“Okay, maybe I’m more than anxious. I guess I’m closer to worried.”
“About Clarissa?” he rightly guessed.
“About Clarissa and Cynthia,” she clarified. “Cindy’s really torn up about this, Cris. I’ve never seen her so hysterical. Even I don’t understand why Clarissa would run off to Las Vegas to get married. Married! Can you believe it? Has she lost her damn mind?” She shook her head ruefully. “I mean, I get that Clarissa is upset at her mom. Cindy isn’t easy to deal with sometimes . . . okay, a lot of times. But this is so extreme! And now Cynthia is on a flight to Vegas to find her and stop the . . .”
When Lauren realized she was ranting, her words faded. She sighed.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry for talking about the usual family drama. I know this is a big night for you. You don’t need to hear about all this crap.”
They climbed the short flight of brick stairs. “It’s okay. I’m used to it by now. There’s never a dull moment in the Gibbons family, is there? You girls like your drama.”
“I’m afraid so, but I warned you in the beginning,” she said playfully, wagging her finger up at him.
“That you did,” he whispered before leaning down to kiss her.
His lips brushed hers just as the colonial’s front door swung open.
Lauren had been told that the dress code for tonight was dressy casual, so she had worn a teal eyelet lace sundress and sandals. Cris had on a dress shirt and tan slacks. But the woman standing in the doorway obviously hadn’t gotten the dress code memo or had simply ignored it. She had on a slinky black sequined halter gown, garish diamond jewelry, and about two pounds of imported Malaysian weave on her head. She held a wineglass in her hand. A grin was plastered on her red glossy lips.
“And here’s the man of the hour!” she gushed. “Mr. Crisanto Weaver himself! Welcome to our home, Cris!”
Lauren fought back a laugh as she watched Judy Payton, their hostess, teeter slightly on her stilettos. Judy stepped back from the door and ushered Cris and Lauren inside her foyer.
The woman had obviously gotten the party started early. She looked like she had had more than just a little to drink.
“Hey, Marv!” she slurred over her shoulder, shouting to be heard over the jazz trio that Lauren had spotted from the driveway. The trio played a Duke Ellington tune on the other side of the room, near the fireplace.
Judy wobbled again as she shut the door behind Cris and Lauren. “Marv! Cris is here, honey bun! Come say hi!”
Cris and his wife, Lauren, Lauren corrected silently. But she kept smiling, giving no hint of her irritation.
She knew how it was. Everyone went out of their way to be nice to her husband, but many chose to either be stiffly polite with her or to ignore her completely. She was a happily married mother and chef. She hadn’t chased after a rich man in years, not since her nasty breakup with her abusive ex-boyfriend, James Sayers. She had changed her ways, but many still saw her as nothing more than a ruthless gold digger.
“Welcome! Welcome!” Marvin bellowed as he strode across the hardwood floors, shoving through the throng of partygoers to make his way toward Cris. When he reached the towering man, he instantly embraced him. Cris awkwardly hugged him back.
“Cris, I’m so glad you’re here!” Marvin cried.
“Thanks for inviting us.”
“Of course! Of course!” He grabbed Cris’s elbow. “Let me introduce you to a few people. Councilman Connelly is here. And of course, I have to introduce you to the Murdochs—George and his son, Evan. If you get their approval and support, you’ve pretty much won the election,” Marvin said, lowering his voice. “I’m sure you know everyone, but just in case you don’t, I don’t want you to miss the chance to win over potential voters. Am I right?” Marvin loudly laughed, slapped Cris on the back, and attempted to steer him across the foyer toward the living room, but Cris halted and turned toward Lauren instead.
“You’re okay on your own?” he whispered into her ear.
She smiled, warmed to know that her husband was so thoughtful and protective of her.
“I’m fine,” she whispered back, shooing him away. “Don’t worry about me. Go and win those votes, Future Mayor.”
He nodded, kissed her cheek, and turned back to Marvin. “Lead the way,” he said.
Lauren watched as Marvin guided Cris to a group of men who stood near the living room’s entrance.
She turned and found Judy staring at her. The woman’s bleary eyes narrowed as she scanned Lauren over the lip of her wineglass. Lauren had seen this stare before. It was usually followed by a sneer, a lip smack, or the mutter of “Can you believe this bitch?” and it was usually directed at her from an angry wife or girlfriend.
“Thank you for hosting the party for Cris,” Lauren said, deciding to play nice. “He’s incredibly thankful for the support.”
“Well, Marvin wants to help Cris as much as he can.” Judy paused to sip from her wineglass. “He wants to make sure Cris connects with the right kind of people and not just any ol’ trash off the street,” she scoffed.
Lauren cocked an eyebrow, wondering if she was the “trash” Judy was referring to. She didn’t get the chance to ask. Someone rang the doorbell and Judy turned back toward the door.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Judy said before abruptly walking away from Lauren, leaving the young woman standing alone in the middle of the foyer.
Lauren looked around uneasily, watching as those around her engaged in animated conversations. She felt like the high school nerd at the popular kids’ party. If the evening continued like this, it was going to be a long night.
Despite the rough start, she managed to make it to the end of the party, knowing that it would look bad for Cris if his wife wanted to walk out before the little shindig was over. She even managed to talk to a few people, avoiding the ones who seemed openly hostile.
When the jazz trio started its third rendition of Ellington’s “Take the ‘A’ Train,” Lauren glanced at her watch. She saw that it was almost eleven o’clock. She had officially hit her limit of fake smiles and uncomfortable chitchat. It seemed like a good time to leave the party. She tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and sauntered over to her husband, who stood in the center of a throng of people, retelling one of his football stories. His audience seemed riveted.
She tapped Cris on his broad shoulder. He turned to look at her quizzically.
“Sorry, honey, but we have to head home now.”
“What?” Marvin looked crestfallen. “You’re leaving already? But Cris was just—”
“I told our nanny we’d be back by eleven thirty,” she explained quickly, hoping that using the baby as an excuse would stop any arguments. “I’d hate to be late getting home. She might worry that something is wrong.”
Cris slowly nodded. “She’s right. It is getting a little late. We should call it a night.”
“If you think this is late, you should come to one of the council meetings!” drawled a baritone voice from behind them. “The longest one dragged on almost until dawn!”
Lauren turned to find a light-skinned man with a pencil-thin mustache and a long, curly gray mane rivaling Al Sharpton’s striding toward them. His matronly–looking wife was at his side, holding her purse in front of her like it was a Trojan shield.
When Lauren saw the couple, she grimaced. It was Thurmond Knightly, longtime mayor of Chesterton and Cris’s opponent. Lauren knew Thurmond well because he had once been a close friend of her ex, James Sayers. She could understand why Thurmond and James had been such good buddies: Both men had huge egos and liked to intimidate others with their power and position.
“But I guess if you’re not too keen on working past bedtime, you’re really not cut out for the job as mayor,” Thurmond continued with a grin and booming laugh that made Lauren cringe. He slapped Cris on the back. “Might as well throw in the towel now. Go home to your bed and your baby, son!”
At that jibe, Lauren
instantly felt her blood boil. She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at Thurmond. To Cris’s credit, the warm smile didn’t leave his handsome face.
“I’ve got no problem working late into the night. You, on the other hand, should be careful. A man at your age should get his rest,” Cris said, thumping Thurmond just as hard between his shoulder blades, making the older man flinch.
Well played, baby, Lauren thought. Well played.
“Thurmond,” Marvin said uneasily. Several conversations in the room fell silent as they watched the two men squaring off. Marvin made a furtive glance around him as he nervously cleared his throat. “I-I, uh . . . I didn’t know you’d be stopping by.”
Thurmond adjusted his suit jacket lapels. “Of course I had come to your little party, Marvin! Had to welcome the competition!” He turned back to Cris. “But I must say, Cris, I’m surprised you’ve decided to throw your hat into the ring. Big-time football player and businessman like you . . . I’d think you’d be bored being the mayor of a little ol’ town like Chesterton.”
“Why is it a surprise? I’ve adopted Chesterton as my home. I care about this town. It’s a good place, but it could be even better. I could help Chesterton with my know-how . . . you know, help bring it into the twenty-first century.”
Thurmond tilted his head. “You’re talking about making changes around here?”
“Why not?” Cris asked. “The town could be modernized a bit. The same businesses have been on Main Street for decades. We could entice some new blood into town. Maybe work with the Chamber of Commerce to start a business incubator here for start-ups. And while we’re at it, some public facilities are in desperate need of improvement. The library on Popular Street doesn’t have—”
“Modernization! Change!” Thurmond boomed as he pointed up at Cris. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, son! That’s where you’re confused about this town! Chesterton is all about tradition.... Traditional values . . . community. . . a sense of morality!”
“Praise the Lord,” his wife cried beside him, closing her eyes and waving her hand slowly like she was in a pew at church.
Lauren frowned. Up until this point, she’d thought the older woman was mute.
“And we need leadership that represents that,” Thurmond continued. “We need a mayor and a mayor’s wife who represent those values.” He then gave a none-too-subtle side glance to Lauren.
Lauren gaped in amazement. So he was going to go there, huh?
She wasn’t the only one who noticed the little dig. Cris’s jovial expression disappeared. He angrily squinted down at Thurmond. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Calm down, son!” Thurmond barked out another laugh. “No need to get all puffed up! I’m just saying that if you’re going to run for office, make sure there’re no skeletons in that house of yours. Make sure all those closets are clean and set right . . . if you get my drift.”
“And when it comes, it finds the house swept and put in order,” Thurmond’s wife said solemnly with a nod. “Luke chapter eleven, verse twenty-five.”
So now the woman was quoting bible verses? Good Lord, Lauren thought.
Everyone knew what Thurmond and his wife were talking about. Lauren’s past was far from stellar, and perhaps it wasn’t an ideal past for a mayor’s wife, but Thurmond was wrong in one regard: She didn’t conceal any skeletons. Her past was an open book in the town of Chesterton. It had been gossiped about ad nauseum in every hair salon and cocktail party within a twenty-mile radius. She had nothing to hide!
“Cris, let’s head home,” Lauren whispered, linking her arm through her husband’s. She could tell he was fuming, and though Cris didn’t generally have a temper, he didn’t back down from a good fight, either. She didn’t want him to say or do anything that could make him look bad—or, worse, hurt his chances of winning the election. She tugged him gently. “Let’s just go.”
“You go on home, son! Give a kiss to that baby of yours for me!”
When Lauren saw Cris grit his teeth and the vein pulse along his temple, she immediately stepped forward to intercede again.
“Thank you for the party,” Lauren said politely to Marvin. She then began to walk toward the foyer, but stopped when she realized her husband wasn’t walking with her. Cris didn’t budge an inch, at first. Instead he continued to glare at Thurmond. Fury positively radiated from him.
“Cris,” she said yet again. “Honey . . .”
She finally seemed to get through to him then. Cris started to walk toward the front door with her. Most of the partygoers had fallen silent as they made their exit. Even the jazz trio had stopped playing—finally! She didn’t think she could hear “Take the ‘A’ Train” yet again.
“Thank you for coming!” Judy Payton gushed drunkenly from the other side of the room.
Neither Lauren nor Cris responded. Instead they silently walked out the front door and toward the driveway. The sound of whirring cicadas and crickets greeted them.
Lauren glanced up at her husband, finding him still staring stoically ahead. As they walked down the driveway, she sighed.
She wanted to do nothing more than to help Cris, to see him succeed, but now she worried she would be his biggest liability.
Chapter 12
Korey glared out the taxicab passenger window at the Las Vegas Strip, not giving so much as a glance at his female companion sitting on the cracked leather seat beside him. It wasn’t that he was fascinated by the twinkling cyclone of lights, the scantily clad women on the sidewalks, or the crazy swarm of people piling out of the casinos and hotels. He just didn’t want to deal with Cynthia right now. He was still pissed at her for what she had said on the plane.
Did she really believe all these years that she was the one who had been wronged? She thought she was the one who had been betrayed? No wonder she had acted so cold and self-righteous toward him! Well, he was glad he had rid her of that little “poor me” fantasy: Pitiful Cindy Gibbons has her heart broken by her big, bad teenage boyfriend and is driven into the arms of her sugar-daddy millionaire.
No, you don’t get to play the victim here, Cindy, Korey thought vehemently as they rode in silence toward the hotel where the kids were staying. Not with the way you treated me, you heartless bitch!
She was the one who had betrayed him by calling him up one night to say she wanted to see him again, having sex with him one last time, then dumping him unceremoniously before she ran back to her new fiancé. Korey was the one who had been left shell-shocked and feeling deceived and heartbroken.
He was glad he had finally set her ass straight! He was owed an apology—a big one—and he didn’t want to listen to anything else she had to say until he got that apology.
Korey pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contact list.
Cynthia turned to him and frowned. “Who are you calling?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he continued to search for the name of his ex-wife, Vivian, hoping that he wouldn’t regret calling her. He had just remembered something, something that was very important that could aid them in their search for the kids, and only Vivian had access to it.
Vivian didn’t give him much of a chance to second-guess his decision to call her. She picked up on the first ring despite the fact that it was well past midnight back East.
“Oh, Lord, what happened?” Vivian yelled in a panic. “You better not tell me my baby was in a car crash! Is he all right? Damn it, Korey! I told you about letting him drive that—”
“He’s fine, Viv,” Korey said, cutting her off before she started a full-on tirade. “Jared is fine.”
At the mention of Vivian’s name, Cynthia’s lips instantly puckered, as though she had just sucked on a lemon. She snapped her head around and glowered out the car window at the Strip.
“Well, if nothing is wrong with my baby, then why the hell are you calling me this late at night?” Vivian squawked.
“Because I need your spyware password.”
; She went quiet on the other end of the line. “What . . . What spyware? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, Viv! Don’t play stupid with me! You put spyware on Jared’s cell phone to track him and his phone calls. I know you did! Just give me the site and the password.”
“If you know about the spyware, then you know that I took it off! Jared found out about it and got mad at me for spying on him!”
“And you didn’t put it back on after that?”
She fell silent again.
“Yeah, I thought so. Just give me the password.”
“Why do you want to track him, though? You said he was okay. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong! He . . . he just . . .” Korey thought quickly, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t alarm Vivian and send her racing to Vegas too. “He, uh
. . . he lost it. His phone, I mean. Or he thinks someone might have stolen it.” Korey shrugged. “Hell, he doesn’t know. He’s always misplacing that damn thing. I’m hoping we can track it down. I bet he left it at a friend’s house.”
“Track down his phone? Wouldn’t it just be easier to buy him a new one?”
“Do you have money for a new one?” Korey asked, turning the question on her.
Five minutes later, he had the Web address, the username, and the password for the cell phone tracking software. He folded the receipt where he had written the information and tucked it into his jean pocket.
“So how’s Vivian?” Cynthia asked. She continued to stare out the taxi window.
Korey slumped back against the leather headrest, ignoring her. With weary eyes, he watched the weather forecast on the television screen embedded in the seat in front of him.
“You two seem to be on good terms,” she continued. “Rather chummy.”
“Don’t start, Cindy,” he warned.
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