Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
According to the sign on the door at City Hall, she had one hour before they closed for the day. In the center of the lobby, a reception desk lay beneath an expansive skylight that lent the area a spacious feel and illuminated it with natural light.
The young receptionist with expressive green eyes smiled as Madison approached. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?” she asked.
“Hi. I’m Madison Mitchell. I’m working with Garrett Reid at Northern Lights Brewery.” She pulled out the letter from her shoulder bag, unfolded it, and set it on the counter in front of her. “I’d like to speak to the mayor about this drive-by inspection bill we received last week.”
“Of course. Mayor Benson is available. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thank you. I didn’t get your name.”
“Oops, I’m used to everyone knowing me. I’m Frankie, Frankie Fowler. My name is really Francis, but I’m not a fan.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Frankie.”
“You too, Madison.” Frankie pressed the intercom button. “Mayor Benson, there is someone here to see you.”
“Who is it, Frankie?” he asked.
“Madison Mitchell with Northern Lights Brewery.”
“Well, don’t keep her waiting, bring her back,” he snapped.
“Yes, sir.” Frankie disconnected and stood up.
“Right this way, Madison. Follow me.”
Madison had a feeling she wasn’t going to be a fan of the mayor. The biting tone he used with his receptionist had carried through the phone.
Madison trailed Frankie to the door marked “Mayor.” Across from it was another labeled “City Administrator.” Soft, serene landscapes of lake life lined the walls—fishing boats at sunrise, weathered docks, and loons cutting across the water.
At the end of the hall was a keypunch-secured door marked “POLICE” in large letters.
Frankie tapped twice on the mayor’s door and entered.
Mayor Benson—mid-to-late thirties, thinning dark brown hair, soft around the middle—looked like a man who spent more time behind a desk than anywhere else.
Madison clocked him in seconds.
Overcompensating posture, practiced smile, the kind of confidence that came from position, not ability. Not someone she’d worry about in a confrontation.
“Please.” He stood and gestured to the seat in front of his desk before settling again in his black leather desk chair, steepling his fingers. “What can I do for you, Miss Mitchell? It is Miss, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
Not that it was any of his business. Madison sat, keeping her posture straight and her expression neutral.
There were days she missed her rank more than she missed the uniform—days like this, when someone like Morty Benson thought a condescending tone could rattle her.
As a Federal Agent she had stared down criminals with sharper glares and higher stakes than a drive-by inspection bill.
The mayor smiled like a man who thought he was in control.
Madison returned the smile with the same polite precision she’d once used in interrogations.
“I’m hoping you can help me understand this.
” She laid the bill on his desk and pushed it forward, her tone light, almost curious, as if she were asking for his expertise rather than questioning him.
In her experience, she could get a lot more from a man like Morty by letting him talk—and watching what he gave away.
Morty adjusted his tie, even though it hadn’t shifted, and leaned back with exaggerated ease. “Ah yes, the inspection notice. Routine stuff. Safety compliance. It’s all automated now, you know. Efficiency’s the name of the game.”
“Interesting,” Madison said, glancing down at the paper. “Because this was stamped three days after Garrett submitted the final paperwork for our back patio. No contact, no heads-up. Just a fine and a photo taken from a truck window.”
Morty shrugged, spreading his hands like she’d caught him with nothing more than a smudge on his shirt.
“Well, you know how it goes. Small towns have to keep up with state requirements, and my office just keeps things moving along. We don’t have the manpower to handle things personally anymore. It’s out of my hands, really.”
Which, of course, meant it was very much in his hands. Madison kept her smile fixed in place. “So, it’s all automated?”
Morty’s smile flickered.
“And how often do you review these inspection notices before they’re sent out?”
He leaned forward, sensing, perhaps too late, that he was being boxed in. “Well, I wouldn’t say I review them exactly. That would imply . . . Look, Miss Mitchell, I’m sure this is just a small mix-up. I’d be happy to personally take a look into this.”
She tilted her head. “That’s generous of you.”
“I do try.” He offered a wink that landed like a stone in a pond.
Madison made a note to bleach her memory later. “And if you do look into it, would you mind sharing the names of the inspectors on contract? Just to clarify for our records.”
Morty hesitated a beat too long, then reached for a folder on the corner of his desk. “Of course. I’ll have my assistant email you the list.”
If there even was a list. She smiled and stood.
“Appreciate your time, Mayor Benson. I’m sure we’ll be talking again soon.”
After Madison left her cell phone number with Frankie, she stepped out into the sunshine, the cool breeze a sharp contrast to the stale tension in Morty Benson’s office.
She was halfway down the front steps of City Hall when two men in crisp sheriff’s uniforms stepped out of a parked SUV and gave her a polite nod.
“Ma’am,” the older officer said with a smile, then motioned toward the building. “You look like someone who just survived a meeting with Morty.”
She blinked at him, lips curving despite herself. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only because I’ve been there. Sheriff Nick Reid,” he said, introducing himself.
Reid.
Her gaze flicked briefly to his jawline, sharper than Garrett’s, and then to the eyes, which were warmer than she expected for a man in uniform. Still, the name gave her pause.
Sheriff Reid continued, “And this is my deputy, Kevin Sawyer.”
The deputy stepped forward and extended his hand. He looked to be in his late twenties, broad-shouldered beneath his tan uniform, with sandy brown hair and an easy smile that hadn’t quite reached his eyes.
“Madison Mitchell,” she replied, shaking each man’s hand. “Nice to meet you both.”
Sheriff Reid studied her face for a beat, not rudely, just with that quiet intuition law enforcement types often had. “Everything go all right in there?”
She hesitated, then shrugged one shoulder. “Let’s just say I’ve had more transparent conversations with foreign intelligence officers.”
His brow lifted, clearly intrigued.
She offered a small smile. “I’m trying to make sense of a bill dropped on the brewery for a mysterious drive-by inspection. No warning or real explanation.”
“Ah.” Nick glanced toward the building, his jaw tightening. “Let me guess—compliance enforcement?”
Sawyer exchanged a quick look with Nick but stayed quiet.
“Bingo,” she said.
Sawyer let out a quiet sigh. “I should probably mention before you find out on your own . . .” A sheepish smile crossed his face. “Mayor Benson’s my uncle.”
Madison blinked.
“Trust me,” he said. “I don’t get to pick my relatives.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
“Morty’s been getting creative lately,” Nick said, his tone neutral but layered. “You planning to follow up?”
“I am,” she said. “Quietly, for now.”
He nodded slowly. “Well, if you ever need anything, I’m around.”
Madison smiled, surprised by the offer—and how much she appreciated it. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”