by Destiny Ford
“Sorry I’m such a stubborn, independent, liberated pain in your ass.”
“I’m picking you up at seven tonight.”
“Just because you’re here to pick me up doesn’t mean I’ll be here to go with you.”
“From what I’ve heard, most of the town already thinks we’re practically engaged. We might as well go to dinner and make it official.”
“That’s exactly why we shouldn’t go to dinner!” I yelled.
“Okay then, let’s go to dinner and discuss your story. I’d like to know more about what’s happened since the cocktail party. And you can ask me any questions you want,” he said. “You can even wear your press badge so people see we’re there on professional instead of personal business.”
The press badge wasn’t a bad idea, but I didn’t think it would help. In a place like Branson, even talking on the phone could force you into a relationship. Truth be told though, I did still have some questions for Drake. “All right,” I relented. “Seven.”
“What’s your address?”
“Ask the Patriot Act,” I said, and hung up.
I spent a couple of hours working on my mom’s cow crash story for the paper and finished the much shorter dog bite article. Since Mr. Jones had chosen not to give me any other comments, he came across as a bitter and mean old man who kicked tiny defenseless dogs—which was pretty accurate. When I was finished writing and editing, I emailed the articles to Spence.
At exactly seven o’clock I heard a knock. The Patriot Act had apparently come through for him. I grabbed my purse and opened the front door.
Drake was wearing fitted tan dress pants and a gray tee shirt with a charcoal sports jacket. His eyes darkened as he looked me up and down. I followed his eyes and looked down at my clothes. Jeans, a belt, white tee shirt, and sandals. No nonsense. What in the world was he seeing? Finally his eyes met mine and in a husky voice he said, “Hi, Katie.”
“Hi.” I pushed through the door while Drake stepped out of the way so I could lock the deadbolt. I let the storm door close as Drake motioned for me to go first. I thought about telling him to go ahead, but knew what I said wouldn’t make a difference, so I walked down the stairs and sidewalk where I came face-to-face with a bright yellow Hummer that was twice as tall as I was and looked like it could run over my house and eat my Jeep. Technically, Hummers are classified as SUVs, but my Jeep is an SUV. This thing was the love-child of a semi and a Tonka Truck.
“Way to be inconspicuous, Drake,” I said, standing back to look at the massive piece of metal in the driveway. “No one will notice the one hundred thousand dollar school bus in the restaurant parking lot. Why don’t we just write up our wedding plans in the next issue of the Tribune?”
He grinned. “I’ll drop an announcement off at the paper in the morning.”
“Since you can’t even get my name right, we should probably hold off on that.” The tires on the Hummer were as tall as my waist. It was clear Drake had customized the shocks, struts, and springs to make the Hummer even bigger than stock. I took a deep breath, willing myself to get through the night. “Seriously, don’t you have another car? Like one that didn’t cost six figures and doesn’t look like Big Bird?”
“You don’t like it?” he asked, putting his hand on the hood as a confused look crossed his face.
“Hate would be putting it nicely. Did you get the memo about global warming? What’s this sucker get, two miles to the gallon?”
“No. Twelve.”
I shook my head in an effort to convey how twelve miles to the gallon wasn’t much better than two. “I thought they had to stop making these things because of new fuel laws?”
“They stopped producing the H1s in 2006, but there were a lot that didn’t sell until later. I’ve had it a couple of years.”
I shook my head again, staring. “How the hell am I supposed to get in it? Does it come with a ladder?”
“I’ll lift you up. That’s how I usually help girls get in.”
I snorted a laugh and held up my hand. “Now I see why this thing appeals to you.”
Drake unlocked the doors with his keyless entry remote as he followed me around to the passenger side of the truck. I noticed him behind me and turned around, folding my arms across my chest. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to open the door for you.”
“And watch me squirm trying to get into your ginormous truck? Oh no, I can get my own damn door.”
He gave me one of his amused looks. “You’re hostile tonight.”
“Good of you to notice,” I said with wide eyes. “Maybe some girls don’t like being forced into dates.”
He gave me a measured stare. “One of these days I’ll figure out what exactly you do like being forced to do.”
I turned away and swished my hair as indignantly as I could. I opened the door and practiced my shot-put techniques to get my purse up on the truck floor. I lifted my right leg, practically doing the splits in the air—a gymnastic move that I’m sure I should have had training for—to get my leg on the floorboard. I grabbed the seat with my hand, pulling myself up. I breathed a sigh of relief when my butt successfully connected with the leather chair. Who knew you needed to be an Olympian to get in a Hummer?
Drake watched the whole thing while biting his lip, obviously trying not to laugh. After I got my seatbelt buckled, he shut my door and climbed in on his side. “I’ve never seen a girl get in by herself before,” he said, pulling out of the driveway.
I brushed my hair out of my eyes. “Yes, we Hummer climbing feminists are rare,” I looked out the window. “Where are we going anyway?”
“Just the Mexican restaurant. There aren’t many places in town to choose from and even less if you take out the ones that serve fast food.”
“I know, Drake. I live here, remember?”
He smiled like he was back in high school playing a football game he was determined to win. Spence’s observation about Drake treating me like a challenge was making more and more sense.
We pulled into the Mexican restaurant, taking up two parking spaces. Greedy. Getting down from the Hummer only involved a jump and was significantly easier than getting up had been. Drake met me on my side of the truck and I followed him into the restaurant.
The spicy smell of peppers, tomatoes, and onions filled the air. It was a weeknight and not too busy. The hostess put us far away from the few other patrons in a corner booth with high sides. This was a blessing because most people wouldn’t be able to see us together in the booth unless they went out of their way. It was a curse because most people would go out of their way and there would be gossip tomorrow about what Drake and Kate were doing in the Mexican restaurant’s corner booth. It was almost as bad as being caught making out.
We looked over the menu. I ordered chicken enchiladas with a fruit punch, and Drake got a tostada / burrito platter and a Coke—which is pretty scandalous since most people in Branson believe Coke and coffee are basically the same thing. After the waitress brought chips, salsa, and our drinks, we knew we wouldn’t be bothered for a while.
“So, have you learned anything else about Chelsea’s death?” Drake asked.
“Not really anything new. We’ve just had confirmation we’re on the right track. We’re trying to find out who had motive to kill her.”
“I assume you think Shawn Wallace is at the top of your list because Chelsea was pregnant?”
My mouth gaped. “How did you know that?” I leaned in, my voice low. “The Bradfords are trying to keep it a secret!”
“I work at the capitol, Katie. I hear things.”
I eyed him carefully, wondering how many people actually knew about the pregnancy. It was being kept pretty hush, hush . . . in Branson at least. “He seems to be a reasonable suspect,” I agreed, taking a sip of my fruit punch.
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh really?” I leaned back against the booth seat and folded my hands in my lap. “Why is that?”
&
nbsp; “I know Shawn. I’ve been to a lot of parties at the governor’s mansion and I know his dad. He’s not the type of kid who would kill someone.” Drake dipped a chip in the salsa. “I think your hunch is wrong,” he said, popping the chip into his perfectly curved mouth.
I stared a little too long at his lips and looked away, hoping he hadn’t seen me. “First, you know the public Shawn,” I said. “You know the Shawn his dad wants him to be. The real Shawn might be a completely different person. Would the Shawn you know get a girl pregnant?”
Drake took another chip. “Mistakes happen,” he answered with a shrug.
I eyed him as I wondered how many mistakes Drake had running around in the world, but after a few seconds I forced myself to stop thinking about his possible illegitimate children and focus on the current topic. “Yeah, and maybe Chelsea’s death was a mistake. Regardless though, someone is responsible.”
“I’m just saying you shouldn’t put all your resources into investigating only Shawn. I’m sure there are other people who could have been involved.”
“I’m not putting all my resources into just Shawn.”
“Who else then?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him this theory, but forged ahead anyway. “Shawn’s dad, Governor Wallace.”
Drake dropped the chip he was holding and it cracked like a crystal vase all over the Formica tabletop. “You think the governor had something to do with this?”
“I don’t know; hence the investigation.”
Drake wiped his hands on his napkin and folded his arms on the table. He leaned into me. “I guarantee the governor wasn’t involved.”
“How can you guarantee that?”
“Because I know him.”
I lifted my shoulders and wrinkled my brow. “Again with the knowing them,” I said. “I know you, but that doesn’t mean I can say you wouldn’t do something stupid. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say you’ve probably done a lot of stupid things. Knowing someone is not a valid defense.”
“It’s not just knowing him, Katie. I’m friends with him.”
“If you asked me to dinner to try and convince me to stop investigating your ‘friend’ and his son, that’s too bad because it’s not going to happen,” I said. “The governor had a motive. It’s a re-election year. Family and morals—or at least the illusion of them—are more important to voters than anything else in this state. Governor Wallace isn’t doing great in the polls anyway. A pregnancy scandal could take him out of the running. If he can’t manage his own kids, why would people think he can continue to manage the whole state?”
Drake took a deep breath, exhaled, and placed his hands palms down on the table. “You have some valid points, but let me share this with you. I’d be surprised if the governor even knew Chelsea was pregnant. He’s a busy man and he lets his wife take care of the kids. He knew Chelsea and Shawn were dating, but that was about the extent of it, at least from what I’ve heard.”
I looked at him and blinked. “Wait a minute. You knew about Chelsea and Shawn dating? And you didn’t tell me?”
Drake popped another chip in his mouth. “You didn’t ask.”
I glared at him. “You’re such a jerk. You could have told me everything I needed to know without making me go to that dumb Country Club party with you.”
“I take advantage of every opportunity I can. And trust me,” he grinned, “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss seeing you in that blue dress. Besides, you never told me what you were looking for.”
I gripped my drink and counted to five; when I still wanted to throw my fruit punch on him, I continued counting. When I reached thirty I looked at Drake and almost had to start over because he seemed so freaking entertained at how mad I was. “I’m going to start a list of things you’ve done to piss me off. Just to make sure I never forget.”
Drake took a swig of his Coke, and tipped his glass to me. “It’ll probably be a long list.”
“Undoubtedly,” I said. “What else do you know about Chelsea, Shawn, and the Wallaces?”
“I’ve told you pretty much everything.”
I gave him a level stare trying to ascertain how much I should trust him. “So, since according to you, the governor isn’t really a part of Shawn’s life, you’re saying I need to investigate the first lady instead?”
Drake rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “I’m saying I think Shawn kept it quiet and so did the Bradfords. That’s why Chelsea disappeared. I think her parents sent her away to have the baby. Traveling was just the cover story. That’s how they must have decided to handle it.” I didn’t tell Drake he was right and Julia Bradford had essentially told me the same thing. “Maybe Shawn’s mom knew about the pregnancy, but she’s the nicest woman in the world; she would have been completely supportive,” he said. “If Shawn didn’t want his dad to know, his mom wouldn’t have said anything.”
The server brought our food, asked if we needed anything else, and left. I spread some sour cream on my enchiladas and picked up my knife and fork. “But why wouldn’t Shawn want his dad to know?” I asked as I cut my enchilada and tried to reign in the stringy melted cheese.
“Governor Wallace is a good leader, but he has a temper. I doubt he would have reacted well to the news that Chelsea was pregnant.”
“Yet another reason why I’m not going to stop investigating him!”
Drake closed his eyes. “Fine, Katie,” he said. “I’m just telling you what I know. Do what you want with the information.”
“I appreciate the advice,” I said between bites. “I just have to cover all the bases.”
“I understand, but know that I think this is the wrong direction. And if word gets out you’re investigating the governor for murder”—he paused and looked down at his food before glancing back up at me, his mouth pulled into a worried line—“be careful, Katie.”
I widened my eyes. “You think I could be in danger?” I asked, thinking of the magazine letter note I’d gotten at the Tribune. Was that something I needed to take more seriously? I’d never been threatened before. I wasn’t sure whether to be proud, or concerned.
“I think the governor has loyal friends and you should be selective about who you discuss this with.”
I stared at him for a minute. I knew people might be upset about what I uncovered, but I hadn’t considered that someone might be mad enough to try and hurt me. “Thanks,” I said sincerely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We continued to eat in silence, both consumed by our thoughts. After a while, Drake smiled and said, “Now that we have the professional stuff out of the way, you know we’re both going to get hell for weeks about this corner booth?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know. I already got cussed out by my mom for not telling her we were dating.”
He laughed. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Don’t thank me, thank The Ladies. They’re the ones who informed my mom.” I took another drink of fruit punch to stop the salsa and enchilada sauce from giving me third degree throat burns. “Who told you we were dating?”
“Several people.” He took a bite of his tostada. “Word gets around pretty quick.”
“You’re not kidding. I forgot that about living in a small town.”
“It didn’t help that you were seen with me at the Country Club party and we told everyone you were my girlfriend. News like that isn’t kept quiet. The legislature is another version of a small town. Between it and Branson, I have two I have to deal with.”
“Two what?” a male voice asked. A body slid into the booth beside me as a muscular arm snaked around my shoulders. “Hey, Kitty Kate.” Hawke flashed me a devious grin before he glanced at Drake.
Drake gave Hawke a steely stare that Hawke returned without so much as a blink. The tension between the two of them hung in the air until Drake finally turned his attention back to me. “Kitty Kate?” he asked. Disbelief laced his tone. “And you get mad at me for calling you Katie?”
Hawke leaned back, lookin
g me up and down. “Nah, you’re not a Katie. Katie’s are sweet and innocent,” he said. “Kitty Kate’s are sexy.”
I wanted to hide somewhere, and considering how hot my face felt, I knew I could easily camouflage my head in the enchilada sauce.
“Hawke,” Drake said through tight lips. “It’s been a while.”
Hawke tilted his head and met Drake’s hard expression. “It has.”
“I didn’t realize you were in town,” Drake said. “Usually you don’t spend much time here.”
Hawke turned to me, giving me a slow stare as he picked up my glass and took a drink of my fruit punch, then put it back down in front of me. “I might be changing that,” he answered.
Drake squared his shoulders, sitting up straighter. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re not the type of man who handles roots well.”
“I’ve heard the same about you,” said Hawke.
I could tell Drake was getting sick of whatever game Hawke was playing. “What do you want, Hawke?” Drake asked, the authority clear in his voice. “Kate and I are having dinner.”
“I can see that, and,” Hawke gestured to our plates, “it looks like you’re almost done.”
“What’s going on?” I asked Hawke, thinking he must have some important news since he went to the trouble to find me. “Did something happen?”
Hawke locked eyes with me. “Nope,” he looked away and took another drink from my glass. “I just heard you and Drake were in the corner booth at the Mexican restaurant and came to check it out for myself.” I rolled my eyes. We hadn’t been at the restaurant more than an hour and rumors were already starting to spread. Damn Twitter and Facebook! “Considering what I’ve heard so far, I thought Drake might be proposing.”
Hawke slid out of the booth. He looked at Drake, whose shoulders were still tensed. “Good to see you, Drake. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again soon.”
“I can’t wait,” Drake said through his teeth.
“Glad I got to see you too, Kitty Kate,” he smiled. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He winked and walked away.
Drake sat back in his chair taking a few deep breaths until his shoulders relaxed. “How do you know that jackass?”
