The Human Resources Department was nonexistent, but she didn’t let it go. “You were intimating that I’m being catty, something always ascribed to women.”

“What side of the bed did you wake up on?” he asked, but held up a hand. “Wait. Don’t answer. That could be described as sexist too.”

“Give me a break.”

“You give me one,” he suggested, squinting as he glanced at his computer screen.

“I just want to dig deeper into the Cahill story.”

“You think it’s a ‘Cahill’ story, not a story about a missing woman?”

“They’re linked, obviously. You know that. And people, I mean readers, will be interested in his family. The Cahills are rich, high San Francisco society, and have more skeletons hidden away in their closets than all of the bones in Adams Cemetery,” she added, mentioning the one graveyard near Riggs Crossing.

“I’m listening,” he said, surprising her as he leaned back in his chair and finally focused on what she was actually saying.

Charity pressed on, telling him most of the reasons she wanted to delve into James Cahill’s past. He rubbed his chin as she talked, but seemed interested, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his rail-thin abdomen, eyebrows knitted together, so she made her pitch to go to San Francisco, and that’s when he slammed the door.

“You expect air fare, hotel rooms, and . . . what? A daily allowance for cab rides and meals?”

“Uber rides,” she corrected him. “And they’ve got great public transportation with BART and ferries and cable cars and trolleys and—”

“Hold on. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. Way ahead. Look around, would you?” He motioned widely to include the vast space beyond the glass walls of his office. “Does it seem like we’ve got that kind of money?” He barked out a laugh. “Get real!”

She wasn’t about to give up. “This is the kind of story that could sell papers. Lots of papers.”

Shaking his balding head, he let out a sigh. “Even if I wanted to, if you somehow convinced me to pay for your little trip, I can’t.” His smile faded as the deepening lines of worry crowded across his forehead.

“This story could breathe life back into the paper.”

“We’re already on life support as it is. I’m sorry.” He spread his hands over the mess on his desk. “No can do.”

Charity realized further arguing would prove pointless. “Fine.”

As she got to her feet, he gave a warning. “Remember. This is O’Day’s story.”

She shot Earl a defiant glance. “It will be when, instead of it being about a missing woman, it’s the news of a freaking three-point shot right at the buzzer!”