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AFTER A LATE BREAKFAST at Sadie’s Café the next morning, where Gordon noted they didn’t serve cinnamon rolls, he and Angie went back to their room. Gordon changed into his suit, fussed with knotting the tie.
“On duty, cops wear clip-ons,” he muttered. “Avoids being strangled by a bad guy.”
“You look fine. Very official.”
Gordon took a long, hard look in the mirror, wondering if a suit and tie would become his daily uniform should he be offered—and accept—the job. And what it would mean if he did.
He turned to Angie. “I told Raab I’d walk, but he insisted he’d pick me up. You going to have enough to do while I’m being interviewed?”
“Plenty. Don’t worry about me. There’s a lot to explore.”
Gordon interpreted that to mean she’d be scoping out shopping opportunities. “Have fun. I’ll check in when they turn me loose.”
“Knock ’em dead.” Angie crossed to his side, straightened his tie, and tilted her face up for a kiss.
He kept it short. “Let’s not get carried away again. I’d hate to have to explain why I’m late.”
She grinned. “I’d love to hear what you’d come up with.”
Leaving Angie to whatever she’d planned—right now she was perusing the local freebie paper she’d picked up at the café—he trotted downstairs to wait for Cam Raab. The aroma of freshly-brewed coffee greeted him, and he stepped to the table set with urns of coffee, decaf, and hot water, but decided he’d had plenty with breakfast. Instead of the gloom-and-doom clerk behind the counter, a cheery grey-haired lady covered the station.
“Good morning, sir. I hope you had a pleasant night. Was everything satisfactory with your room?”
Gordon smiled. “Very.”
Before Gordon settled down to wait, Cam Raab stepped into the lobby. Gordon strode to meet him.
Raab eyed Gordon up and down, looked as if he was going to say more, but simply smiled. “Mayor Butler said to tell you, if your wife wants to go anywhere, I’m at her beck and call.”
“I think she plans on doing local exploring, but I’ll let her know.” Gordon pulled out his phone, sent a text relaying the message.
Card with Cam’s number is on my night table. Will give you a ride anywhere.
She sent a thumbs up emoji in reply, and Gordon pocketed his phone as he followed Raab to his car. Within minutes, they’d driven past the City Hall building Raab had pointed out, around the block to a small gated parking lot in the rear, a sign stating Official Business Only. Cam used a key card and the gate slid open.
He parked, and Gordon got out before Raab could open the door for him. He wasn’t a damn celebrity—or an invalid.
They strolled the short distance across the lot to a steel door, marked for employees. Raab tapped a fob to a sensor, then opened the door. “Wasn’t long ago none of this security crap was needed, but even Pine Hills has to move with the times. If you ask me, it’s stupid, since the front entrance is open to the public, but I don’t make the decisions, and nobody asks my opinion.”
Gordon wondered if anyone asking Raab’s opinion would have paid attention to it.
“Mayor’s office is on the second floor. You want the stairs or the elevator?” Raab asked.
“Stairs are fine.” Familiar aromas of lemon and furniture polish mixed with disinfectant hung in the air as they walked down a dim, narrow hallway to a sign that read Stairs.
“This is really an emergency exit, but I figured you ought to get the behind-the-scenes tour first. I’m sure Mayor Butler will show off the public side.”
At the second floor landing, Raab pushed open the door. The aroma of lemon was stronger here, without the disinfectant. The tile floor gleamed underfoot. Wooden doors with metal plaques identifying the offices’ occupants lined either side of the hallway. Halfway down the hall, Raab stopped at a set of double doors proclaiming it the Office of the Mayor. “This is it.”
Gordon adjusted his tie and reached for the knob, but Raab beat him to it. They entered the generous anteroom, plush gold carpeting on the floor, wainscoted walls with pale-blue striped wallpaper above. Framed photographs of what Gordon assumed were scenes from Pine Hills’ history adorned one wall.
A woman, undoubtedly Magda’s and Laurie’s equivalent, smiled from behind a cherrywood desk. Dark hair threaded with gray hung in a sleek, chin-length cut, held away from her round face by a pair of black glasses. She wore a floral print top with a round neckline under a navy jacket. She rose.
“Morning, Cam. And you must be Gordon Hepler. I’m Belle, Mayor Butler’s admin. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? Soda?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Gordon said.
“Call when you need me,” Cam said and left.
Belle suggested he sit in one of the blue-and-cream striped upholstered chairs along the wall. “I’ll let the mayor know you’re here.” She used a headset instead of a telephone.
Gordon wondered if Laurie would prefer that over dealing with holding a phone to her ear. He made a quick mental note to ask.
He sat, automatically comparing this office to McKenna’s. Bigger, but otherwise he considered it an equal counterpart.
Belle’s desk was comfortably cluttered, indicating her duties extended beyond greeting people. He wondered whether she had as much a part in keeping things running as Magda and Laurie.
His mind wandered to what Solomon had told him about Bud and his neighbor, and he attempted to lock those thoughts away, focusing on where he was now, and why.
Belle interrupted his musings, walking from behind her desk to the internal door which Gordon assumed led to Mayor Butler’s office. He noticed she wore beige slacks and flat shoes. Casual attire, yet professional. Opening the door, she said, “Right this way, Mr. Hepler.”
Gordon stepped inside, and Belle closed the door behind him. Mayor Butler, looking older than the online images Gordon had found, stood in front of her desk. She wore a slim black skirt that fell just below her knees, a white blouse under a red jacket, and low-heeled red shoes. She extended a hand. “Welcome to Pine Hills.”
Gordon accepted the handshake. Her grip was firm, her hand warm and smooth. Medium-length nails, polished in what Angie had explained was a French manicure.
“Let’s get started.” She motioned to a seating group in a small alcove where two men in business suits stood at his approach. One, Gordon put in his mid-fifties, the other in his thirties.
Mayor Butler introduced the two men as Chuck and Shawn, members of the city council, and handshakes were exchanged. The older man took a seat on a small sofa that matched the striped chairs in the outer office, and the mayor joined him. Gordon and the other council member took two of the four blue-floral upholstered easy chairs across from them.
“It’s much easier to chat when there isn’t that imposing desk saying the person behind it is the important one, don’t you think?” Mayor Butler said.
Gordon nodded, still taking everything in. The walls held paintings of what Gordon presumed were Oregon scenes. A platter of cookies sat on the slate-topped coffee table in front of the sofa.
“Help yourself.” The mayor repeated Belle’s offer. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Gordon hesitated, waiting for the others to respond. When they both declined, he did as well. The mayor and the younger councilman took a cookie from the tray—one with a dab of jelly in the center—so Gordon followed suit, but he took one of the little napkins lying next to the tray and set the cookie atop it.
“I trust your accommodations were satisfactory,” the mayor said. “We don’t have many options in Pine Hills.”
“Very nice,” Gordon said. Dammit, he hated small talk. Especially with two extra pairs of eyes and ears undoubtedly rating everything they saw and heard. He was the amoeba squished onto the microscope slide.
“I’m sure you’re wishing we could get this over with,” Mayor Butler said, apparently tuned in to his thoughts. “Interviews can be so tedious. First, a little about my philosophy of governing.”