CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ledger
“The protestors are back again,” Hillary says when she pokes her head in my office.
“Seriously?” I barely even glance up from my laptop. That’s how much I don’t fucking care about who’s protesting now. “What do their signs say this time?”
“Let me see.” Hillary moves to my window and peeks down below. “Preserve our lakefront is one. No unions here, which is rather comical considering there isn’t a union happening. Big city greed means small-town ruin. Wow,” she says as she turns to look at me with raised eyebrows. “That’s a new one.”
“Rather catchy, don’t you think?” I lean back in my chair and try to switch gears from Takashi getting squirrely on details to the debacle front and center. “Is there a website they go to find these slogans?”
“Who knows. perhaps?”
“How about .”
“I vote for that one.” She chuckles and looks back out the window again. “They need to make up their mind though, because they change their message daily.”
“Which is why I think the mayor is behind this.”
“He really does have a hard-on for you, doesn’t he?” she says as she moves away from the window and takes a seat in the chair in front of my desk.
“The question is why? My guess is that visibility is key when you’re running for reelection.”
“My guess is he needs to lose simply on principle.”
I laugh. I love Hillary and her dry sense of humor. She’s been with S.I.N. going on ten years now and has been an incredible asset.
“While I have you, where are we in ‘project town involvement’?” I roll my eyes to emphasize how thrilled I am about this.
“We’ve passed out flyers to all local businesses, placed an ad in Cedar Falls and Bear Valley newspapers, and notified the City of Commerce. Maybe we’ll get some submissions from local artists and craftsmen so we can feature their work at the resort. Maybe we won’t.”
“It’s a crapshoot. The big question is, what do we do if we only get ugly shit for submissions?”
Hillary laughs. “Then we don’t take it? Or we put it on the back walls and not front and center. We paid a fortune for our interior designer. The last thing I want to do is have to ugly up their esthetic to accommodate this new glitch from Grossman.”
“Agreed.” I take a sip of my water as she rises from the chair. “And thank you.” She stops and looks at me. “I know you have a crap ton on your plate, trying to get this done on time and under budget, and then I added this to it. You’re doing a great job.”
Hillary has the oddest expression on her face as she looks at me.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Do you know I worked for your father for over eight years and while he was a kind man, he was also more than demanding. He paid me well and understood when I needed time for my kids or whatever, but not once did he ever say something like what you just did. Thank you, Ledger.” Her voice is soft, her eyes sincere. “I truly appreciate it.”
And when she walks across the hall to her office, her words echo in my head, and I smile.
About the time I turn back to my laptop and type answers Takashi isn’t going to like, a little pair of legs—whose torso is hidden behind a picket sign—comes walking into my office.
“I think you took a wrong turn,” I say.
“It’s me, though. Tootie.” She sticks her head out from behind the cardboard and offers me her toothless grin.
“Did you think I’d want you walking in here with that sign?”
“It’s my cover,” she says, leaning it against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest.
“Your cover?” I ask.
“Yep.” She takes a stroll around my office space, touching almost everything in the process. The walls, the windowsill, the corner of my desk. It’s almost as if she’s assessing it, which is ridiculous. “I needed a way to sneak in here. I figured this was the best way.”
Hillary walks back toward my office with a perplexed expression, perhaps wondering how Tootie got past her, but I just hold up my hand to stop her. I nod to let her know it’s okay.
“Does your mom know you’re here?” I ask as Tootie finishes her survey and helps herself to the seat Hillary vacated minutes ago. She takes a moment, making a show of wiggling her butt in the chair to feel out if it’s comfortable.
The purse of her lips tells me she finds it suitable.
“Yep. I told her I was going to come sweet-talk you into coming over for dinner, but don’t come. Ever. My mom burns toast like it’s an Olympic sport. I wouldn’t subject you to her cooking. Not even my enemy.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Anytime.” She folds her hands in her lap as she tries to scoot her tiny body to the back of the chair. “Besides, people are talking.”
“About?”
“You.”
“They are, are they?”
She sighs heavily. “I mean, I try not to listen, or at least I say that I try not to, but you know I do.”
“Of course, you do. Should I ask what they are saying or are you going to tell me in your own sweet time?”
The little giggle she emits has me shaking my head. “They say you have a woman.”
“First lesson in life, Tootie. If you ever date a man who says he ‘has a woman’, dump him on the spot.”
“Why?”
“A man does not have you. You are your own person with your own thoughts. He can enjoy you and your company. He can want to spend time with you and laugh with you. At no point does he ever have you. Got it?”
“I think you’re going a little deeper than is needed. Should I rephrase? I’ll rephrase.” She clears her throat and sits a little taller. “They, the people in town, say that you are enjoying the company of a woman.”
Smart-ass.
“It’s none of their business what I’m enjoying,” I assert. To an eight-year-old.
“You’re right. It’s not. But it’s a small town, so technically everyone thinks it is their business.” She looks down to where she’s started picking at her yellow fingernail polish. “Are you going to explain to me why Mayor Grossman wants to screw you over?”
I choke on my next breath. “Tootie.”
“What?” she asks innocently enough. “Would you rather me say fu—”
“Nope. Screw works. Screw is just fine.” Jesus. This kid. “Why do you say he wants to screw me over?”
“He was at the coffee shop when Momma was talking to Ellie May about the man she wants to . . . er . . . enjoy.” She winks and grins, but her cheeks turn pink.
“And the mayor was sitting behind me talking and talking and talking about how he needs to keep the pressure on you because it looks better for him.”
And there is the answer Hillary and I were just asking the question to. I look up to see Hillary across the hall nodding, clearly hearing Tootie’s whirlwind conversation.
“He’s not exactly in my fan club.”
“You have a fan club? How did I not know this?” She sits up a little straighter. “Do you charge a membership fee? Have a paying Patreon club where you reveal extra tidbits? How. Did. I. Not. Know. This?”
“It’s an expression, Tootie. A turn of phrase. It’s not a real thing.”
She waves a hand at me. “And to think you got me all excited about nothing.”
“Was there more you wanted to say about the mayor?” I ask.
“You need to kill him with kindness. That’s what Momma says to do when Alex teases me.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “A fist to his nose sounds better in my opinion, but apparently killing him with kindness works even better.”
“Sure. Yes. Okay.” There’s no way I’m going to tell her I vote for bopping Alex in the nose. But I do.
“What did you ever do to him, anyway?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” I shrug. “He’s just an opportunistic . . .”
“Asshole? Is that the word you were going for?”
It’s Hillary’s turn to cough out a laugh.
“Something like that.” I fight my own smile. “Why are you trying to help me, Tootie Tootie Bo Footie?”
Her grin is ear to ear from the nickname. “Somebody has to because, in case you didn’t know, it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, Ledger.”
“Clearly.” I nod, trying to keep a straight face. And then it dawns on me. “Hey, do you want to help me with something?”
“Like be a secret agent or something?” She sits up straighter.
“Nothing quite that intense.” I laugh. “In an effort to kill the mayor with kindness, Hillary and I,” I say, pointing to Hillary, “are working on upgrading your library at school.”
“You are?” Her eyes widen.
“We are. So I think you’re the perfect person to help us decide what exactly it needs.”
“You mean like a reading couch and a moon pod and wobble chairs and another set of Harry Potter because it’s always checked out? That kind of stuff?”
“Exactly that kind of stuff.”
“A way to a woman’s heart is through her books. That’s for darn sure.”
I just stare at her, blinking. There’s nothing else I can do.
She crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips, clearly in deep thought. “Do I have a budget, or do I get carte blanche?”
Where does she come up with this shit?
“How about you just make a list—”
“It would be much easier if I created a Word doc and gave you links to where to buy the items.”
I stare at her dumbfounded. “What?”
“Yeah. It’s what I do for Momma at Christmas. She says it’s much easier for Santa if he has web links because he has so many kids to get toys for. That way he gets me exactly what I want.”
Can’t fault Momma for that one.
“Okay. If you’re okay with doing that—”
“Kids are fluent in computer these days. Don’t doubt my skills.”
“I won’t. I’m not. I definitely do not doubt you.”
“Good.” She stands and gives us a resolute nod.
“I need to get back to Momma. She probably thinks I got lost somewhere and am in some kind of peril. She listens to too many true crime podcasts.” She rolls her eyes.
“But I’ll get on that right away as I’m assuming you need progress to get the mayor off your back? ”
“Something like that. Thank you for the help.”
“You know, if this thing with the woman you enjoy doesn’t pan out,” she says as she stops to pick up her sign and then looks over her shoulder at me, “I’m available to take her place in about twenty years. Later.”
And with that, Tootie skips out of my office and down the hall.
I meet Hillary’s eyes across the distance. “I want to be her when I grow up,” she says.