GETTING AN APPOINTMENT with the mayor should not have been difficult, especially since Gil Hamilton was already aware Roman had arrived in Butterfly Harbor. When Friday afternoon’s visit to both the town hall and the mayor’s temporary office proved fruitless, Roman decided to continue the direct approach and hunt the mayor down on Saturday.
The sooner he got Jasper’s situation settled, the easier the coming initial weeks with Frankie—and subsequently Butterfly Harbor—would be.
Ferreting out that the mayor planned to drop by the butterfly sanctuary construction site sometime before noon today felt like a real accomplishment. That he’d be passing by Duskywing Farm on the way meant he could mark off some of his shopping, as well.
After only a few days in town, he was already enjoying the fact he could walk most anyplace he needed to go. Reminding him of his time in Boston, when a car was a superfluous expense and the added exercise kept his fitness tracker happy.
Butterfly Harbor was the perfect spot for an early-morning walk, well before any of the stores were open. The scents of bacon and fresh-baked bread wafted from the continuously opening and closing door of the Butterfly Diner, but he decided to forgo his morning meal there, and, protein bar in hand, headed up the hill.
The first place he came to, though, was Duskywing Farm.
He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect—a farm in the middle of a town? But given the collection of cars in the makeshift lot and the sound of enthusiastic, excited voices in the distance, it seemed the farm was about to fulfill the promise he’d been given: a unique, inviting experience.
The crisscrossed wooden fence gave way to a gate, guarded by a sleek gray cat. He’d no sooner reached out a hand to the animal than a little girl of about ten raced over, a jangle of bells wrapped around each ankle, her feet bare in the thick grass. Red curls curtained her fresh, freckled face and eyes as bright as amethysts glinted up at him. “Hello.”
“Hi,” he said. “She’s beautiful.” After receiving an approved head bump against his hand, he stroked two fingers down the cat’s back.
“She knows.” The girl laughed. “Her name’s Ophelia. Would you like to come in? We’re having a special today on honey. Calliope says if I sell all my jars I can start helping her tend the hives. Would you like a jar? Or two?”
“Quite the saleswoman, aren’t you?” Roman said. “Tending beehives is something you want to do?”
“Well.” The girl scrunched her nose. “Don’t tell her, but I’ve already been visiting them. Do you know bees talk? Not with words, but their buzzing changes depending on the time of day or if they’re stressed. If you listen, you can hear it.”
“I did not know that.”
“Stella, you have customers!”
Roman blinked at the nearly identical but fully-grown woman who strode over, equally stunning, equally barefoot.
“I do?” Stella jumped and almost collided with the fencepost. “Oh! I have to go. If I have any jars left, I’ll sell them to you. ’Bye!”
“Well, that’s the best welcome I’ve ever had.” Roman realized he was still petting the cat and pulled his hand away. The woman smiled at him and, after lifting the latch, pulled open the gate.
“Please, come in, Chief Salazar.”
“Roman, please. I’m not sure I have time.” Roman glanced up the road. “I was hoping to catch the mayor at the construction site—” Unable to resist the open expression on her face, he did as she asked and stepped through the gate.
“Actually, my husband, Xander, and the mayor are meeting today. I’ll introduce you and you can go up with him. Come.”
“Thanks.” Swallowing some embarrassment, he said, “I confess I should know your name. I’m sure Frankie mentioned it—”
“Calliope. And the honey huckster is my sister, Stella. Welcome.” She led him down a peat gravel path that twisted and wound toward a stone cottage with a bright red door that was standing open. “Xander?” She disappeared inside as Roman was still looking around.
Everywhere his gaze fell he saw lush, green life. An endless field of vegetables stretched into the distance, dotted with customers picking their own bounty, filling basket upon basket. The wooden stall by the gate where Stella was selling her honey was filled to the brim with jars of amber liquid and plastic bags filled with homemade scones. He could smell the fresh herb garden overflowing with lavender, rosemary and thyme, and the bare remnants of a bountiful basil patch, settling into dormancy for the coming winter.
Overhead, bees buzzed and butterflies fluttered, darting in and around the trees, flowers and vegetables, dancing from leaf to leaf, bloom to blossom.
“Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”
Roman glanced over his shoulder to where a dark-haired man stood, a dishtowel and chipped plate in his hand. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“City guy, huh?” The man chuckled. “Can spot them a mile away. I used to be one. Xander Costas.” He held out his hand, which Roman accepted. “Nice to meet you, Chief.”
“I didn’t realize I was wearing a name tag.”
“Your reputation does precede you.” Xander nodded. “Calliope’s fixing breakfast if you’re hungry. Come on in.”
“I don’t want to impose. I was just hoping to meet up with the mayor this morning.”
“Calliope mentioned that. I’m heading up there in about an hour. You’re welcome to come with me. Gil can be a bit slippery to catch.”
No kidding. Seemed every time Roman came close to tracking the good mayor down, the man disappeared minutes before Roman arrived. He felt the wrapper of the protein bar crunch in his pocket as he went into the house, but all thoughts of it melted away at the aroma of fresh-baked biscuits. The long wooden table was filled with an array of fruits. Dried herbs hung from the hand-strung wooden racks above; the planks beneath his feet were homey and worn. Persimmons, oranges and apples surrounded him, along with wreaths of fall flowers and corn husks in varying degrees of craftiness.
“Sit, Roman. Please,” Calliope urged. “Make yourself at home. It’s a bit of chaos right now with Thanksgiving coming.”
“Should I take off my shoes?” He only now noticed Xander was as barefoot as his wife and Stella.
“If you’d like.” Calliope’s voice was as melodious as the bells she wore in her long, red hair. “Most of the time I simply forget to put them on.”
“Easy habit to form,” Xander told him from across the table. “My sister Alethea still teases me about our barefoot wedding.”
“Alethea teases you about a great many things.” Calliope stopped long enough to press a kiss to the top of his head. “And you deserve every one of them. Would you prefer strawberry or apricot jam, Roman?”
“Either sounds delicious.” With all the twinkle lights and scents of fall, Roman felt as if he’d fallen into some kind of fairy world. “I appreciate the invitation.” He leaned closer to the coffee and inhaled the rich brewed scent. “Ah, man. Now that’s good.”
“Same blend as they serve at the diner,” Xander told him. “I talked Holly into sharing her secret.”
“She gave us a significant supply as a wedding gift,” Calliope added. “Which reminds me, Xander, we need to get going on that Christmas gift for Zoe and Jacob.”
“Right. I just want to consult with Simon before I lock in the final plans.” Xander glanced at Roman. “Holly and Luke’s twins. Calliope’s Jacob’s godmother. She wants to build them a custom playground in their backyard.”
“Sounds time-consuming.”
“It will be. The trick will be surprising them with it.”
“We’ll find a way. We always do.” Calliope set a platter of steaming biscuits on the table. “Those look incredible.” Roman spoke so they wouldn’t hear his stomach growl. He’d been delighted last night to find the station house refrigerator stocked with casseroles, meat loaf and, his personal favorite, a pot of homemade macaroni and cheese, but that seemed ages ago now. “Thank you. If you need any help with the construction, say the word. I’ve overseen a number of playground projects over the years. I might be able to give you some pointers.”
“You see?” Calliope smoothed a hand over Xander’s T-shirt–clad shoulder. “I told you we’d find a way. Kendall MacBride is on board, as well. She’s our local handywoman, and she’s already built one before for her stepdaughter, Phoebe. Among the three of you, I’d say the project is in excellent hands.”
“Especially if it frees Calliope up to be the distraction so we can surprise the entire family,” Xander said. “So, Roman. How are you finding Butterfly Harbor?”
“Interesting.” Roman bit into a piece of crisp bacon that Calliope had offered and nearly sighed. She’d baked it in the oven with brown sugar and a touch of maple syrup. “Wasn’t entirely sure what to think of such a small town. Everybody seems to know each other.” And their business.
Calliope sat next to her husband and began to eat her breakfast. “And Frankie? Are you two getting along all right?”
Ah, Frankie. She’d grunted a few pleasantries at him that morning, but he could practically see the gears racing in her head and had opted to leave her with her thoughts. “Sure.” He didn’t miss the look that passed between Xander and Calliope. “Why? Have you heard something I haven’t?”
“I’m sure we’ve all heard the same thing.” Calliope smiled over the top of her coffee mug. “I have no doubt she’s disappointed you’re here, especially given all the plans she had in mind for the department, but we tend to be given what we need. Not necessarily what we want.”
Roman inclined his head. Now that was a way of looking at things he’d never really considered before. Wait. Frankie had plans for the department? “I don’t suppose I’ve earned enough goodwill yet to maybe get some hints as to how to handle the situation?”
“Afraid I can’t help you there.” Xander dug into his own breakfast. “I’m still figuring out how to handle this one.” He glanced at his wife, who, instead of taking offense, appeared delighted at the statement.
“My plan is to keep you figuring me out well into our dotage. Frankie’s not that complicated, Roman. If you’re straight with her, she’ll be straight with you. Once her pride recovers and she realizes that her job title doesn’t define who she is nor what she means to this community, things will settle. For both of you.”
“Think that might happen by Monday when I officially take over?”
“Anything is possible.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Xander added. “That’s pretty much Calliope’s motto for everything.”
“The eternal optimist?” Roman said.
“Something like that.” Calliope nibbled on a piece of bacon before reaching for an apple. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d best check on Stella and our customers. Do you cook, Roman?”
“It’s kind of in my blood. While my Dad had Spanish roots, I’m Italian on my mother’s side. I was helping my grandmother make sauce from the time I could stand on a stool.” It was one of the things he assumed he’d miss most, with such a small department. Not getting the chance to cook very much for his fellow firefighters.
“Excellent. Take one of our flyers. That garden has just about everything.” She retrieved one from the cubby by the door and set it in front of him. “We provide delivery services for whatever frequency you’d like. And we’ll soon be expanding to fresh eggs. We’re getting chickens.”
“We’re talking about getting chickens,” Xander corrected.
“Stella has expressed an interest, so we will be getting chickens,” Calliope continued smoothly. “Just a few at first, but I anticipate adding them to our inventory of offerings quite soon. Will your family be joining you for Thanksgiving, Roman?”
“No. My mother’s currently on a cruise with her sisters, so it’ll just be me this year.”
“No one spends Thanksgiving in Butterfly Harbor alone,” Calliope stated on her way to the door. “We’re having a potluck Thanksgiving here at the farm. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I—” She walked out the door before he could respond. “I’ll probably be on duty,” Roman told Xander. “You’ll explain if I don’t show up?”
“I won’t have to,” Xander smiled. “She’ll know.”
“WATCH YOUR STEP, Mrs. Manning.” Frankie held out her arm for the elderly woman to use as a guide as she dropped out of the SUV. “And take your time. We have all that you need.” She waited until Alice Manning was securely on the sidewalk before Frankie closed the door and rotated to keep the frail, trembling hand in place.
“Got lots to do before tonight,” Alice told her. “Did you get my groceries?”
“I’ll bring them in once you’re settled.”
“Appreciate you answering the call, Frankie.” Alice put her hand on Frankie’s as they made their way up the ramp of the unique-looking three-story Victorian. The stately home took up a good portion of the corner where Red Admiral Lane met Milk Thistle Way. The place had always reminded Frankie of one of those old Hollywood sets, with a rusted chicken weather vane situated on top of the peaked tower, and worn gray wood shingles lined up like good soldiers along the expansive roof. One of the original houses in town, the building had once served as city hall, a speakeasy, an orphanage and, most recently, a doll and dollhouse museum.
Currently, the house was residence to the members of the Cocoon Club and had been dubbed Senior Central by others in town. Home to ten senior citizens, including Alice, it had, quite by accident, also become something of a social hot spot. Especially during the Saturday-evening Mexican Train tournaments. Not to be confused with the once-a-month Bunco Babes group, which met at the Flutterby Inn, or the weekly bingo games rumored to be moving to the newly built youth center to allow for larger numbers. Then there were the bocce ball challenges Oscar Bedemeyer and Harvey Mills held most Sunday mornings. With detailed schedules and event planning, the Butterfly Harbor seniors had it going on. It exhausted Frankie just thinking about it.
Frankie’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and without missing a step, she pulled it out, glanced at the screen and smiled.
“Good news?” Alice asked as she gripped the railing to continue up the ramp.
“Bud’s en route to the station. Mrs. Willingham forgot to fill her bronchitis prescription last week, so he ran it over to her. He doesn’t have any idea about tomorrow night.”
“Going to be the best retirement–slash–going-away party anyone in this town’s ever seen.” Alice beamed. “Shame to see him go, but life goes on.”
“Yes, ma’am, it does.” Frankie walked beside Alice, trying not to let her sadness about the older woman’s quickly advancing Parkinson’s drag her down. The tremors were getting worse, and Frankie could see Alice’s legs shaking with each step. But there was little that dimmed the determination in the woman’s bright blue eyes.
“I’ll just sit here on the porch while you get my groceries.” Alice was heading for the rocking chair before Frankie could argue. “I do hope I got the right salsa. I know Elliot says he wanted the spicy, but between you and me, the man shouldn’t go within ten feet of a jalapeño.”
“It’ll be our secret,” Frankie laughed and jogged back to the car. When she returned, she found Alice dozing in the chair, and, rather than waking her up, Frankie went directly inside.
“Special delivery!” she announced as she walked past Oscar, Marty and Eloise setting up ancient folding tables and chairs, to the kitchen beyond the staircase fully equipped with a motorized lift chair. The wood floors were bare of any rugs that would be considered tripping hazards. Family photographs from each of the residents took up nearly every inch of flower-papered wall space. The eclectic collection of pictures warmed her heart every time she walked past them. “Hi, Delilah. Myra.” Frankie dropped the three reusable grocery sacks onto the center island and looked suspiciously at the decanter on the counter. “Someone making their famous rum punch?”
“Maybe.” Myra’s sharp chin went up, and her tangerine-colored hair glinted against the overhead lights. “We’re of legal age.”
Frankie cast a disapproving glance before walking over and popping off the lid. Her eyes watered instantly. “Wooo, Myra. You were not stingy with the rum.”
“Too much?” Delilah, her partner in crime, sauntered over and inhaled. “Ah. Smells exactly like my youth. Did I ever tell you about the time I met Castro—”
“Only about fifty times,” Myra muttered. “More simple syrup, you think?” she asked Frankie.
“Maybe a bit.” Frankie could have used the concoction as paint stripper back at the firehouse. “Alice is on the porch. I think the trip wore her out.”
“Poor thing isn’t sleeping well.” Delilah clicked her tongue as she unloaded the groceries. “I offered to do the shopping for tonight, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Thank you for taking her, Frankie.”
“You’re welcome.” Unease tightened in her stomach. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep answering these calls, though.”
“What? Why ever not?” Myra blinked her overmascaraed eyes at Frankie before dumping not one but two cups of sugar into the saucepan on the stove.
“Well, we have a new chief, remember. And he’s a bit more by the book than Bud or I am.”
“Surely he’ll understand you go where you’re needed.”
“Technically, we go where there’s an emergency.” Frankie had been dreading this conversation ever since she’d learned she’d been passed over for the job. People were used to relying on her, especially this group of people. She hated the idea of having to let any of them down. “And helping you all with your errands doesn’t exactly constitute one.”
“That’s why you’ve got that contraption of yours, isn’t it? An emergency comes up, you hop to. You always have.” Delilah’s wrinkles multiplied exponentially when she frowned.
“I’m not sure the new chief will see things that way.” Truth be told, Frankie wasn’t entirely sure what Roman would think about anything. Yesterday he’d taken her by surprise with the offer to help secure Jasper a position in the department, and now pretty much every thought she’d had about him had to be reconsidered. “I want you all to be prepared, just in case.”
“Forewarned is forearmed.” Myra added two cups of water to her pan and began to stir. “We’ll talk to him.”
“Um.” Frankie winced. “I’m not sure—” She broke off when Myra and Delilah both looked at her. “Never mind. Yep. Go ahead and talk to him. How many are you expecting tonight?”
“Sixteen. Including you. Monty coming?”
“Afraid not,” Frankie said. “He’s taken a charter up to San Francisco for the weekend.”
“Hmm. Fifteen then. Unless you can find a partner.” Myra arched a thin orange brow in her direction.
“Depends. What’s on the menu?”
“I’m making jambalaya. Oh, good. Alice got the right salsa. My secret ingredient.”
Frankie took one look at the spicy pepper on the jar and made plans to line her stomach with steel before she arrived. “I’d best get going. If you forgot anything, let me know. I can stop on the way.”
“See you tonight!” Myra called after her.
Frankie stopped long enough in the living room to say hello to Oscar, Marty and Eloise, then, on her way out, scooped up one of the crocheted granny-square afghans off the shelf by the sofa. She draped it over Alice’s lap, gently settling her hands beneath it, as well. Just as she stepped off the ramp, her phone buzzed.
“Hey, Ozzy. What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a report of a crashed car up on Field Crescent. Description of the car tells me it might belong to Oliver Hideman. Luke’s tied up in a meeting, and Matt and Fletcher are on patrol on the other side of town.”
“Don’t worry, Oz. I’ve got it.” Frankie hopped into the car.
“No, Luke would kill me if he knew you were handling it on your own. You know Oliver. He’s mean as a cat when he’s drunk, and we both know he’s probably—”
“Half in the bottle? Yeah, when isn’t he? Don’t bother Luke with this. I’ll get backup.” She made a tight U-turn and headed into town, lights flashing but siren silent.
“Who?”
“You’ve got Salazar’s phone number in the system yet?”
“Next on my list. I was just getting—”
“I don’t need him called.” She put her sunglasses on. “Just tell me where he is.”
“MAYOR.” ROMAN WAS happy to meet the man, but tried to keep his surprise to himself. Given what he’d heard about Gil Hamilton, he’d been expecting someone who was about ready to join the Cocoon Club. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with a guy close to his own age with sandy blond hair, looking as if he were waiting for Biff and Chip to go catch some waves. “I’ve been trying to track you down for a couple of days now. Good to finally meet you.”
“Oh, right. Hello.” Gil offered a weak smile, then double-checked the placement of his yellow hard hat. “Sorry. Been an eventful couple of days. Didn’t mean to dodge you.”
And yet Roman had the distinct feeling that’s exactly what Gil had been doing. “If you have a few minutes now, I wanted to touch base. Won’t take long. And it’ll save both of us from needing a formal appointment later.”
“Yeah, sure.” Gil shifted from one foot to another. “Do you mind, Xander?”
“Not at all,” Xander said. “Want to check in with Alethea anyway.” He jerked his thumb toward the food truck at the far end of the site.
“Alethea’s his sister, right?” Roman asked as Gil led them toward the trailer office on the edge of a thick outcropping of eucalyptus trees.
“Yes. She works for Jason Corwin up at the Flutterby’s restaurant. He’s branching out and asked her to run the food truck. Have to admit, man’s got a great nose for business. He’s turned Flutterby Dreams into a major tourist attraction, and that truck makes a killing. Also helps that Alethea’s a great cook. So.” The door snapped shut behind them. Gil walked behind a desk and took a seat, his beige chinos and yellow-and-green-striped polo shirt nearly fading into his surroundings. “How are you settling in?”
“As well as can be expected given the circumstances.” Refusing the offered seat, Roman leaned against the wall, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his cargo pants.
“What circumstances are those?”
Roman grimaced. There wasn’t a lot that ticked him off. He could slow burn a temper through an entire fire season. But he’d worked with men like Gil Hamilton before. Slick, entitled types who had developed a talent for slinging tall tales with as little effort as Roman slung a hose. People like that really got under his skin. Roman would be as blunt as he liked. “Frankie Bettencourt. Why’d you pass her up for the job?”
“Who says I did?”
Roman angled his gaze to Gil’s. “Just about everyone I’ve met so far. Look, I get the whole politics game. I don’t like it, but I get it. Though there’s something I like even less. Stepping in front of someone who was clearly as, if not more, qualified. It’s not only rude, it’s wrong.”
“No one’s arguing she wasn’t qualified.” Gil leaned back in his chair and pinned him with an assessing look. “She just wasn’t a good fit.”
“If that’s code for she’s a woman, then we’re going to have a problem.” Roman didn’t know a lot about Frankie Bettencourt, but he’d bet every last nickel he had she wouldn’t appreciate what Gil seemed to be implying. Roman wouldn’t, either. “You two have a history?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.” Irritation sliced across Gil’s features. “And no, it had nothing to do with her being a woman and everything to do with her being Frankie. What does all this matter to you, anyway? You have what you wanted. You get to put a nice check mark next to small-town fire chief. Just the type of thing the feds look for on a résumé.” He nodded at Roman’s blink of surprise. “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t do my homework, did you? I’m meticulous in my research and in my choices. I know this is just a stop for you, not a destination.”
“So when I’m gone, Frankie’s next in line?”
Gil looked at him for a good long moment. “What happens when you leave is up for debate. For now, I’d suggest you settle in and make the job work for you.”
Translation, shut up and go along. Irritation slipped through Roman. He didn’t like being used, especially against someone who, as far as he could tell, didn’t deserve it. That said, Gil did have a point. Why did he care so much? Frankie wasn’t any worse off than she was before Roman got here. In truth, she might be in an even better position, given how everyone in Butterfly Harbor was coming to her defense.
Except he did care. He knew what it was like to have a dream deferred because of someone else, and the idea he’d been an unintentional coconspirator in that happening to Frankie did not sit well with him. At all.
“Would’ve been nice to have had some warning about the storm I was walking into,” Roman told the mayor. “It certainly hasn’t made my first few days in town easy.”
“Gotta love small towns.”
Yes, Roman thought. Small towns. “Just goes to show you really can’t keep anything secret for long, huh?” Roman let out a low whistle. “Take the BHFD budget, for instance. I bet Bud Granger just took you at your word about the lack of funds for the department and didn’t scrutinize those budget reports too closely. If he had, he might have noticed the steadily decreasing funds you’ve allocated for not only the fire but the sheriff’s department, as well. Money that was actually approved by the town council, if my reading of the board minutes is correct. Money that should have been used to improve public safety on both fronts.”
Gil’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you don’t like the politics game.”
“I don’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to play. It’s been remarkable, learning about this whole small-town way of life,” Roman went on. “I have made so many new friends in just a couple of days. For instance, I had breakfast the other morning with Mrs. Hastings. Now there’s a woman with her ear to the ground. Wasn’t she your high school principal? Actually, if I didn’t know better, I’d think people didn’t like you very much.”
A flicker of disappointment caught Roman’s eye before Gil glanced away. “Goes with the job. Anything else?”
“Yes. I thought you should know I’ll be requesting Jasper O’Neill come work at the department. Just a lateral transfer from the sheriff’s department as he earns his probationary status with us.”
Gil’s jaw tensed. “I don’t see an issue with that.”
“Great. Really, it’s funny. Frankie and I were discussing our staffing situation, and given that I’ve become quite familiar with the budgeting numbers, it’s a good time to increase our employment allocation.”
“Contrary to what you think,” Gil said, “the department hasn’t suffered in any way. In fact, just recently we upgraded all the necessary equipment.”
“Mmm.” Roman nodded. “Yep. All that is in tip-top shape. You’ve also had Bud and Frankie running on fumes for at least two years. They’ve both become so used to being overworked, they don’t even realize that’s actually helped turn a profit for you and the town.”
Gil’s lips twitched, but Roman suspected he was more irritated than amused. “Your point?”
Roman shrugged. “Well, it would ease a lot of pressure if we were able to hire another one, maybe two full-time employees. Not right away, of course. I’m only just beginning to evaluate how things work, but maybe by the next fiscal year?”
“I underestimated you.” Gil seemed to be considering his question, but Roman knew he was only playing games. The mayor was stuck. He’d been caught manipulating the town’s money. And he knew it. “I’ll consider it. But you aren’t earning any bonus points with me by starting off like this, Roman.”
“That’s Chief, Mr. Mayor. And I’m starting off on the foot I always start on. The right one. I’m not some mouthpiece or weapon for you to use against people you don’t like in this town. I also have no history with you that might act as protection for you. Bud Granger’s a good guy, but it’s pretty obvious he goes out of his way to avoid conflict. I am not Bud Granger. Butterfly Harbor might just be a stop for me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t take the responsibility of this position seriously. You hired me to keep the people in town safe, and I’ll do that for as long as I’m here. Now you’re just giving me the means to do that.” He heard a siren in the distance, growing closer. His entire body went on alert.
The siren screeched over the hill and up and into the construction site. Roman flicked open the blinds in time to see Frankie climb out, lights still spinning on the top of Dwayne. She stood up on the running board, pulled her glasses off as she looked around. “Good talk, Mr. Mayor,” Roman said. “I’ll be in touch about those amended budget numbers.” He pulled open the door. The relief in her eyes when she saw him let him know she was here for him.
“What is it?” he called out to her.
“Car accident. I can’t handle it on my own. Bud’s—”
“Let’s go.” He jumped down the steps and dived into the car.