Read Online The Return of Jonah Gray by Heather Cochran - Free Book Online

desk.
    â€œThat can’t be healthy,” Ricardo said.
    â€œDon’t you have work to do?” I asked. I liked Ricardo and his visits were usually a welcome break, but I was eager to find out more about Jonah Gray.
    â€œI don’t actually. My archivist is hired and the next sexual harassment seminar isn’t for a month. What are you doing?”
    â€œAn audit.”
    â€œThe bean guy? It’s the bean guy, isn’t it? Ol’ Beanie Beanerson.”
    â€œHe’s a journalist,” I said. “He used to work at the Wall Street Journal, I’ll have you know.”
    â€œOh Lord, really?” Ricardo sounded put out.
    â€œYou don’t approve?”
    â€œJournalists are so self-righteous,” Ricardo said. “It’s always, let me tell you what to think, let me tell you what to know. And financial types are the worst. Present company excluded, I mean.”
    â€œMaybe the journalists you’ve met, but on his Web site, he actually invites debate. About plants, at least. And fertilizer.” Before I could say anything more, Ricardo held out his hand.
    â€œWhat?” I asked.
    â€œGive it. Give me the return.”
    â€œI’m not really supposed to—”
    â€œOh, please child. Hand it over.”
    I handed him the first page of Jonah Gray’s return, and Ricardo pretended to skim it.
    â€œYes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” he clucked.
    I could tell that he wasn’t actually reading it. “What do you think being a journalist says about his personality?”
    â€œSince when do you care about personality?” Ricardo asked, as a particularly loud crack from above sent a piece of ceiling onto his lap. He brushed it off in disgust. Ricardo had a point. I usually focused on what an occupation said about a taxpayer’s propensity for fraud. Some, like Kevin the contractor, had greater opportunities than others. With that, I realized that I hadn’t thought about Kevin all day. Gene, either. What a relief that was.
    â€œHe’s probably one of those earnest droners utterly devoid of humor,” Ricardo added.
    â€œI know for a fact that’s not true,” I said.
    â€œYou’re defending the guy?”
    I felt my cheeks redden. “What I mean is, on his Web site, someone was asking about a plant called ‘hen and chicks.’”
    â€œHen and chicks?”
    â€œApparently, it’s a succulent.”
    â€œSucculent,” Ricardo said lasciviously.
    I ignored him. “So he writes, did you hear about the city guy who went to the country and bought fifty chicks? The next week he buys a hundred, and the week after that, two hundred. Finally, the clerk at the country store says, ‘You must be doing really well with your chicks,’ and the city guy says, ‘No. I guess I’m either planting them too deep or too far apart.’” I laughed a little. It was a silly joke.
    Ricardo didn’t crack a smile. “That’s disgusting.”
    â€œOh, come on. It didn’t actually happen.”
    â€œDead smothered chickens?”
    â€œI was just trying to make the point that he’s not humorless. I was thinking that, being a journalist, he’s probably curious, too.”
    Ricardo perked up. “Curious like bi?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLike weird?”
    â€œNo, curious like…curious.”
    â€œLike a monkey,” Ricardo said, nodding.
    â€œIf that helps you.”
    I didn’t know what beat Jonah Gray covered for the Stockton Star, or what he’d focused on at the Journal, but on Gray’s Garden, the man seemed game for anything. One reader had recently returned from a trip to the Cook Islands and wrote of seeing a rare palm, related to the sago, only larger.
    I’ve never even heard of such a beast! Jonah Gray had replied. You must tell us more. Do you have pictures? Can we see? Do you want me to post them? Then he admitted to having spent all