Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Madison removed her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes.
She picked up her phone and glanced at the time.
No wonder her eyes were tired. She’d been working non-stop finishing up notes for the upcoming committee update.
She hadn’t found much about the corruption at City Hall except that she knew there was a lot more she wasn’t seeing.
Her phone pinged with a text from an unknown number.
Hi Madison. It’s Frankie. I’m Mayor Benson’s assistant. We met when I walked you to Mayor Morty’s office. I was hoping you’d remember me. I need a favor, but I can’t explain over text. Could we meet? Somewhere quiet.
Frankie. She remembered her—smart eyes, nervous energy, and the subtle glance she’d given Madison when Morty’s short bark dismissed her.
This might be the break she needed.
Eager to respond, she started to type but stopped when the blinking bubbles appeared, indicating Frankie still had something to say.
I’ll be at Willow Creek Assisted Living on Thursday at 2 p.m. visiting my grandmother. Could you stop by pretending to visit or volunteer? I’ll send the address. Please don’t tell anyone.
Madison reread the messages.
Her phone pinged again.
You’re smart. And not from here. That’s why I’m asking you. I think you’ll know what to do with the info I give you.
Madison typed:
I’ll be there. Grandma Carolyn and I are overdue for a visit.
Frankie sent a thumbs-up emoji. Madison put the phone down, heart racing a little faster now. Hopefully this was the lead she’d been looking for, but no matter what Frankie brought her, her stay in Deer Creek Falls was about to get a whole lot more complicated.
A soft instrumental version of “Moon River” drifted through the air. The smell of coffee and something faintly floral hung around the cozy reception area. Madison scanned her surroundings. A few residents sat in comfortable chairs, reading or chatting with visitors.
She spotted Frankie sitting on a loveseat near the window, waving her over.
Frankie wore her hair in a ponytail pulled through a baseball cap. Without makeup, she looked more like a teenager visiting a relative than the mayor’s assistant.
She stood. “Thanks for coming, Madison. I didn’t want to risk meeting anywhere near Deer Creek Falls.”
“Carolyn’s been asking for me. Thought it was time I made the trip.”
Frankie gave her a faint smile but glanced around nervously. “Let’s take a walk. There’s a courtyard out back . . . it’s quiet, with no cameras.”
Either this girl watched too many spy shows or she had something damning on the mayor.
They walked past raised flower beds and a bubbling fountain, settling on a weathered bench beneath a shady maple. Frankie pulled a manila envelope from her oversized tote bag and set it between them.
“Here. I’ve been collecting these for a while—copies of inspection reports, emails, handwritten notes he left out that I wasn’t supposed to see.”
“Mayor Benson?”
Frankie nodded. “At first, I thought he was just disorganized, lazy. Then I started noticing things didn’t add up.
Some businesses were getting permits fast-tracked.
Others—like the new candy shop coming to town, Smokey Joe’s barbecue truck, and especially the brewery—were constantly delayed or nitpicked with ‘drive-by inspections.’ Always vague violations.
Never anything in writing unless he wanted to stall the project. ”
Madison’s jaw tightened, and she opened the envelope.
Copies of property-inspection forms, some with different handwriting in the margins. Several included names Madison recognized—Chloe’s, Mason’s, and Garrett’s. A list of permits, some issued the same day, others delayed months. Photos of Morty’s car parked outside certain businesses.
“I took the photos,” Frankie said.
“What’s his end goal? Controlling progress?”
“Or . . . padding his own interests? There’s one business on that list where I’m almost sure he has a silent financial stake. But I couldn’t prove it.”
Madison turned another page—an email draft never sent, addressed to a council member, warning them about interference with city development.
“Why collect these things? Were you going to report him?”
Frankie shook her head. “I wanted to. But I need my job. I have to live here.” She glanced back at the assisted-living complex and bit her lip. “The mayor has people. Not like mob-style, but people who owe him favors. I didn’t know who to trust.” She looked at Madison and lowered her voice.
“But you . . . you don’t owe him anything. I’ve heard you were military intelligence, and you’ve already been raising questions. I thought maybe you could figure out what I couldn’t.”
“I will. I promise. I’ll get to the bottom of this. Thank you for trusting me.”
Frankie exhaled, visibly relieved.
They sat for a moment in silence, watching an elderly couple shuffle past arm in arm.
“You know, Elsie, our former mayor, ran the town with grit and grace. She wouldn’t have stood for this. Neither should we,” Frankie said.
Madison nodded, already piecing together next steps in her mind.
She had a former colleague who owed her a favor.
“No, we shouldn’t.” She didn’t know when we had started to include her, but she realized now she wanted it to.
She’d do everything in her power to fight for this town—for its people—because somewhere along the way, it had begun to feel like home.
The quiet hum of the fridge was the only sound in the house.
Madison sat cross-legged on the floor, the contents of the manila envelope spread open on the coffee table in front of her, reading glasses perched low on her nose as she tried to piece together the evidence Frankie had gathered.
This wasn’t sloppy paperwork. It was a pattern. A trail. Some of it was obvious—favoritism, manipulation. But there was more under the surface. Money, probably. Power, more likely.
She glanced toward the window, where the porch light glowed softly.
Her mind spun between two names.
Garrett. He knew the town. He was business-savvy. He’d understand what these permits meant—what they implied. And she trusted him.
But he was also close to this. He had his own history with Morty. If she dragged him into it, there was a chance he’d take it personally. Or worse—he’d want to protect her and get himself tangled up in something dangerous.
And then there was Elsie. Madison stared at the papers in front of her.
Elsie was sharp. Experienced. Respected. She’d probably have seen hints of this already but didn’t have the data. But Madison couldn’t shake the question: If Elsie suspected, why hadn’t she done anything yet? Why hadn’t anyone? She exhaled and leaned back on her hands.
Who do I trust to help me clean this up?
She looked out the patio door again.
Tomorrow. I’ll decide tomorrow.
After stuffing the contents back into the envelope, she bent down and taped it to the bottom of the shoe rack in the walk-in closet. Now who reads too many spy thrillers? But she wasn’t about to take any chances with the information Frankie had worked hard to gather.
The sun had begun to rise over the lake when Madison stepped onto the back patio and sank into the Adirondak chair with a coffee. She hadn’t slept well, her mind still trying to process the information she’d hid in the closet.
She took a sip just as Garrett stepped outside, travel mug in hand. “Good morning.”
“Hey.”
“Everything alright?”
She wasn’t ready to talk, though part of her wanted to confide in him. “Just tired.” She noticed the faint creases under his eyes. He hadn’t slept either.
“Same. You okay?”
“Just a lot on my mind.”
Garrett nodded. “I’m heading to the hospital for my last checkup.” He lifted his arm in its sling. “But I have time—I could bring back muffins. Or if you need a sounding board . . . ?”
“Muffins? That’s a hard bribe to ignore. I’m going to head to the diner. Thanks though.”
“You don’t have to do everything alone, Madison.”
He knew her a little too well. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”
Garrett left with a small wave. She watched him go before turning to go back inside—one step closer to a decision.