Chapter Thirty-Five
THIRTY-FIVE
Mac
“I think it’s fair to assume we’re all here for the same reason,” former mayor Bruce Milton said.
“To make our county a safer place for our families, for the tourists our economy relies on, and for the next generation that will grow up loving the river life. If you have ideas and expectations for the sheriff’s department, I will listen, and I will enact change.
It’s time for a new perspective. A fresh new start. ”
From where she sat next to Milton, Mac scanned the audience.
The room at Jefferson Community College was full, but not so packed that Shana and Tim could be lost in the crowd.
After several attempts to pick them out while listening to Milton’s statements and preparing a rebuttal in her head, Mac finally gave up.
Her friends weren’t here. Nicole wasn’t either.
They weren’t coming.
Mac shifted in her seat. Milton’s case was strong.
The man looked good, confident. He’d replaced his dated rimless glasses with contact lenses, and was tanner than anyone in the room—suspiciously so, considering it was only May.
Bruce Milton gave off an air of authority that was clearly having an effect on the folks who’d turned up to listen, folks who wouldn’t fail to vote and convince their neighbors to do the same.
As for Mac, she hadn’t slept properly in days or had nearly enough time to compose herself for this moment, and she feared the hairline chinks in her armor were starting to show.
When Milton talked about wanting to beef up local law enforcement, there had been actual cheers.
That claim in particular felt like a personal affront.
Everyone in the room, if not all of Jefferson County, knew Mac had put her own life on the line more than once for the greater community.
They also knew that, under her watch, a serial murderer had claimed multiple lives, his reign of terror causing mass trauma that had yet to heal.
When a member of the audience asked both candidates what made them stand out, Mac emphasized the breadth of her experience, first as a trooper, then as an investigator with the BCI. It was her ace in the hole. But Milton had one more card up his sleeve.
“Sheriff McIntyre’s the old guard, no doubt about that.
She’s got years of work under that belt,” he told the audience, managing to make Mac sound both old and obsolete.
“But the fact is, there’s been far too much crime in the area.
Right this very minute there’s a serial intruder on the loose, wreaking havoc on our quiet river communities.
Who knows what she’ll do next? It’s time to put an end to all this lawlessness and violence. ”
Mac’s eyes felt dry and tired. When she moved her hands into her lap, she realized the armpits of her blouse were soaked through with sweat.
“Fun afternoon,” Bruce Milton said after the candidates had posed for pictures and the room had cleared out. “You’re being a real good sport about this, Maureen, given we used to be friendly.”
“That hasn’t changed,” she said, even though Milton had conveniently failed to remind the crowd that Mac had supported his mayoral campaign when he needed it most. She knew what he’d say if she expressed her frustration with the current situation.
This isn’t personal. She might even have believed that, if not for what he’d said next.
“Woody Durham. That’s your brother-in-law, yes?”
Mac inclined her head. “That’s right. You know Woody?”
“Never had the pleasure,” Milton replied tightly, his own head tilted toward hers. “I heard something interesting about him, though. I gather he has some kind of resale business?”
Where was he going with this? It didn’t feel like casual conversation, not in the wake of a debate that had doubled as a bloodbath.
“He sells merchandise online, yes,” said Mac. “It’s a side business, really. He owns Island Ad—”
“Right. Well, I don’t know if you’re aware, but there are some rumors making the rounds. As I heard it, the products he’s selling may not be legitimate.”
What the hell? Mac’s gaze shot to the nearest group of people, eager to make sure they hadn’t overheard. “What kind of products?”
“Purses, for one thing. Designer bags that are, in fact, knockoffs. Fakes being sold as authentic goods.”
Mac couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Counterfeit scams cropped up from time to time, but they usually involved fake money and drifters skipping town before the local retailers wised up.
Mac had never encountered anyone in the area who was running a scam like the one Bruce Milton was describing, yet here he was, saddling Woody with a counterfeit charge.
“That sounds like hearsay to me,” she replied. “You wouldn’t be trying to run a dirty campaign, would you Bruce? Smearing my family to throw my integrity into question?”
“Maureen, you should know me better than that.” He said it with a smirk.
“Look into it if you don’t believe me, but I think you’ll be disappointed by what you find.
And I know that voters would be disappointed to hear that their sheriff, a woman who claims to be the authority on law enforcement in Jefferson County, can’t keep crime out of her own family. ”
Adjusting his tie, Bruce Milton gave her a wink and walked out the door.
She watched as, in the hall, a man intercepted him.
He was very tall, approaching seven feet, and sharply dressed in a navy button-down.
He shook Bruce’s hand with enthusiasm, and whatever it was that the man whispered in Bruce’s ear, it elicited a self-approving smile.
Mac could feel her stress in her teeth, the ache akin to biting down on frosted steel. If there was any truth to what he was saying, what Woody had cooked up had the potential to be dangerous.
And not just for her brother-in-law.