Please Don't Feed the Mayor Read online

  Bryce sat down and Melanie handed him a menu.

  “Was this place here before? I don’t remember it.”

  “It was, but the building had been condemned back in the eighties. When we decided to revitalize the town, it was one of our first projects.”

  “I’m glad you did,” he said. “It’s a real piece of Americana.”

  A skinny waitress in jeans and a Grateful Dead tank top sauntered over.

  Melanie smiled.

  “Hey, Ashley. How’s it going?”

  “Fine. Busy.”

  She paused to push a wad of gum to the side of her mouth.

  “What can I get you?”

  “A bottle of Dos Equis, please. Shep will have his usual.”

  Bryce leaned forward.

  “His usual? You’re not seriously thinking of giving this dog alcohol, are you?”

  “Why not?” she said, winking at Ashley. “It’s after five, isn’t it?”

  Seeing the look on his face, the two women laughed.

  “I’m kidding. It’s just water. They keep a bowl for him in back.”

  Bryce set his menu aside and looked up at Ashley.

  “What have you got on tap?”

  She liberated her gum from its hiding place and gave it a couple of chews.

  “On tap? Let’s see.” She frowned thoughtfully. “On tap, we’ve got beer.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, I guess I’ll have a bottle of Dos Equis.”

  “Good choice.”

  She turned on her heel and walked back to the bar.

  He looked at Melanie.

  “I don’t even remember the last time I was in a bar that didn’t have more than one beer on tap.”

  She shrugged.

  “Welcome to the real world.”

  Ashley returned with their beers and set a bowl of water on the floor for Shep.

  “You two ready to order?”

  Melanie nodded.

  “I’ll have a bowl of chili—no onions.” She smiled at Bryce. “You’re welcome.”

  Bryce picked up his menu and glanced at it quickly. There hadn’t really been time to look it over.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll have the, um . . . Leaky Faucet burger.” He snapped it shut. “Hold the mayo.”

  Ashley stopped chewing.

  “That’s the house special.”

  “I know,” he said. “Does it come with cheese?”

  “Among other things.” Her gaze shifted to Melanie and back. “Are you sure?”

  Bryce felt a prick of irritation. Surely, even a place with only one beer on tap could make something as simple as a hamburger. He wondered if this was some sort of test, a way to mess with the stranger in town.

  “I’m sure.”

  She pulled a face.

  “Ooooookay.”

  “Also, I’d like to substitute a salad for the fries.”

  “You want a salad?”

  “Please.” He felt his lips tighten. “What kind of dressing do you have?”

  She scratched her head with the pencil.

  “Blue cheese and, uh, Thousand Island, I think.”

  “I’ll have the blue cheese.”

  Ashley made a note on her pad.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. One chili, hold the onions, and one”—she looked at Bryce—“house special burger. Anything for the dog?”

  Melanie shook her head.

  “Shep’s fine, thanks.”

  “It’s gonna be twenty, twenty-five minutes. In the meantime, let me know if you need refills on those drinks.”

  She stuck the pencil behind her ear and walked back to the bar.

  “What is this,” Bryce said as he watched her go. “ ‘Mess with the New Guy Day’?”

  “I just don’t think they get a lot of orders for the special.”

  Ashley and the bartender were sharing a laugh.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Melanie said. “Nobody’s messing with you.”

  He nodded. Even if he was being jerked around, Bryce told himself, it wasn’t worth getting worked up over. He took a sip of beer and tried to calm down.

  “Blue cheese dressing. I didn’t even know people ate that stuff anymore.”

  She looked at him.

  “What’s wrong with blue cheese dressing?”

  “Everything: cheese, trans fat, preservatives. I have to watch it, Mel. I’m staring forty in the face.”

  “You’re thirty-four. That’s a long way from forty.” She shook her head. “Geez, it’s not like you’re going to die tomorrow.”

  At the mention of death, Bryce felt an unwelcome spurt of adrenaline. There’d been nothing in the news that morning about Colton and he was sure Glen Wheatley would have called if the guy had been picked up. The thought that a killer was still somewhere out there, gunning for him, was unnerving.

  “I’m surprised this place is so busy,” he said. “The food must be good.”

  “It is,” she said. “But then we don’t have a whole lot of choices, either. Fossett’s too small for a McDonald’s.”

  Bryce felt the corner of his mouth tighten.

  “Not more than one, anyway, huh?”

  She looked away.

  “No. Not more than one.”

  He took another sip of his beer. It was the closest he’d come to broaching the subject of their marriage, and he wasn’t sure how far he could push things.

  “I’m curious,” he said. “After we divorced, why didn’t you change your name?”

  Melanie shrugged.

  “Why? Does it bother you?”

  “It just seems a little odd, that’s all. We were only married a couple of years—”

  “Twenty-six months, two weeks, and five days.”

  “I guess I thought you’d want to go back to your maiden name.”

  She finished her beer and set the bottle back on the table.

  “Too much of a hassle,” she said. “I’d have to change everything: driver’s license, utility bills, credit card. I’m not even sure they’d reissue my college diploma.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you use that a lot around here.”

  Melanie pursed her lips.

  “Oh, come on,” he said. “Don’t get offended. Wouldn’t it be nice to be doing something meaningful with your life, instead of pulling espresso shots?”

  “I am doing something meaningful. The people around here need me.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Like I said, I was just curious.”

  Bryce looked away, feeling chastened. Had he misjudged things? Maybe Melanie wasn’t as ready to change her mind about the two of them as he’d thought. The problem was, he wasn’t good at beating around the bush. To him, Fossett’s shortcomings seemed glaringly obvious. He’d thought that by pointing them out he could show Melanie what she was missing; instead, he’d put her on the defensive. Clearly, it was the people around there she was attached to, not just the town itself. If he was going to convince her to leave, he’d have to show her that he cared about their welfare as much as she did.

  Ashley came by with a pitcher and refilled Shep’s water bowl. Bryce ordered another beer and looked around.

  “So, who are these people? Maybe if I knew who they were I’d be able to come up with some targeted strategies for the campaign.”

  Melanie gave him a doubtful look.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “Different people respond to different approaches.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  She started scanning the dimly lit room.

  “Well, for starters, Ashley is Kayla’s mother.”

  “Kayla your assistant?”

  He turned and squinted at their waitress, now chatting with a customer across the room.

  “I would have said maybe an older sister. She must have been pretty young when she had her.”

  “Sixteen. Not much to do in a small town. Teens find their own forms of entertainment.”

  “What about th
e dad?”

  “He was a heavy equipment operator on a logging crew until he misjudged a slope and rolled the machine. It’s just the two of them now.”

  Bryce cringed. “What a way to go.”

  She nodded.

  “Not that uncommon, unfortunately. In case you hadn’t heard, logging’s the most dangerous job in America.”

  He tipped his bottle toward a large blond woman sitting near the door.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Helena Haas. Believe it or not, she and Selma are twins.”

  Bryce did a double take. The manager of the B and B was a tiny woman with mousy brown hair, a sweet face, and a full, soft body. The woman across the room looked like a Valkyrie: Tall and muscular, she had a long, straight nose, prominent chin, and thin lips.

  “What does she do?”

  “Excavation: tractors, earthmovers, backhoes. Too bad there’s not much call for it around here anymore.”

  He thought about that while he looked around for another likely candidate.

  “What about that guy at the bar?”

  “Which one?”

  “All the way at the end: red T-shirt, jeans, braid halfway down his back.”

  “Oh, that’s Lou Tsimiak.” She shook her head. “He’s kind of a sad case.”

  “Native American?”

  She nodded. “According to Walt, he’s one of the last of the Luckiamutes.”

  “Like the river.”

  “Right.”

  Bryce took a moment to study the man who sat hunkered over his drink. There must be something about him that didn’t invite social interaction. Even with the rest of the place filled to capacity, the guy had a six-foot radius of empty space around him.

  “So, what’s his story?”

  “He was in the war—some kind of sniper, I think. Rumor has it he hesitated when a woman approached his platoon and she blew herself up. He was injured; some of his buddies got killed.”

  “Probably a scout sniper platoon; that’d make him a Marine.”

  She gave him a quizzical look.

  “Oh yeah. I forgot your dad was in the Navy. How are your folks these days?”

  “They’re fine. They still ask about you.”

  “Still living in Washington?”

  He shook his head.

  “They got sick of the cold and moved to Coronado with the rest of the ex-Navy snowbirds.”

  The front door opened and a man in a green parka and camo pants walked in.

  “Oh no,” Melanie said, sinking into her seat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s Rod Blakely.”

  “The opposition?”

  Bryce watched as the man advanced toward the bar. There didn’t seem to be anything especially attractive or charismatic about him—the sort of things that might make him a formidable candidate. If anything, in fact, the other patrons seemed to make a point of avoiding eye contact when he approached. This, in spite of the fact that he was nodding and smiling in an effort to ingratiate himself.

  “He doesn’t seem like much of a threat,” Bryce said. “What are you so worried about?”

  “I’m not worried,” she said. “I just don’t want him to come over here. If he sees us, I guarantee you he’ll walk over and try to start an argument. It’s what he does.”

  “Well, don’t let him. The best way to handle people like that is not to engage. If he wants to argue, just don’t give him the chance.”

  “Fine,” she said. “If he comes over here, I’ll let you handle him.”

  A place had opened up at the bar and Rod took a seat as he waited for his beer. As soon as he had it in hand, he turned on his bar stool and began checking out the room. The second he spied the three of them, he got up and walked over.

  “Well,” he said. “If it isn’t Miz MacDonald and her little dog Shep.”

  “Hey, Rod,” Melanie said.

  He gave her a smug look.

  “I hear you’ve been out talking to the voters. Having any luck?”

  “What do you care?”

  “Oooh, touchy touchy. This your hotshot lawyer?”

  She glanced at Bryce and nodded as if to say, Your turn.

  “That’s right,” Bryce said. “And you are . . .”

  “The man who’s going to whip your client’s ass.”

  “Well, that should be interesting.”

  “Oh, it’ll be more than interesting. We don’t need outsiders telling us who to vote for.”

  “I agree.”

  “Fancy lawyers with your fancy cars,” he grumbled. “Always causing trouble.”

  “Can’t argue with you there.”

  “Overpaid busybodies.”

  “That’s a fair point.”

  Blakely paused. He seemed nonplussed.

  “You know you’re working for a dog, don’t you?”

  Bryce shrugged.

  “Honestly? I’ve had worse clients.”

  “Yeah.” Blakely chuckled. “I’ll bet you have.”

  The man leaned in closer.

  “Ever defend a murderer?”

  “No, but I’ve prosecuted one.”

  “He get the death penalty?”

  “No,” Bryce said. “Unfortunately.”

  Blakely shook his head.

  “Damn weak-kneed juries. An eye for an eye—that’s the way it ought to be.”

  Bryce said nothing. Let the man make of it what he wanted. He’d met guys like Blakely before. Most of them just wanted someone to hear them out. It cost him nothing to oblige.

  The man looked back at his empty bar stool.

  “Well, can’t stand here listening to you two all day,” he said. “Some of us still have work to do.”

  “I understand,” Bryce said. “Nice meeting you.”

  Blakely returned to the bar and Bryce turned to Melanie.

  “You see? It’s not that hard. I’m sure he’s a nice guy, once you get used to him.”

  “You’re kidding, right? The man’s an ass.”

  “No, he just has a competitive conflict style. Not to be pedantic, Mel, but guys like that see everything in the world as a competition they can either win or lose. Arguing is the way they assert their dominance.”

  He glanced over at the bar where Rod had launched into another harangue with the bartender.

  “See that?” he said. “He’s arguing again already. If that bartender’s smart, he’ll just roll over and let him win: problem solved.”

  Melanie looked from Bryce to Rod and back again.

  “Where do you come up with all that hogwash?”

  “It’s called being informed; you ought to try it sometime. I find that avoiding snap decisions keeps me from making embarrassing mistakes. It’s really not that hard.”

  She glanced over his shoulder, trying to hide a smile.

  “What?” he said. “You don’t believe me?”

  “No. It isn’t that. It’s just, um . . .”

  “Here you go,” Ashley said as his plate hit the table. “The house special burger. Bon appétit.”

  Bryce’s mouth fell open when he saw the conglomeration of foodstuffs on his plate: two beef patties, each one sporting a top coat of American cheese, a thick slice of ham, bacon, bread-and-butter pickles, tomato, lettuce, onion rings, and a fried egg, all of it dripping with barbecue sauce and served on an oversized bun. Instead of toothpicks, a serrated dinner knife had been plunged through the top to keep the whole thing from falling apart. Tucked into its side was a pale wedge of iceberg lettuce, coated in blue cheese dressing.

  Melanie was holding her sides, trying not to laugh.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?” he hissed.

  “I thought you knew,” she said. “Not to be pedantic or anything, but you really should read the menu before you order.”

  CHAPTER 10

  It was almost nine o’clock by the time Melanie and Shep dropped Bryce off at the B and B and headed for home. He’d insisted that
she take the car, but in truth it hadn’t taken much persuading. The temperature had been falling for the last few hours. At that point, it was just barely above freezing.

  As they drove up to the house, she realized she’d forgotten to leave any lights on. Her little house looked dark and forlorn amid its well-lit neighbors. She put the car in the garage and got Shep out of his harness. The second she let him in the door, the dog went to his bed and dropped like a deadweight. Between running off with Bryce that morning and canvassing in the afternoon, she thought, the poor guy must be pretty well spent.

  As she switched the lights on in the living room, Melanie thought the house felt colder than usual. She checked the thermometer—sixty-eight, same as always—and wondered if she was getting sick. There was an ache in her chest that hadn’t been there that morning. She headed into the bathroom and checked her temperature. Ninety-eight point four: no problem there. Maybe it was just indigestion. Even without onions, chili sometimes didn’t sit well with her. She took a couple of antacids and chuckled. At least she hadn’t ordered the house special.

  They’d had fun at the bar. Bryce was a good sport about the Leaky Faucet burger and she’d enjoyed sticking a few pins in his lawyerly ego—something he’d never have tolerated in the past. He’d even admitted—reluctantly—that having only one beer on tap wasn’t the end of the world. Melanie smiled. Apparently, she thought, it wasn’t just his appearance that had improved. It was funny what age and maturity could do, she thought. Too bad that didn’t really change anything.

  Not that she wasn’t enjoying his company—she was—and Melanie didn’t know what she’d have done if he hadn’t put together that campaign strategy. Bryce didn’t get discouraged as easily as she did, either. Even having a door slammed in his face didn’t seem to faze him. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d probably have blown the visit with Flora and gone home to cry. He’d saved her when she made a bad start at the Griebs’, listened patiently while Les and Sal told him that lawyers were ruining the country, and even managed to cut short one of Rod Blakely’s harangues. Nevertheless, after she and Bryce had spent a day together, it was clear that he’d come there with an agenda.

  Of course, Bryce was too clever to come right out and say so, but the comment about doing something meaningful with her life had made it pretty obvious. Sooner or later, she knew, the hints would stop and the two of them would be right back where they’d been four years ago. Only this time, saying good-bye would be a whole lot harder than it was the first time.