Please Don't Feed the Mayor

by Sue Pethick

  Selma looked like she’d sprinted the four blocks from the Fossett House to get there. Her hair was a mass of frazzled curls, and the cold weather had left her cheeks an impressive shade of pink.

  Melanie frowned. “What’s working?”

  “Shep,” Selma said breathlessly. “The election. It’s working.”

  “Is this about the thing in the paper?”

  There’d been an article in Wednesday’s edition of The Fossett Informer about their meeting last Sunday. Perhaps another paper had picked it up.

  “Must have been,” Selma said, nodding eagerly. “When the man showed up last night, he said he’d heard about Shep and wanted to check things out for himself.”

  Melanie felt a flutter of excitement. Until that moment, her plan hadn’t seemed quite real even to her. Now the thought of her hometown filling with people anxious to meet its canine mayor made her pulse quicken.

  “But if you’ve got a guest, what are you doing here?”

  “Oh. Our brochure says we serve complimentary coffee with breakfast.”

  “You do?”

  “No. That’s why I had to come over here. I told him to take a seat in the common room and I snuck out the back door.”

  Melanie sighed and looked heavenward. This right here was the problem with Fossett. No matter how many improvements the town made, somebody always had to make sure they were put to good use, and a remodeled bed-and-breakfast that didn’t serve breakfast was nothing but an old house with strangers living in it.

  “Okay. No problem. I’ll get you some to take back.”

  She grabbed a carafe from under the counter and took it over to the coffee urns.

  “Does he want regular or decaf?”

  “I forgot to ask. Sorry.”

  “Why don’t we make it regular? If he asks for decaf, give me a call and I’ll bring it over while you serve breakfast.”

  Selma’s gaze slipped away.

  “Yeah, breakfast . . .”

  “You do have something to feed him for breakfast, don’t you?”

  “I did, but there’s been nobody there but me, and you know how I get when I’m bored. I guess I must have eaten it.” Her face brightened. “I’ve still got some Beavertails.”

  Melanie tried not to be upset. It wasn’t really Selma’s fault; the people who’d given her the job didn’t know any more about running a B and B than she did. She couldn’t help thinking of Walt’s comment, though. Maybe he was right. Maybe there weren’t enough “normal” people left in Fossett to turn the place around.

  “Tell you what,” she said, closing the top on the carafe. “I’ll give you some of Walt’s baked goods for now. Just make sure you go by the grocery store before tomorrow.”

  They stepped behind the counter and Melanie gave Selma a box to carry the pastries in. This was just a hiccup, she told herself as she reached for a muffin. A tiny bump on the road to a better future. If Shep’s story could bring one person into town before the election, imagine how many would show up once he was the mayor. This was definitely going to work.

  The bell on the front door rang.

  “I’ll be right with you!” she said. “Ow!”

  Selma had taken her arm in a death grip.

  “Atsthay imhay.”

  “What?” she hissed, trying to pry the woman’s fingers loose.

  “Him. The guy who checked in.”

  “Oh.”

  Melanie smoothed the wrinkles from her apron, anxious to make a good impression on their new customer. As she stepped out from behind the pastry display, however, the smile froze on her face.

  Bryce had changed since she’d seen him last. The bland attire of a newly minted lawyer had been replaced by a fashionable grey suit, Italian loafers, and a knee-length camel hair coat; his hair was skinned back in a style that banished the waves that once fell across his forehead. Her first impression was that he looked good—very good—but on second inspection, she realized that something was off.

  The expensive suit looked slept in and the handmade shoes were lacking a shine. There were dark circles under his eyes, too, and a tightness around his mouth that told her he was under stress. And there was something else, something that all the expensive clothes and designer haircuts in the world couldn’t disguise, something that maybe only she would notice: Bryce MacDonald was scared.

  “Hey, Mel.”

  “Hey, Bryce.”

  Selma was watching their exchange, openmouthed.

  “You two know each other?”

  Melanie nodded.

  “Bryce is the lawyer I told you about. He’s agreed to help us find a way to make Shep the mayor.”

  “I’m also her ex-husband,” he said. “But I guess we don’t need to talk about that.”

  “No,” Melanie said. “We don’t.”

  Bryce looked at Selma.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I saw you leave and figured I’d just save you the trouble of bringing the coffee back.”

  “No, not at all.” She looked at the carafe in her hands. “You want me to pour you some?”

  He glanced at Melanie.

  “Any chance I could get an espresso instead? I’ve been running on empty for a couple of days.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Have a seat and I’ll bring it out.”

  While Bryce found a table, Melanie grabbed a cup and started grinding the beans.

  How dare he just show up, uninvited? All it would have taken was a phone call.

  Selma put the carafe on the counter and sidled up beside her.

  “I can’t believe you let him get away,” she whispered. “I would not have given that man up without a fight. Unless he was gay, of course.”

  She turned and watched Bryce settle into his seat.

  “Nope,” she said. “Not even then.”

  Melanie was waiting for the water to heat.

  “Let’s just say it was complicated and leave it at that.”

  “Oh. Well, okay.” Selma picked up the carafe. “I, uh, guess I’ll just take this back with me then.”

  She gave Bryce a last lingering look and headed out the door.

  Melanie pulled the espresso and walked it over to Bryce. It hit the table with a thud.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He took a sip.

  “Ahh, that’s good. Thanks.” He set the cup back down. “I got the information you asked for.”

  “You could have called, you know. Saved yourself a trip.”

  “I could have, but I needed some fresh air.”

  He glanced at the dog in the corner.

  “Is that Shep? He’s really filled out since you got him.”

  Bryce held out his hand.

  “Hey, buddy. Remember me?”

  Shep raised his head and gave him the once-over. As a rule, Melanie’s border collie was quick to greet all comers, but there were times when he hung back, waiting for a sign that the interloper was harmless. For whatever reason, he’d decided that this new arrival didn’t meet with his approval.

  “Hmm,” Bryce said. “Not very friendly for a politician. You’ll have to work on that.”

  “Funny,” she said. “He gets along just fine with most people.”

  Bryce shrugged and took another sip of coffee.

  “I like what you’ve done with this place.”

  Melanie was finding it hard to maintain her sense of outrage. Bryce was only there because she’d asked him for a favor, after all. She sighed and took a seat.

  “Thanks.”

  “Wasn’t there a café across the street?”

  “It’s gone,” she said. “Along with half the other businesses in town. We need to get more people to move here.”

  “Hence the whole ‘Shep for mayor’ thing.”

  “Right.”

  He took another sip.

  “Think it’ll work?”

  “Honestly? I have no idea. At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you this, b
ut if you’re determined to do something by Election Day, you’re running out of options.”

  “Yeah, I was afraid of that.”

  “However,” he said. “I think I have an idea that’ll work and I should have a preliminary campaign schedule hammered out by tonight.”

  “Campaign schedule?” Melanie stared. “What for?”

  Bryce’s look was incredulous.

  “How do you expect to get Shep elected if you don’t have a campaign?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, feeling flustered. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters. The more professional Shep’s campaign is, the more the people around here will get behind him.”

  Melanie sat back. It felt as if things were moving too fast. It had been less than a week since she’d even gotten the idea.

  “But I don’t know anything about running a political campaign.”

  “I do,” Bryce said.

  “You want to run Shep’s campaign? What about your job?”

  “I’ve got some vacation time accrued, and I’ve got political experience.”

  She smirked.

  “Being the class president at Mountain Ridge High School doesn’t count.”

  “The same principles apply.” He grinned. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  Melanie paused. The truth was, she’d been a little worried about the election. Ever since the town meeting, people had been telling her that Rod Blakely was going around trying to sell himself as the next mayor. Nevertheless, she wasn’t convinced that working with her ex-husband was a good idea.

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Look,” he said. “Election Day is just over a week away. We can keep from killing each other for that long, can’t we?”

  She looked away. It wasn’t killing each other that she was worried about.

  “Maybe,” she said. “But only if Shep agrees.”

  “Of course!” He turned and smiled at the dog in the corner. “The two of us are gonna make a great team. Right, Shep?”

  The collie, who’d been checking his dog bed for any overlooked crumbs, did not respond.

  “Hey,” Bryce said. “What’s with the cold shoulder?”

  Melanie shrugged.

  “He gets like this sometimes—it took him a while to trust anyone after his first owners got rid of him. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay,” he said, setting his cup aside. “Tell you what then. I’ll go back to my room and put together a plan for the campaign. When do you get off?”

  “We close at six.”

  “Perfect. We can discuss it over dinner. I’ll stop by the store and meet you at your place at seven. How does stir-fry sound?”

  The offer was tempting. Bryce had always been a good cook, and fixing dinner at the end of the workday was one of Melanie’s least favorite chores. Nevertheless, she’d worked too hard to close that chapter of her life to reopen it for the sake of convenience.

  “Seven is fine,” she said, “but I’ll make dinner.”

  “But—”

  Melanie shut down his protest with a look.

  “Please, Bryce, for both our sakes. Let’s not go down that road again.”

  He threw his hands up in surrender.

  “Got it. No problem. I’ll see you at seven.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Bryce walked into his hotel room and closed the door. Seeing Melanie had left him stunned, rattled, and emotionally drained. He’d thought he was over her, that time and distance had made it possible to be in the same room with her without it tearing him up inside. Now he realized how wrong he’d been. He sat down and put his head in his hands. How on earth was he going to get through dinner?

  I shouldn’t have come.

  The worst part was seeing how little their meeting had affected her. Even when she was caught off guard, the only thing she seemed upset about was that he’d come in person to give her the information rather than making a call. This was exactly what he’d feared: that it had been easier for Melanie to get over him than the other way around.

  Bryce shook his head, trying to summon the anger that would stop him from brooding. What difference did it make which one of them had been hurt more? Just look at where she was: living in some backwater, working herself to death in a pointless job while the town crumbled around her. Meanwhile, he was living in a vibrant city and making a ton of money doing a job that most guys would kill for. Even a fool could see which one of them had made the right decision. He wasn’t the one who should be upset—she was.

  When his phone rang, Bryce’s first thought was that it was Melanie calling to cancel, and his pang of disappointment put the lie to any outrage he’d been able to summon. He took the iPhone out of his coat pocket, relieved to see Glen Wheatley’s number.

  “I got your message,” Glen said. “What’s up?”

  Bryce had left him a voice mail the night before about the man at the condo.

  “My neighbor saw a guy in our building yesterday who said he was looking for me. Told him he was my brother. Problem is, I don’t have a brother.”

  “You get a description of the guy?”

  “Sorry. I was so spooked I didn’t think to ask.”

  “Crap.”

  “It may be nothing, but I thought I’d take your advice and get out of town for a while. I’m staying at a B and B down in Fossett.”

  “Good. That’s one less headache I have to deal with.”

  “Any word on Colton?”

  “Nope. The hotline’s been busy, but nothing’s panned out yet. Right now, we’re just waiting for Vance to come out of surgery.”

  “What?”

  Vance Rowland had been Bryce’s co-counsel on Colton.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No. What happened?”

  “He was shot—sitting at the dinner table with Bev and the kids. Whoever did it must have been hiding in the bushes outside his house.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s alive. Doc said if the bullet had gone in half a centimeter higher, the guy’d be on a slab.”

  “Witnesses?”

  “Nobody saw nothin’.”

  Bryce ran a hand over his mouth and tugged at his lower lip. He’d almost convinced himself the decision to leave town had been too hasty, that the man Curtis talked to had simply wandered into the wrong building by mistake. Now that explanation seemed a whole lot less likely.

  “I can increase the patrols around your building in case he comes back,” Glen said. “In the meantime, stay where you are. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

  As Bryce hung up, he felt his whole body start to shake. A minute ago, he’d been thinking he should just go home, but the attack on Vance changed everything. It could have been a random act—the method didn’t really sound like Colton—but the timing was suspicious. Wheatley was right. It was smarter just to stay where he was for the time being.

  He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to calm his mind and body. At least he had something to do while he waited. Putting together Shep’s campaign schedule would keep him busy for now, and if Colton was still at large tomorrow he and Melanie could start putting it into action. Being with her might not be easy, but it was safer than going home. As he took out his computer and got to work, it occurred to him that leaving for Fossett might literally have saved his life.

  * * *

  Melanie’s bungalow was one among dozens of nearly identical houses that lined the serpentine streets of Fossett’s residential area. Built for timber company employees around the turn of the last century, the homes had been erected as the need arose, with none of the planning and forethought that made getting into and out of a modern subdivision quick and easy; the distance from Fossett House—about a mile as the crow flies—had taken him almost seven minutes to drive. If there was ever a need to evacuate the town in an emergency, he thought, some folks might not make it out in t
ime.

  Bryce parked at the curb, grabbed the bottle of wine he’d bought on the way there, and hurried through a cold drizzle to the front door. The sound of the doorbell prompted a canine uproar inside and he could hear Melanie trying to shush the dog, to little effect. As the door opened, she was bent over, holding Shep by the collar.

  “I’ve got him,” she said. “Come on in.”

  Bryce stepped across the threshold and Melanie took the dog’s head in her hands.

  “Don’t be rude, Shep. Bryce is here to help us.”

  The collie delivered a final woof and slunk off to his dog bed in the corner.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “We don’t get a lot of company.”

  “At least he’s a good watchdog.”

  Bryce held out the bottle.

  “I took a chance and brought red. It was Gunderson’s finest, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  Melanie looked at the wine bottle like it was a dangerous animal.

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “Just a thank-you for having me over.”

  She reached out and accepted it gingerly.

  “I’ll set it out to breathe. There’s a hook by the door for your coat.”

  Bryce hung his coat up and swatted away a few drops of rain while Shep eyed him from across the room. He knew it had been a long time since they’d seen each other, but he hadn’t expected Melanie’s dog to be so wary of him. He wondered what the problem was.

  “How ya doing, boy?”

  The collie lowered his ears and growled softly.

  Melanie bustled back into the room.

  “Okay,” she said. “Wine’s aerating and dinner will be ready in ten.”

  Bryce nodded toward the dog bed.

  “I don’t think Shep likes me.”

  “Of course he likes you,” she said. “He’s just tired. The Stubbses’ goats got out this afternoon and he had to get them back into their pens.”

  Bryce glanced at the dog glowering at him from the corner. Shep didn’t look tired to him.

  “So,” she said. “Have you figured out how to hold an election?”

  “Yes and no. There isn’t really enough time between now and Election Day to hold an official election. Oregon law requires it to be vote by mail, and we can’t even get a list of registered voters by then.”

  Melanie’s face fell.