“Hector is a good guy. Competent. Hardworking. He’s serious competition,” Jude said. “And you know the sheriff’s job is everything to Oscar.”
I felt a pang of guilt. I did know that.
“Can I interest anyone in a pickled mushroom? Fresh from the jar,” Mel said, interrupting. It was then that I remembered the Holy Water’s signature snacks came from Mel’s wife’s mushroom farm. I instantly recoiled from the small bowl and toothpick dispenser she offered. I hated mushrooms. It was a texture thing, but also it was a fungus thing. Why should I get excited about eating something whose cousin grew between toes in sweaty socks?
“Better point those somewhere else,” Jude said, stepping between me and the offered bowl of mushrooms, gently pushing Mel’s bowl away from me. “This one is scared of mushrooms.” Jude’s voice carried the hint of a mocking tone, but there was a part of me flattered that he remembered. “Maybe put those at the end of the bar, just to be safe.” Jude held my gaze for a beat, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “I officially saved your life just then.”
“Oh? Do you want a medal or…?” I taunted.
“Yes, shiny and gold, the bigger, the better.”
I glanced at the clock. Russo was late. Where was he?
A loud slam of a door near us made everyone’s head swivel as Alec Stokes, the mayor, staggered out of the restroom, his ginger poof of hair disheveled, though his dark navy polo and khakislooked ironed and pristine. He wore boat shoes and no socks, and had the air of a man who liked to complain about who they were letting into the golf club these days. Benji bolted and ran behind the bar in a blur of golden fur. Good choice.
“Don’t go in there,” he declared, waving his hand in front of his face.
Jude groaned. Inwardly, so did I.
“Thin Ice!” Stokes cried as he noticed me for the first time. His wavy red hair, which looked more like a Brillo pad than anything else, hadn’t change a bit since high school. “You’re a smokeshow tonight!” He rubbed his hands together as if I were a slab of barbecue ribs he planned to eat. “Almost as hot as your mom was back in the day.”
Exactly what the daughter of a supermodel wanted to hear.
“Isthisyour plus-one? Really?” Jude glanced at me, shocked.
“Absolutely not,” I hissed.
“Tammy told me you’re single and ready to mingle,” Stokes said as he slid over to me, blowing acrid beer breath in my face. “What say you buy me a beer?”
“This will not end well,” Jude predicted.
“You wantmeto buyyoua beer?” Honestly. The gall.
“Uh-oh, Mel. Best move the tables out of the way, because the mayor’s going through one,” Bill warned.
Gary just snorted.
“I’m not going to buy you a beer, but Iwillbreak your nose again if you keep hassling me,” I promised. I was not kidding.
“Oh, come on, I’m just kidding around. Can’t you take a joke?” Alec said with derision, as if all the evils of the world could be traced back to humorless women. Alec kept his beady eyes on me. “But, if youwantto buy me a beer, I wouldn’t object.”
“Some people never learn.” Bill sighed and took a swig of his beer.
“Call the paper, Bill’s actually right about something,” Gary said and laughed a little.
Mel threw a tea towel over her shoulder. “Mayor, leave her alone,” Mel warned.
“What? Can’t I catch up with an old friend? I’m trying to give her a compliment—” Stokes made the grave mistake of putting his hand on my shoulder. I grabbed his wrist out of pure instinct and, in seconds, twisted it so hard, he dropped down to one knee. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like watching the fear flicker in his eyes.
“I don’t think the lady likes your compliments,” Jude said dryly.
“Ow! What the fu—” I twisted harder and Stokes yelped louder. If I went further, I could tear all the ligaments in his wrist. I was tempted. I itched to hear the sound of them popping.
“Your call, El, but maybe wait until you’ve been home a whole week before you put the mayor in the hospital,” Jude suggested in a cool, logical tone that cut straight through my red-hot anger and deflated it, like the Hulk being calmed down by Black Widow.
“Fine,” I growled, and released the mayor. Jude always liked to spoil my fun.
Stokes grabbed his wrist and scuttled back a few feet. “I should press charges!” he declared, like the scared little boy he was. Unease flickered across his face.
