Please Don't Feed the Mayor

by Sue Pethick

  Spotting Vance Rowland at the dinner table had been a stroke of luck and shooting him in front of his wife and kids was especially satisfying, but after the first shot all hell had broken loose and Jesse had been forced to hightail it before the cops showed up. As he sat on the sidewalk outside Norcross Daniels that morning, he was still working on a plan to finish the job.

  A man tossed a coin into the upturned hat and Jesse mumbled the obligatory, “God bless you.” That was the funny thing about hiding in plain sight, he thought. Everyone had heard about it and no one believed it. Every man jack thought he could spot a fugitive if he saw one on the street, but even people who were good with faces drew a blank if you asked them to describe the homeless guy they passed every day on their way to work. Cops, of course, were better at it. When you saw the same folks day after day—how they moved, the places they hung out, their methods for wheedling a few bucks out of the public—it sort of stuck with you. That’s why it had been important for Jesse Lee to look like one of the regulars; a new guy on the street would have been spotted in an instant.

  But MacDonald was being extra cautious. Even with the stepped-up police patrols, he hadn’t returned to his condo. Sooner or later, though, the man would have to go to his office, and as luck would have it, there was a homeless guy about Jesse Lee’s height and weight whose regular spot was just a few steps from the building’s parking garage—the perfect place to conduct surveillance. He’d simply followed the man back to his hovel one night and persuaded him to give up his clothing. And the hat, of course—the hat was important. By the time anyone found the man’s body, Jesse would be long gone.

  He heard a car coming up the ramp and ducked his head, turning his chin slightly so he could see the driver as it emerged without revealing too much of his own face. Chances were good that it wasn’t his quarry; MacDonald rarely left work before six. Nevertheless, he felt a stab of disappointment when the old Honda came into view. Jesse turned away, reminding himself that surveillance was a long game. To win it, you had to be patient.

  A woman in a pink coat walked up and stuck a dollar bill in his face.

  “Here you go, young man.”

  Jesse didn’t really care about the money, but if he was going to pull off his disguise he could hardly ignore her. As he raised his head to offer another compulsory blessing, the Honda turned in front of him and he got a good look at the driver.

  MacDonald!

  No wonder he hadn’t seen the man’s car that morning. He’d swapped his old BMW for an even older Civic. Was it a coincidence, he wondered, or had Bryce MacDonald done it deliberately to throw him off the scent? Either way, Jesse Lee had only seconds to memorize the car’s details. As he snatched the bill from the woman’s hand, he stared after the receding automobile, committing the Oregon license plate to memory along with the make, model, and color of the car. This was the break he’d been waiting for, he thought triumphantly. The first person on his hit list was almost within his grasp.

  CHAPTER 18

  Glen Wheatley didn’t seem especially surprised to see Bryce. Sitting behind his desk, glasses perched low on his nose, he was reading something on his computer screen when Bryce knocked. Without looking up, he motioned toward the visitors’ chair across from him.

  “Be with you in a sec.”

  Bryce took a seat and looked around. The place looked exactly as it had the day he’d handed in his resignation over a year ago: same papers on the desk, same cardboard boxes stacked against the walls, same crappy, worn-out furnishings in a building that probably didn’t even meet modern fire codes. The powers that be had promised they’d all be getting an upgrade once the new courthouse was finished, but that was years ago. At this point, he was sure that no one was holding their breath. A beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and landed just out of reach. Well, he thought, at least the place had a view.

  At last, Wheatley turned away from the monitor and removed his glasses. The man looked as tired and harried as ever. Bryce wondered if he’d looked the same way when he worked there.

  “Any word yet about Colton?”

  The man shook his head and stretched his arms overhead.

  “Depending on which of our informants you talk to, he’s either living it up in Baja or passing himself off as a Latina down in Chinatown.”

  Bryce smirked. The thought of a racist homophobe like Jesse Lee dressed up as a Hispanic woman was almost funny.

  “So,” he said. “Which one do you believe?”

  “Neither. Colton wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress and he’s not going to leave until he’s made good on his threat.”

  You mean until he tries to kill me.

  “How’s Vance?”

  Wheatley held out a palm and waggled it.

  “Still touch and go. There’s another surgery scheduled for tomorrow. We’ll know more after that.”

  Bryce nodded. He’d have to get down to the hospital while he was in town. Bev would have her hands full with the girls and he’d heard she was expecting again. He hoped her folks would be able to give her a hand.

  “I hear Norcross Daniels has added Sofia Cardoza to its lineup. Congrats. She could have had her pick of firms.”

  “Yeah, the old man called an all-hands this morning just so he could crow about it.”

  Wheatley tried to hide a smile.

  “And I hear he’s made you her errand boy. That should be fun.”

  Bryce was annoyed at the characterization. Helping Sofia get acclimated might not be the most prestigious job, but that hardly made him her lackey, and the implication that his duties might include more intimate favors was insulting. He wondered if Asa was behind this.

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  The assistant DA shrugged noncommittally.

  “Word travels fast.”

  “Well, believe me, working with her wasn’t my idea. I came into town hoping for a quick turnaround and now I’m stuck here for god knows how long.”

  “Why not tell Daniels to give her to someone else? He must understand the predicament you’re in.”

  “I’d rather not remind him about the whole Colton episode. He went out on a limb hiring a prosecutor; I can’t afford to have him think that I’m attracting the wrong sort.”

  “Yeah, I forgot. You guys deal with a better class of criminal over there.”

  Bryce shook his head, refusing to be drawn into an argument. The two of them had been friends a long time.

  “Anyway, because of this assignment, I’m going to be stuck in town for a couple of days. Any chance you could find me somewhere safe to hide out?”

  Wheatley frowned.

  “What about your place? We’ve still got extra patrols in the area.”

  “Come on, Glen. A patrol car making a couple of extra trips around the block is hardly going to stop someone as determined as Colton.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right.”

  “So, you’ll find me something?”

  Wheatley pushed a few papers around on his desk.

  “All right, two days, tops. Any more than that and I’ll be answering to the budget committee.”

  “Thanks, Glen. And look, if things change—”

  Bryce heard a knock. The section’s security guard was standing at the open door.

  “We’ve had another one. Bomb squad wants everybody out while they check the building.”

  Wheatley’s face reddened.

  “Again?”

  “Don’t blame me,” the woman said as she turned to leave. “I’m just passing along the message.”

  He shut down his computer and snatched his jacket from the back of a chair.

  “Come on.”

  Bryce followed him down the hall.

  “‘Again?’ Has this been happening a lot?”

  Wheatley opened the door to the stairwell and the two of them started down.

  “Third time this year,” he said. “Probably some joker wanting to delay his hearing.”

  Br
yce checked his watch. The county courtrooms were downstairs on the first floor; Sofia was probably just arriving for her own hearing. Maybe she wouldn’t be facing Judge Hightower after all.

  Some people have all the luck.

  They stepped out of the stairwell into a crowd of people pacing, smoking, talking on phones or to one another, while they watched the bomb squad prepare to search the building. As Bryce glanced around, he felt suddenly exposed. What if Colton had followed him there? Calling in a bomb threat would be an easy way to get him out into the open.

  “Want to grab a coffee?”

  Bryce shook his head.

  “Nah, I’m fine. Probably best not to hang around out here too long.”

  Wheatley’s laugh was brutal.

  “If you’re worried about Colton, don’t be,” he said. “When he comes for you, it’ll be up close and personal.”

  * * *

  Bryce left the courthouse and drove to the hospital to see how Vance was doing. After fighting his way through a crowd of agitated strangers, the monitored protection of a high-security facility was a relief. He signed in at the desk and submitted to two pat downs—one when he reached the ICU and a second, more invasive one outside Vance’s room. As he waited for the guard to open the door, Bryce felt a flash of anger. With all the warning the police had been given after Colton’s escape, it seemed impossible that he’d been able to reach his victim so easily. Where, Bryce wondered, had all this security been when his friend had been shot?

  Vance looked pale and shrunken lying in the bed, hooked up to wires and surrounded by beeping monitors that kept a constant record of his vital signs. When Bryce stepped in, Bev was sitting in a chair next to the bed, one hand holding a book, the other resting on her husband’s leg. As she stood to greet him, Bryce saw that she was indeed pregnant and wondered how she would bear it if Vance didn’t pull through. He gave her a brief hug.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “No change since yesterday,” she said. “But the doctors are hopeful. They say they’ll know more after the next surgery.”

  “How’re you holding up?”

  Bev shrugged.

  “Not too bad, all things considered. They say the first couple of hours are the most important and we were lucky there was help nearby to get him here.”

  No doubt, they were both thinking the same thing: With help so close at hand, how had this happened in the first place? This, however, was neither the time nor place to be asking that question.

  “How are the girls doing?”

  “Better,” she said. “My folks are staying at the house, which is a big help, but I’ve taken them out of school for the time being and we’re taking them to see a counselor. They were there, you know . . . at the table.”

  She glanced over at her husband, her chin trembling. Bryce felt his hands ball into fists, almost wishing Colton would show up so he could strangle him.

  “They’ll be okay,” he said. “They’re young, and the counselor will know what to do. Eventually, they’ll be able to put it in perspective.”

  Bev nodded, blinking away her tears, and turned to face him.

  “I know they will,” she said. “I just don’t know yet if I will.”

  There wasn’t much more to say after that. Bryce told her he’d seen Glen Wheatley and urged Bev to call him if she needed anything, but Vance never opened his eyes and there wasn’t any point in trying to wake him. Anything the guy might have been able to tell him about the attack had already been shared with the police.

  He walked back out to the waiting room and asked the nurse if there was somewhere he could make a phone call. She pointed to a designated cell phone area near the stairwell. Bryce closed the door behind him and called Melanie. She sounded tired.

  “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  “Not bad. Just lots to do here trying to get the volunteers sorted out. When do you think you’ll be back?”

  Bryce grimaced.

  “Not as soon as I’d thought, unfortunately. The firm hired a new senior member and I’ve been assigned to help”—he almost said her—“with the transition.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve left you without a car and a campaign manager.”

  “But where are you going to stay? You’re not going to go back to your condo.”

  “No, I talked to Glen Wheatley and he said they’d put me up in a secure location for the time being. With any luck, it’ll only be for one night.”

  “Well, that’s something, anyway.”

  Bryce paused as a voice over the intercom paged Doctor Chen.

  “Sorry about the noise; I’m calling you from the hospital. I stopped by to see how Vance was doing. Bev was with him.”

  “How’s she holding up?”

  “Better than I’d expected—especially considering she’s pregnant again.”

  “Oh, Bryce.”

  “Vance was out of it, though. Not sure if it’s a coma or he’s just sleeping, but he looks pretty bad.”

  He ran a hand down his face, trying not to think about the man lying in bed just down the hallway. Even in the worst moments after the conviction, Bryce had never really believed that Colton would escape, much less that he’d actually try to carry out his threats.

  “Listen, I’d better go. I’m hoping to be back tomorrow, but I’ll call if anything changes. I’m really sorry to be leaving you in the lurch like this.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “We’re all doing fine. You just stay safe and we’ll see you when you get here.”

  Bryce hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket, then walked back out to Melanie’s car feeling like he had a target on his back.

  * * *

  Melanie felt a stab of guilt as she hung up the phone. In spite of what she’d told Bryce, things really hadn’t been going very well that day. Only half the people who’d volunteered to canvass had actually shown up, and of those, two had said they couldn’t work for more than an hour. Then Kayla had called, asking for the day off to finish a term paper, and after all the extra time she’d been putting in at the shop lately, Melanie felt she couldn’t say no.

  Even some of the good things that had happened the day before had backfired on her. The people who’d come by to ask about Bryce had also eaten every muffin, scone, and Beavertail in her display case and Walt said that Mae wouldn’t have any more for her until Friday. Melanie felt as if she’d been holding her breath until Bryce got back, and now he wouldn’t be there for at least another day.

  She went into the back room and took her lunch out of the refrigerator, feeling sorry for herself. Kayla was gone, Bryce wasn’t coming back, and Shep was out canvassing with Flora Grieb. It felt like she’d been abandoned.

  Look at you, sitting there feeling sorry for yourself. You’re not helpless. There’s still plenty of work to do before the election. Get to work.

  Melanie set her mouth. Her better self was right: She wasn’t helpless. There was a lot she could do. In fact, there was something she’d been wanting to do for a while but hadn’t because she didn’t want to step on Bryce’s toes. Well, she thought, it was time to find out when his friend Dave Giusti was going to come out and do their interview. She got the number from Information and waited while his phone rang.

  “Editorial. Giusti here.”

  “Hi. This is Melanie MacDonald. I’m a . . . friend of Bryce’s.”

  “Friend,” she thought, sounded better than “ex-wife.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The guy sounded distracted. Melanie hoped she hadn’t caught him at a bad time.

  “I think Bryce contacted you about my dog, Shep, who’s running for mayor out here in Fossett, and I was wondering—”

  “I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, feeling flustered. “My name is Melanie. Bryce MacDonald told me he called you to discuss setting up an interview with me and my dog and I was jus
t wondering when we might be able to—”

  “Uh, Melanie? I think there’s been some sort of miscommunication here. I already told Bryce I’m not interested. No offense, but I don’t do animal stories. If you want, I can give you the name of one of our stringers and you can see if he wants it, but like I told Bryce, this kind of story just isn’t for me. Sorry to be so blunt, but that’s just the way it is.”

  Melanie’s face was burning.

  “No, of course. I totally understand,” she said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  She hung up, feeling like a fool. Dave Giusti must have thought she was just hoping he’d change his mind if she badgered him enough. She was so embarrassed she felt like crawling into a hole. Why hadn’t Bryce told her the truth instead of letting her think the interview was on?

  Melanie swiped away an angry tear. Bryce had promised to tell her the truth from now on, no matter how upsetting, and yet when she’d asked if there were any other things he hadn’t come clean about, he’d sworn there weren’t. Maybe he’d simply forgotten, she thought. Or maybe he was counting on her not finding out. Maybe he’d even been trying to sabotage Shep’s campaign all along, figuring that if her plan failed she’d give up on Fossett and return to Portland with him.

  She was on the verge of calling him back and demanding to know what was going on when it occurred to Melanie that she’d done enough talking. She’d given Bryce a second chance and he’d blown it. Now it was time for her to do what she should have done all along: take charge. She reached into her pocket and took out the piece of paper Kayla had given her the day before.

  This time, the man who answered the phone didn’t sound bothered when Melanie gave him her name. In fact, Chad Chapman seemed thrilled that she’d returned his call. After a brief chat while she told him about Shep and the situation in Fossett, he told her that he and his cameraman could be there in the morning to begin their interview.

  “That would be perfect,” Melanie told him. “I can’t wait.”