off of it if I threw one at him.
His receding hairline stopped shy of his of toupee, though he’d never admit he wore one.
“A father is someone who provides for and cares for another living being. According to the 2007 ruling in Delk vs. Municipality of Holiday Junction, the term ‘father’ was broadly defined to include caretakers of animals, which means I should be eligible to enter the contest.”
“This is something he filed years ago when he knew he wasn’t going to be a human father.” Darren stood behind him, smiling, stealing my heart all over again.
Diffy huffed, clearly not convinced.
“I demand you reconsider. This is discrimination against nontraditional families. I’ll have you know that Dave and I share a bond as strong as any parent and child.” He tapped his finger on my desk.
“Let’s just say that the cook-off committee is sticking to the traditional definition this year,” I replied, attempting to steer the conversation back on track. “You can still come and enjoy the event, just not as a contestant.”
“Diffy, you know we appreciate your enthusiasm, but let’s save the legal battles for the court case we’re going to be late for.” Darren tapped Diffy on the shoulder to get him to come along.
Diffy sighed dramatically but finally relented. “Fine, but I’ll be watching. Any rule violations and I’ll be on it.”
“You might’ve fought the law and won, but you haven’t fought me,” I teased on his way out, using his own slogan against him.
I went to stand up when I heard a beep come from my phone. The noise wasn’t for just any notification. The notification was one I had sent to my phone from the office’s website when someone sent me an online form from the breaking-news tab.
And if any sort of news was breaking in Holiday Junction, I wanted to be first on the scene.
I had a job to do, and that was to bring the news, the real news, to the good people of Holiday Junction.
I glanced up at the clock and knew immediately that I had just enough time to get to the Leisure Center, where the interview would take place during the Welcome Home Ted Monroe party Mama was throwing for him.
It wasn’t every day a real-life celebrity came home and agreed to judge the first annual Father’s Day BBQ Contest. We wanted to make the occasion special.
Mama had done a lot of digging around, calling, and probably getting on many of Ted’s people’s nerves until he finally agreed to come.
It was a big deal, and everyone was excited.
“I can fast walk,” I told myself, even though I hated to sweat. The thought of it sent a shiver up my spine.
I mean, I get it. We sweated, but I was Violet Rhinehammer, editor in chief, and I had to keep up a certain appearance.
After all, I had been a beauty queen all my life. I’d also been a big-time reporter and host of my own television show back home in Kentucky before I officially moved to Holiday Junction.
Besides, sweat and I weren’t and would never be friends.
Before I read the incoming breaking-news form, I sent Mama a quick text to let her know I was on my way and to keep Ted Monroe occupied until I got there.
I knew Mama would have that well under control. She kept a meticulous schedule, down to the millisecond.
I focused on the computer on my desk and clicked the red triangle with the white exclamation point, knowing the icon led to the folder where the breaking-news emails were sent.
The subject line immediately caught my attention. Ted Monroe not welcomed.
Dear Editor, I began to read.
I am writing to express my deep concern regarding the selection of Ted Monroe as the celebrity judge for the upcoming Father’s Day Barbecue Cook-Off Competition. While I understand the excitement surrounding his participation, I believe it is crucial for the residents of Holiday Junction to be aware of some troubling facts about him.
Facts? I wondered. I had done all of my due diligence as a news reporter who was scoring a huge interview on him. This was the type of article the Associated Press would pick up. Heck, even People magazine.
The thought of appearing in the celebrity sightings really got me excited. I decided to read through the email quickly because I needed to put on a little more makeup to be presentable for the photo I just knew would go viral after this interview.
I continued.
If you were to put your real reporter skills to the test, you’d find that Ted Monroe doesn’t even deserve to set foot back in Holiday Junction, the town he grew up in before he became a so-called famous chef. His rise to fame is built on a foundation of lies and deceit. There are numerous rumors and allegations about his conduct, both professionally and personally, that should not be ignored.
Real reporter skills?
“Huh?” I choked. This person obviously hadn’t read any of the Junction Journal or all the fine reporting I’d done the last couple of years.
Still, I continued to read the disgruntled letter.
I urge you to investigate Ted Monroe’s past and bring the truth to light. The integrity of our community events should not be compromised by someone who may not be as reputable as he seems. Our town deserves better than a fake celebrity who may tarnish the spirit of our beloved Father’s Day celebration.
“A Concerned Citizen,” I whispered, sweeping my eyes back up to the top of the online submission form.
There was a lot in the letter, but one line really got my attention.
“‘Our town deserves better than a fake celebrity who may tarnish the spirit of our beloved Father’s Day celebration,’” I read out loud, this time in my normal voice.
“Fake celebrity?” Radley Quinn popped his head into the door of my office. I’d not heard him come in, probably because I was drawn into the letter.
“Good morning,” I said to him and clicking the button that turned off the screen.
He looked the same as he did every day. His baggy khaki pants that could’ve stood an iron. His short-sleeved light blue linen shirt that also could’ve stood a date with the iron. And his hair. Always mussed up. Even with all of that, Radley was a very nice-looking man. He wore the lines around his eyes well.
Completely the opposite of me.
I made sure I kept myself presentable, but I also had an appearance to keep up as the editor in chief. That brought me right back to this letter.
“Aren’t you going to the Leisure Center for your big interview with the celebrity chef guy from here?” he asked. “I mean, you’re never late for any sort of events, ever.”
He glanced up at the clock on the wall.
“I hadn’t realized you kept my schedule,” I teased before standing up and gathering my bag, which contained all the folders that included anything and everything I’d found on Ted Monroe. “Or did Mama put you up to this?”
“Millie Kaye?” He laughed. “Never.”
I’d studied articles on Ted just so he could tell I’d done my own research when I interviewed him. I’d even memorized the questions I was going to ask.
After all, Ted was a well-known chef and television personality, famed for his award-winning barbecue recipes and charming on-screen presence. Born and raised in Holiday Junction, Ted gained national fame with his hit cooking show, Monroe’s Masterpieces, on which he showcased his culinary skills and passion for Southern cuisine.
“You’re right.” I decided this was not the time to tell Radley about the email or address it at all.
I heard the clink of the trolley and knew I could get Goldie Bennett to make sure I was at the Leisure Center in time.
“I’ve gotta grab the trolley,” I said hastily and jumped to my feet. Once again, I grabbed the bag filled with the camera and all my Ted research. “Hold down the fort!”
“I will,” Radley called from the door of the small seaside cottage office as I hurried down the front sidewalk.
“Goldie!” I screamed as I crossed the small wooden bridge over the dunes to the road that ran in front of the sea where all the cute shops and restaurants were located. “Wait!” I hollered, waving my hands in the air, trying to keep the bag on my shoulder.
My long blond hair was whipping around, getting stuck in the hot pink lipstick I had pulled out just for this special occasion. My sundress swooshed around my ankles, almost causing me to trip on it.
“You must be in all kinds of hurry today, Violet.” Goldie Bennett was leaning far over the pull handle of the accordion door as I was about to jump on the trolley.
“I’ve got to be at the Leisure Center, like, two minutes ago,” I said, grabbing the seat right behind her.
“Next stop!” she called out to the crowd on the trolley, “Leisure Center, downtown!”
She glanced back from the large rearview mirror at me.
“Thank you,” I mouthed as we waited for a few more stragglers to board.
After Goldie made sure everyone had taken a seat, she tugged the door shut and threw the old, open-air trolley into gear.
Goldie Bennett was the true embodiment of holiday spirit in Holiday Junction, and her actions during Father’s Day were no exception. As the trolley driver known for her vibrant outfits and infectious enthusiasm, she had outdone herself once again. This time, her attire paid a cheerful tribute to fathers everywhere.
Goldie’s outfit was a delightful mix of whimsical and heartfelt elements, reflecting her love for celebrating every holiday, including this one, with flair. She wore a knee-length dress covered in a playful pattern of neckties, mustaches, and classic cars, all symbols of the quintessential dad. The fabric of her dress was a bright, sunny yellow, mirroring her sunny disposition and the warmth of the June day.
Her accessories were just as thoughtful and festive. Goldie sported a pair of earrings shaped like tiny barbecue grills, each with a little burger and hot dog dangling from it. Around her neck hung a necklace strung with miniature tools—a wrench, a hammer, and a screwdriver—each meticulously detailed and painted. Her hat, always a highlight, was a wide-brimmed sun hat adorned with a band of faux grass, complete with small figurines of a dad and child playing catch.
Goldie’s makeup was as bright as her personality, with a rosy blush and a cheerful red lipstick that never faded, no matter how many smiles she gave out during the day. Her eyes sparkled with joy and a hint of mischief, making everyone around her feel like part of the celebration.
But her outfit wasn’t all that made Goldie stand out; so were her stories and the way she connected with the community. For every passenger, she had a tale, each one a charming blend of fact and folklore that kept the history and spirit of Holiday Junction alive. Today, she regaled her passengers with anecdotes about famous fathers from history, local legends about great dads from the town’s past, and humorous quips about fatherhood that had everyone laughing.
As she drove the trolley, festooned with banners that read “Happy Father’s Day!” and adorned with paper ties and hats, Goldie made sure that every father and child who boarded, on our way toward town, felt special. Her presence was a gift to the town, a reminder of the joy and warmth that holidays could bring, especially when celebrated with such genuine enthusiasm and love.
That made me think about Ted and the excitement that had surrounded his arrival.
And if anyone knew anything and everything about everyone here in Holiday Junction, it was Goldie Bennett.
Normally I’d sit back and relax, enjoy the scenery as we left the seaside and rode a little through the countryside before we made it downtown and into the area where the Leisure Center was located, but I had to know what she knew about Ted Monroe.
“I’m on my way to interview Ted Monroe,” I said, watching the rearview mirror for her to look back at me.
She didn’t. That struck me as odd.
“I’m on my way to interview Ted Monroe,” I said again, this time a smidgen louder in case the open air prevented her from hearing me.
No response.
“I said…!” I yelled.
“I heard what you said,” she responded.
My shoulders fell, and my eyes narrowed as I tried to figure out just what Goldie meant by that.
I faced forward, not sure what to say, glad she was the one who broke the odd silence between us, since neither of us ever shut up when we were together.
“Let’s just say not everyone in Holiday Junction is glad Ted is in town.” She didn’t bother glancing up at me to see my expression. “I have no thoughts on the matter. Good for him making it big. Just like you want to one day, right?”
“Yeah, but why don’t some folks like him?” I asked, my Southern drawl coming out a little too much after I’d spent years trying to hide it. That was the first thing they taught you in journalism school.
You couldn’t write like you talked and you couldn’t talk like you talked, meaning I had to suppress my accent.
“I’m guessing not everyone in the world likes you, Violet.” Goldie’s words kind of hurt my feelings. “I mean that I’m sure you had to step on a few toes to get where you are today in your career.”
More like people stepped on my toes and then my head to get above me, but I just nodded.
“Some people are just jealous,” she said, pinching a grin. Then she yelled above the squeaky door, “Leisure Center!”
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