Page 97 of Booked for Murder

Meridian snickered. “I’m with Janette on this one. A good man with his shirt unbuttoned but his suit jacket on is a lot hotter than no clothes at all. Especially if he has a little bit of chest hair. Delicious.”

“I never saw the appeal of chest hair,” Bradley’s mother admitted. “There’s nothing worse than getting a stray hair between your teeth.”

Silence.

Meridian got to her feet. “And I’m going to go help with dinner and do my best to exorcise that mental image forever from my brain. Good luck, Janette, and I wish you the best with the chest hair problem. I’m now going to look into waxing kits for men and require any man of mine use one should he want my teeth anywhere near his person.”

She left, and I snickered.

One of the benefits of having been Bradley’s bodyguard involved the view at the pool, and either he’d been blessed with relative hairlessness on his chest, or he waxed daily, sparing me from the problem of chest hair stuck in my teeth.

“That is more than any of us ever needed to know, Mom.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Maybe,” Bradley muttered.

“Don’t be such a baby. You should be grateful she didn’t run away at the conversation. There might be some hope for you after all.”

Jezabelle, who’d kept quiet with her lawyer and future husband beside her, shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, Janette. Mom just gets excited sometimes. She’ll come to her senses eventually.”

“I will not,” Bradley’s mother swore. “For as long as my children’s happiness is at risk, I will absolutely not come to my senses.”

I regarded Mr. Hampton, who met my gaze and shrugged without saying a word.

On second thought, his silence made sense. There wasn’t much he could say when presented with insanity. As long as he kept quiet, he might remain a bystander rather than a participant.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

All I needed to do was get through tomorrow intact. It was just one political rally. How bad could it really be?

“Oh, and Janette?” Bradley’s mother asked.

Uh oh. I glanced at her. “What is it?”

“Don’t forget you have paperwork to sign tonight. It’s an insurance policy for you as much as it is for him.”

Right. Engagement papers could be cancelled, but they couldn’t be signed in a pinch. As the last thing I needed was a one-way trip into the military, I nodded.

The last thing I needed in my life was a severe case of dead.

Twenty-One

I’d be opening Pandora’s box.

The next time, I would remember to never issue a challenge to the universe.

Everything went according to plan from my cab ride to Canarsie Park to getting through security. They did not have a handicap access lane, so I activated the recording app on my phone, plugged it into the battery pack Mickey promised would keep my phone running for at least six hours, and wheeled to join the line. I didn’t even manage to make it to my goal before a security guard intercepted me and asked if I would be buying a ticket. Upon my acknowledgement I intended to, he pushed me straight to the front of the ticket line and helped me handle the transaction, where I spent a filthy amount of cash for a wristband to enter the park, blitzing through security with minimal fuss.

I hated how much money Bradley’s mother had stuffed into my purse so I could play the part of a rich white woman supporting a presidential hopeful. Worse, she expected me to spend the money on things at the rally to maintain appearances, helping to give Mickey’s rig a chance to record the conversations around me for later investigation.

The entire security team deserved to be fired, as they gave my bag a token peek before pushing me through the gate, ignoring the beep alerting everyone I possessed metal. I drew a great deal of unwanted attention, and I regretted everything about my choice to own bright colored clothing and gaudy glasses. As my role involved pretending I wanted to be at the rally, I asked one of the volunteers near the ticketing stand where I should go first to best experience everything.

To my surprise, the older gentleman pointed in the direction of the artisan stands. “While the majority of the proceeds go to the campaign fundraiser, a part of all ticket sales go to the artisans Senator Maybelle selected for today’s rally. She picked artisans who will benefit from her platform to showcase the importance of their art in society. Starting there will give you a better feel for how Senator Maybelle plans on handling her presidency. Is this your first time attending a rally?”

“It is,” I confirmed, grateful it was the truth. “A friend recommended I should come, and since I’m not working for a while, I decided I would. It seemed like a nice idea.” I eyed the clouds, and while the forecast had promised partly cloudy, I expected it would begin raining within the hour. “I’d even checked the weather, but the weather has a mind of its own.”

“It always does,” he replied. “Should you make any purchases, you’ll be contributing to the campaign as well, as the artisans are giving ten percent of today’s earnings to support the cause. You can also opt to donate directly to the campaign if you wish; there are stalls all throughout the grounds for contributions.”