7. A little fraud between friends
7
A LITTLE FRAUD BETWEEN FRIENDS
HAZEL
Even with a head wound, I totally could have walked the quarter mile to Story Lake’s downtown. It was a “blink and you’ll miss it” two-block stretch of mostly blank storefronts and empty parking spaces. There was a tiny sunburnt park dividing the square down the middle. It appeared to be missing the requisite small-town gazebo.
But I was too preoccupied with the man behind the wheel.
It had to mean something. I’d met the man who was responsible for me being here before I’d even entered town limits. Now, that also meant it was possible that me nearly creaming a bald eagle with my car also meant something. But I was choosing to focus on the more handsome, grumpy, muscular side of things.
“So how many brothers do you have?” I asked.
“What?” Cam snapped.
I gestured at the Bishop Brothers logo on his shirt. “Your last name is Bishop. I assumed.”
“Two,” he said, sounding like he was hoping I’d give up on the small talk.
Ha. No such luck, buddy. Like it or not, Campbell Bishop was my temporary muse, and I was going to get everything I could out of him. “Are you the oldest? You seem like you’re the oldest. Have you lived here your whole life?” I asked.
He grunted as if that was an acceptable response.
I spied the battered paperback on the dashboard. “Do you read?” I asked hopefully. Heroes who liked books were, in my humble opinion, even hotter.
“Are you asking me if I’m capable of reading?”
I pointed at the dog-eared police procedural. “I’m asking if you enjoy reading.”
“Right now I’m not enjoying anything,” he said.
I settled back in my seat to regroup. I was rusty at small talk, but it was imperative that I pump this man for as much information as possible to grease the wheels of inspiration.
Cam handled the truck like he was born driving very large, high-horse-powered machinery. Like it was some kind of extension of his body. And what a body it was. He wore a gray Bishop Brothers T-shirt that hugged some very nice real estate. His jeans were worn in the “I do manly work and it’s taken me years for my muscular thighs to break in this denim” kind of way.
The radio, before he’d turned it off, had been set to some lively country music station.
Despite the rough start and the throbbing from my forehead, I felt like things were definitely looking up. In my head, I was already sending Book Cam roaring off to rescue our stranded heroine. Of course, Book Heroine…hmm, let’s call her Hazel just for ease. Yeah. Book Hazel wouldn’t have hit the national bird right out of the air. That was not a meet-cute. That was a meet-disaster. But the head-wound thing could still work. Who didn’t love an injured heroine and a grumpy hero playing doctor?
Maybe a sprained ankle would be sexier? Less blood, and Book Cam could carry her around with his gigantic muscles.
“Hello in there,” Real-Life Cam snapped, waving his hand in front of my face.
I blinked out of my fantasy world. “Huh? What?”
“Don’t mind her. She’s always partially checked out,” Zoey said from the back seat. “He asked what business besides eagle assault we had in Story Lake.”
Book Cam would definitely be nicer than Real-Life Cam.
“We’re meeting the mayor,” I said haughtily.
Cam smirked but said nothing.
“This is some kind of abandoned movie set, isn’t it?” Zoey demanded. “Where is everyone?”
I turned my attention away from the simmer of creative juices and glanced around. She was right. Besides a pair of squirrels racing up and down tree trunks in the park, there were no other signs of life.
“Nope,” Campbell said.
The rumble of the truck’s engine had masked the silence. I frowned. “I was told the ‘bustling downtown’ is a tourist magnet.”
Our reluctant hero snorted. “Who the hell fed you that line?”
Before I could answer, something more interesting caught his attention, and he hit the brakes in the middle of the street.
A man dragged a ladder and a long white pipe out from under a green awning in front of a brick storefront. The words General Store were spelled out in gold lettering on the windows. A dog the size of a bear sat on the sidewalk, swishing its furry tail back and forth like a metronome of delight, and another smaller, less hairy dog was at the man’s heels.
Cam leaned out his window. “Problem?”
The man with the ladder shook his head and pointed with the plastic pipe to a divot in the awning. “Nah. Fish head.”
The smaller dog gave an exuberant bark, which got the larger dog’s attention, and it lumbered down the concrete steps to join the party on the sidewalk.
Zoey poked me in the shoulder, and I turned around in my seat. Fish head? she mouthed.
Cam got out of the truck, leaving his door open. If we were in New York, it would have taken less than four seconds for a garbage truck or delivery van to rip the door right off its hinges. But here in the bustling downtown, there wasn’t another car in sight.
“I’ll admit. We’re not off to the greatest start,” I said, watching as Cam was immediately mauled by exuberant greetings from both dogs. “But I have a good feeling about this.”
“I’m glad one of us does,” Zoey said.
Cam stepped over the dogs and tried to take the ladder from the man. This led to a loud discussion with a lot of pointing. The bigger, bearlike dog took it upon himself to attempt to climb the ladder first, which led to both men shouting, “Melvin!”
“Haze. Babe. This is apocalyptic. We destroyed the town’s welcome sign and then got into a rumble with our national bird. You’ve got blood on your favorite sweater from some bird-fish wound. I count half a dozen occupied storefronts, and our driver is yelling at the general store guy like they’ve got some kind of decades-old feud.”
“Every good story needs conflict,” I insisted.
Cam beat out man and dog for ladder-climbing rights and with a scowl set it up next to the edge of the awning. The other man handed over a long plastic pipe, and our downtown hero used it to dislodge the fish head from the fabric. It landed on the concrete with a messy thwap.
The bear dog pounced on the fish head.
“Damn it, Melvin,” the other man said, dragging the hulking dog backward by the collar. The smaller dog appeared to have fallen asleep in the sunshine in the middle of the sidewalk.
Cam climbed back down, folded up the ladder, and carried it over the sleeping dog and up the steps to the front door. All without saying a word to his audience.
“You wanna feed me some pudding now? Maybe gimme a sponge bath?” the man complained, still holding the dog when Campbell returned.
“If I told you a hundred times, I know Gage told you a thousand. Hell, even Levi probably said it once or twice, and you know how much he hates to open his mouth. Stay off the fucking ladder,” Cam said, drilling a finger into the man’s chest.
The bear dog barked jubilantly, waking the sleeping speed-bump dog. It jumped up and let loose an earsplitting howl.
“Shut up, Bentley!” both men snapped.
“Are we about to witness a fight?” Zoey asked, sounding a bit more chipper.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Cam. I’m not a goddamn toddler,” the older man said, shoving Campbell’s hand away. “I’m perfectly capable of doing all the shit you pains in the ass think I can’t.”
“One phone call, and your ass is back at home in the recliner,” Cam threatened.
The older man’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me. I see you up on that ladder and I’ll duct tape you to the chair myself,” Cam warned.
The other man scraped a hand over his beard. He looked toward the truck. “You gonna introduce me to your friends?”
“Nope.”
And with that, Cam stomped back to the truck.
“See ya for breakfast,” the man on the sidewalk called as Cam shifted into drive and hit the gas.
“Yeah.”
“Friend of yours?” I asked.
“No.”
“Archnemesis?” I tried again.
Campbell glared through the windshield. “He’s my dad.”
“You two seem close,” Zoey joked from the back seat.
“Cute dogs,” I said. “Do they belong to your dad, who you obviously have some long-standing feud with?”
“Never should’ve gotten out of bed this morning,” Cam muttered.
“What kind of bed? Is it a king-size? You look like you’d prefer a king-size. I’m absolutely getting a king mattress now that I have the space for it. That and closet space are what dreams are made of,” I babbled.
I was still scrambling for possible topics of conversation thirty seconds later when our crabby driver brought his truck to an abrupt stop next to the curb. We’d made it two entire blocks from the general store altercation.
“Out,” he ordered.
Zoey didn’t have to be told twice. She jumped out of the back seat like it was full of birds eating fish heads.
I wasn’t as ready to be free of Mr. Inspiration. What if I couldn’t find him in town? What if our paths never crossed again?
“Thank you for the ride…and the show…and the first aid,” I said, poking the bandage on my forehead.
He grunted, still looking straight ahead.
“And sorry about the eagle and the sign and making you play Lyft driver.”
This time he looked pointedly at the clock on the dashboard.
“I guess I won’t keep you.” I released my seat belt and slowly began to gather my things.
“Hazel?”
I stopped what I was doing to look up at him. “Yeah?”
“If you need anything before you leave…” Those green eyes burned me up like they were emerald fire.
“Yeah?” I asked breathlessly.
“Don’t call me.”
“Har har. You’re one of those funny, chivalrous guys, aren’t you?”
“I’m neither of those things.”
“Then what are you?” I pressed.
“Late,” he said pointedly.
Zoey knocked on my window, jolting me out of my stupor.
“Uh, Haze? You sure this is the right place?” she asked.
For the first time, I looked at the building we’d stopped in front of. “Uh-oh.”
“This is the address you gave me,” Cam insisted as if I’d accused him of abducting us and dumping us in the woods.
Ignoring him, I climbed out of the truck and stared up at the monstrosity before me: 44 Endofthe Road. The number on the gate was partially disguised by an explosion of vines. Beyond the rickety picket fence and tangle of weeds posing as a front yard rose a three-story ramshackle mansion in eye-searing salmon.
“What did you do, Hazel?” Zoey asked as we stood shoulder to shoulder.
“I’m leaving,” Cam called through the open truck window behind us.
“This is not what it looked like in the auction listing,” I insisted.
“It looks like the haunted house no one lets their kids go trick-or-treating at,” she observed.
Remembering the paperwork, I patted my bag and fished out the folder. “See? Look at this. It’s the same style and the windows and doors are in the same place, but in the pictures it’s not hideous and terrifying.”
A shrill whistle cut through the quiet. Behind us, I heard Campbell swear and shut off the engine. We turned and spied a small group of teenage boys running down the sidewalk toward us.
“Are we about to be trampled?” Zoey wondered. “Is this some kind of small-town hazing initiation by stampede?”
The boys wore T-shirts that said Story Lake Cross Country . “I don’t think so.”
The kid in the lead came to a halt in front of us and extended his hand. “Hazel Hart, I presume?”
He was an inch or two taller than me and gangly, with large feet and gazelle-like legs. He had dark skin, close-cropped curly black hair, and glasses.
“And you are?” I said, feeling a little shell-shocked as I shook his offered hand.
“Darius Oglethorpe.” His toothy grin would have been charming if I hadn’t figured out I’d just gotten scammed by a teenager.
“ You’re the mayor?”
“Mayor and real estate agent,” he announced proudly. “Welcome to Story Lake.”
Zoey covered a laugh with a cough.
“You’ve got to be kidding. You’re in high school,” I said.
“This is my senior year. Well, it will be once school starts,” he explained, seemingly unconcerned by my horror.
“We campaigned all over town after school for him,” one of the sweat-soaked boys in the back said proudly.
“What the hell did you do now, Darius?” Cam demanded, joining us on the sidewalk.
“Oh my God. He’s not joking,” I realized.
“The beautiful and discerning Ms. Hart just bought Heart House,” Darius announced cheerfully. “And got herself a seat on the town council.”
“Hang on a minute,” I said.
“For fuck’s sake,” Cam snapped.
I got the feeling Campbell was personally offended by my residency in Story Lake.
“We agreed we needed some fresh blood in town, so I made it happen,” Darius said, gesturing toward me. His four friends nodded effusively.
“You can’t just sell a seat on the town council,” Campbell said, clenching his jaw and deepening the hollows of his cheeks beneath the layer of stubble.
“Or a house with AI-generated images,” Zoey cut in, pointing at my auction listing printouts.
“The pictures looked great, didn’t they?” Darius said, flashing a dimple. “My little sister worked on them for a week straight between DJ gigs. Darius Oglethorpe, by the way.”
Zoey shook his hand. “Zoey ‘I’m going to kick your teenage ass if you defrauded my friend’ Moody.”
“What’s a little fraud between friends?” Darius joked nervously.
Cam snatched the papers out of my hand and rifled through them. I’d never actually heard a grown man growl before. I’d written it plenty of times on the page, but hearing it in real life was a new, exciting experience.
Zoey elbowed me. “Wow. Now I get it. Growling’s hot,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.
“Told you,” I whispered back.
Darius turned to his friends. “You guys keep going. I’m going to show our newest and most famous resident her home. I’ll catch up with you for sprints.”
“Later, D. O.,” said the tall lanky kid with a sweatband taming his curly mullet. He threw us some sort of teenage finger sign.
“Later, ladies, I hope we’ll be seeing a lot of you,” said a shorter boy. This was delivered with a wink and a glint of braces.
They jogged off down the sidewalk.
I turned back to Darius and rubbed my temples. “So, uh, how does a high schooler become a real estate agent and mayor?”
“He’s creepy smart, and our town bylaws are shit,” Cam said, handing the papers back to me and glaring at said creepy smart teen.
“What can I say? I was blessed in the IQ area. But unlike my fellow child prodigies, I chose to advance my professional career instead of my academic career. The bylaws clearly state anyone of sound mind can run for elected office once they gain the age of sixteen,” he said, leading the way to the crooked gate. He gave it a good kick and popped the latch. “Not to brag, but I won by a landslide.”
He swept an arm in a flourish, gesturing for me to step into the overgrown yard.
“You ran unopposed,” Cam pointed out.
“The path of least resistance, my friend,” Darius said, slapping him on the shoulder in one of those man-to-man moves. His attention returned to me, and he spread his arms. “Well, what do you think of your new front yard?”
I took it all in. The uneven flagstone path. The misshapen shrubbery, the thorny overgrowth, the peeling turquoise porch planks.
“Are these flowers or weeds?” Zoey asked, picking thistles off her pant legs.
“Get this. They’re flowering weeds . Isn’t that great? The previous owner appreciated low-maintenance landscaping. So how do you know my man Cam here?” Darius asked as we mounted the porch steps.
I got the feeling he was trying to distract me from how squeaky the wood was.
“She doesn’t,” Cam said, surprising me by placing those big hands on my hips and guiding me away from a cracked, bowed step.
I lost all trains of thought at the physical contact.
“They played doctor together,” Zoey said.
Darius wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, given your profession, Ms. Hart, I hope you’re finding inspiration everywhere.”
This kid had presidential-level small-talk skills.
“You have no idea,” I squeaked, finding my footing on the porch.
Cam’s eyes narrowed in what I could only assume was some kind of crinkly-eyed masculine judgment.
I turned a slow circle. It wasn’t great. The flower boxes were full of the skeletal remains of dead plants. Some of the floorboards were warped. And the spiderwebs in the eaves were so aggressive they looked like Halloween decor.
But there was something here I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Personality, character, a lady past her prime refusing to go down without a fight…whatever it was, I liked it.
I had a quick flash of the plucky heroine standing exactly where I was, feeling what I was feeling, and goose bumps rose on my arms.
“Why is she smiling?” I heard Cam mutter.
“Because her brain doesn’t work like ours do,” Zoey explained fondly.
I turned. Zoey and Cam were standing shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed. He was frowning fiercely. She looked like she might vomit again.
“Problem?” I challenged.
“Nope,” Zoey said wisely.
“Yeah. One about five foot seven with delusions,” Cam responded.
It was my turn to cross my arms. “Don’t you have someone else to go be mean to?”
“I’m not going anywhere until someone explains exactly what’s going on,” he said.
“It’s not that hard to understand. I bought this house. I live here now.”
“Let’s not be hasty,” Zoey cut in. “It looks like one good sneeze would send it toppling into the hell mouth beneath it.”
“Don’t forget. You didn’t just buy a house, you bought yourself a seat on the town council,” Darius said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Ah, yes.” I still wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. I was more of a hermity introvert, so joining committees and councils was outside my realm of experience. But I bet my heroine would find it pivotal to her character arc.
“See, that’s the part I’m clearly not hearing right,” Cam said.
“And I’m the one with the head wound?” I said out of the corner of my mouth to Darius.
“I can see this is an important matter to you, Cam,” Darius said. “And what concerns my constituents, concerns me. Why don’t we take a little stroll around the garden and chat while Ms. Hart explores?”
“You can’t just sell a seat on the council,” Cam said.
Darius gave me a full-wattage smile. “You don’t need to stay here and listen to all the town charter subsection nonsense. You go ahead and explore inside and I’ll catch up with you.” He reached under his cross-country shirt and pulled out a dingy brass key on a chain. “It’s the only one, so don’t lose it.”
Something that felt like the ghost of excitement skittered through my veins as my fingers closed around the metal.
“Come on, Zo,” I called over my shoulder.
“Now, Cam,” Darius began diplomatically as I headed for the arched double front doors painted an unappealing weathered brown. “I know you’re familiar with our town charter. But I can understand how some of the longer-winded subsections might have escaped your attention. For instance, pursuant to 13.3 (c), upon the death of a council member, the resident of the deceased member’s choosing can fulfill the obligations of the remainder of their elected term.”
“Yeah?” Cam challenged. “Well, the charter also says that men who haven’t lost their virginity by age twenty-five should be bedded by their closest unrelated neighbor.”
I made a mental note to get my hands on a copy of the town charter as soon as possible. I fit the key into the lock and turned it. The knob turned, but the door didn’t budge.
“Sometimes you have to give it a little muscle,” Darius called.
A little muscle turned out to be a well-placed kick to the bottom-right corner.
With an eerie haunted-house screech, the door swung open on its hinges.
“Oh, boy,” I whispered.