“I won’t,” said Sadie firmly. After the trauma of becoming the most notorious girl in Kilby, she never wanted the spotlight again. “I promise. I’ll be the best assistant you ever had, I swear.”
“I’m sure you’ll be the most interesting.” Finally, a smile ghosted across the mayor’s perfectly pink lips.
Employed! That fact still made her giddy, nearly six months later.
Sadie had barely taken two bites of her sandwich when the red button on her phone lit up. Mayor Trent needed her. Quickly brushing the crumbs off her hands and taking a swig of tea to get rid of tuna breath, she collected her notepad and joined the mayor in her office.
Her heart sank when she saw who was in the “supplicant” chair. Brett Carlisle, a raging stoner from high school, someone who’d partied hard with Hamilton and his friends. What if he was here to badmouth or humiliate her in some way? Hamilton was very creative in his revenge tactics. Once he’d sent seven orders of Marie Callender’s honey-glazed ham to her house. A picture had gone on Facebook with the caption, “Slutty Sadie gettin’ ready to suck down some Ham.”
She gave Brett a cool, professional nod and sat down, poised to take notes.
“Sadie, this is the head of Kilby’s new Save Our Slugs campaign,” said Mayor Trent warmly. “It’s a group dedicated to preserving the habitat of the horn-toed slug.”
She smothered her involuntary laugh behind a fake cough. “Good one,” she muttered under her breath.
“Excuse me?” the mayor asked, her smile slipping.
“I said, that’s a good cause. I’d love to hear more about it.”
She shot Brett a suspicious glance, but he looked nothing but innocent. Too innocent? Dread lanced through her belly. When would Hamilton move on from his stupid vendetta?
“The Kilby area is one of the few remaining population centers for the horn-toed slug,” continued the mayor. “Places like Lake McGee and the Kilby River are essential for their survival. And they happen to be iconic landmarks for longtime Kilby residents. This fits in perfectly with my campaign promise to preserve the traditional Kilby way of life. Not only that, my niece Katie did her science project on the horn-toed slug. I intend to put the full support of the mayor’s office behind this effort.”
Sadie had a bad feeling about this. “But Mayor, what about the group working on more humane treatment for immigrants at the border, or the healthy school lunch—?”
“No controversies. I like this project. Horn-toed slugs are unlikely to become a hot button issue. They’re local, they’re harmless, and they’re boring. Win-win-win.”
“Well, then, that’s great news,” Sadie said with her widest, fakest smile. “Maybe I can ask Brett a few questions about it before he goes.”
Brett spread his hands apart with a vague wink. “I’m all yours.”
The possible double entendre almost made her gag. If this was a Hamilton prank, he’d really gone too far.
“Sit down with him and brainstorm some ideas, Sadie,” Mayor Trent said. “I have dinner at the Elks Lodge tonight, but I’d like you to report back to me next week.”
She nodded at them both in dismissal.
As soon as she and Brett were safely out of the office with the door closed, Sadie wheeled on him. “This better be real. And if it isn’t, you’d better start caring about some poor endangered slugs, like now.”
“Babe, babe . . .” He made to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off. She’d rather shoot herself than let anyone connected with Hamilton put a hand on her body. “It’s real. See?” He tugged at his T-shirt, which she now saw had an urgent S.O.S. printed on it in bright orange, with the ave . . . ur . . . lugs in smaller letters.
“Since when do you care so much about slugs?”
“I did some ’shrooms out at the lake, had a vision. The slugs starting singing to me, begging for help. Said I was the chosen one.”
“The chosen one of the slugs?”
He shrugged. “When you get the call, you can’t turn away.”
“Seriously, is this some kind of joke? Is Hamilton behind this?” Her stomach was still roiling with anxiety—exactly how she’d felt ever since the breakup.
“Ham? Nah. I haven’t partied with him in a while.”
Still wary, she scrutinized his pleasant, vacant face. Come to think of it, he’d never been part of Hamilton’s inner circle. He was more of a hanger-on, in it for the constant flow of weed and money.
“Okay. I’m choosing to believe you. Let’s set up a call in the next couple of days.”
“Listen to you, all professional. Sure, let’s set up a call. Right on. Oh, and Sadie . . .” He bumped against her and whispered in her ear, “If you ever want to do that thing Hamilton said you liked, you know, with the chocolate syrup and the licking and—”
She shoved him aside. “Hamilton is a liar. Everything he said is a lie. Why can’t anyone understand that?” Brushing past him, she went to her desk. She wouldn’t let him see that he’d upset her.
“Fine, fine.” Brett trailed after her. “No skin off my nose. I’m not part of that scene anymore. I stopped smoking a year ago. I’m serious about the slugs, Sadie. I know it sounds different, but I’ve been working hard to put this group together. We’re trying to get the horn-toeds on the protected list, and we’re getting real close. The more positive attention we can bring to the issue, the better our chances.”
“Good.” Well, maybe he did know what he was talking about. Briskly, she picked up her day planner. “How’s Thursday?”
After Brett left, she walked quickly down the hall to the ladies’ restroom, which fortunately was empty. Her hands shaking, she ran the water in the sink, sucking in deep, shuddering breaths. This was a trick she’d clung to during the worst of the Hamilton Disaster. The sound of running water soothed her, and washing her hands made her feel less dirty.
Oh, fireballs. She refused to let Hamilton and his friends shake her up like this.
“It’s okay,” she muttered to herself in the mirror. “I’m okay. He can’t hurt me worse than he already has.” She didn’t actually know if this was true, but it sounded good. Her eyes looked huge and worried, and a few flecks of mascara had migrated to her cheekbone. For a silly moment she wondered if she’d been this disheveled while talking to Caleb Hart, the baseball player.
Why would he care? Why would she care if he cared? If she knew one thing, it was that spoiled rich athletes were poison. Hamilton was a star high school quarterback and came from the richest family in town, after all. Never again. Never again. No boys. Even if Caleb the Catfish did make her feel alive again. Alive and fizzy and fun. As if the moment he’d knocked into her had woken her up from a coma.
Forget him.
Her phone rang. She dried off her hands and answered.
“Hey bestie. I have to get out of here. What are you doing tonight?” Donna MacIntyre, the only friend who had stuck by her after the “scandal,” was a live-in nanny for a wealthy family. She was allowed to go out one night a week, and she made the most of it.
“What I always do.”
“You can’t hide in your cubicle forever.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m picking you up at eight. We’re goin’ out. Have you forgotten it’s my birthday?”
Sadie smacked her forehead with her palm. “Oh crap. I’m so sorry, Donna.”
“Yep, it’s my birthday, and I’m going to get wild tonight. I need a wing woman.”
“N—” Sadie snapped her mouth against the automatic no. She owed Donna so much. Without her, she would have been utterly friendless during the worst time of her life. “Fine. I have to go home and change, and check on my mom.”
“I have a dress for you. It’s a birthday present from me to you.”
More guilt stabbed at her. “A present? I didn’t—”
“You can buy me a drink, or several. And come out with me. And have fun like the young, gorgeous thing you are. I’m tired of you hidin
g away like you have something to be ashamed of. You don’t, Sadie. Let people talk. Fuck ’em.”
“How many drinks have you had already?”
“A little sip of Mr. Gilbert’s whiskey, s’all. The Shark took a billion hours to put to sleep tonight.”
Donna called her eight-month-old charge the “Shark” because he required constant motion.
Sadie sighed. “I’ll pick you up. See you at eight.”
“Or a little sooner.”
“Soon as I can.”
Back at her desk, she called her mother to let her know she’d be home late. From the sound of her sleepy voice, she knew her mom was already dozing off to the sound of a mystery book on tape. When she wasn’t on her medication, her mother found life overwhelming, and tended to fall asleep at every opportunity. During the worst of the post-Hamilton drama, she’d refused to even answer the phone; she’d done nothing but listen to the entire Stephanie Plum series on tape. “All right, sugar. You be careful, hear?”
“I will.”
“I mean it, Sadie. Stick with your girlfriends. Don’t trust any of those boys.”
“I think I’ve learned my lesson. Get some sleep, Mom. And don’t forget to eat. I left some spaghetti in the refrigerator.”
Her mother yawned. “You shouldn’t worry about that. At my age one meal a day is more than enough.” After she hung up, Sadie heaved a huge sigh, wondering if she should skip her date with Donna and hand-feed her mother some french fries instead.
She propped her chin on one hand, heart aching for her mom. Brenda Merritt had always been fearful of men—possibly because she’d gotten knocked up by a married pharmaceuticals salesman who conveniently lost his ring when he went on the road. Her whole life, Sadie had been warned about the male gender. The Hamilton Disaster had made it so much worse. Her mother never blamed her for the fiasco—always Hamilton, which made Sadie feel funny. She wasn’t sure she liked being lumped into the “screwed over by a man” club.
Mayor Trent came out of her office dressed in a black dress and discreet pearls, her hair teased and sprayed into camera-ready perfection. With her briefcase in one hand and an umbrella in the other, she looked like everything Sadie wanted to be. Cool, poised, untouchable—the mistress of her universe.
“Good night, Sadie. Thanks for all your hard work.”
Sadie wanted to bow down before her like a devotee before a goddess. A former Miss Texas and the first female mayor of Kilby, Wendy Trent was someone she had always admired from a distance. She seemed cool and aloof, the opposite of her mother.
“I can do more,” Sadie said eagerly. “If you have any other projects you’d like me to handle, I have the time—”
“You need a life too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sadie swallowed back her protest. Instead, she made her umpteenth vow to prove that she deserved the incredible break the mayor had given her.
On his way back from the ballpark Caleb made his daily phone call home. Teddy, one of his thirteen-year-old twin brothers, answered. “Did you blow ’em out of the water?”
“Next question.”
That was code for a game he didn’t want to talk about. His brothers and sister knew the routine, and Teddy immediately launched into a long explanation of why his karate teacher must have been an assassin in his last job. “He has a tattoo on his rib cage, like a rifle target. Why else would he have that?”
Caleb felt the tension of the day release as Teddy rattled on. During the off-season, he took care of the boys while his sister Tessa accumulated college credits toward a degree. During the baseball season it was her turn to play head of household. It worked, but he missed them all terribly when he was away from Plano.
“Don’t you think an assassin would have enough money so he didn’t have to coach idiot suburban kids?” he asked when Teddy finally paused.
“I think he’s scouting us, looking for his successor,” Teddy explained in a hushed voice.
That laugh carried Caleb all the way to the front door of his newly rented apartment. “Just got home. Gotta go.”
“Have you seen him yet?”
No need to ask who Teddy meant. Until two weeks ago their father, Thurston “Bingo” Hartwell, had been inmate number 14-893 at the minimum security federal correctional institute at Three Rivers, serving a sentence for fraud. Now he was Caleb’s brand new roommate. “Of course I’ve seen him. He’s living with me.”
“Does he have, like, shivs and shit?”
“Stop that. And don’t say shit. Or shiv, come to think of it. Talk to you later, bud.”
He stood at the front door for a long, long moment, mustering the will to walk inside. Bingo had betrayed them all and messed up their lives, but nonetheless when he got out of prison, Caleb had felt compelled to offer him a place to live. Since he tensed up at the mere sight of his lying, ex-con father, this didn’t make for the most harmonious living situation.
Bingo must have heard him drive up; he was waiting with an ice pack. His eager expression made Caleb want to throw up.
“I already iced in the clubhouse.”
“Right, right.” Bingo slung the ice pack over his shoulder and stuck his hands in the pockets of his chinos. With his blue button-down shirt, nice leather belt, and expensive haircut, he could have illustrated a Forbes Magazine “How to Retire Wealthy” article. Caleb forced back the choking resentment that his father looked so good after six years in prison, when he’d struggled every minute of those same six years to take care of the kids Bingo had left behind.
“Well, how’d the game go?” Bingo asked.
“One for the history books.”
“That’s my boy,” he said proudly.
Caleb pushed past him, through the bare-bones, furnished apartment. As an up-and-coming baseball player, he was used to anonymous furniture, whether in hotel rooms or short-term apartment leases. In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator door and stared blindly into its depths. Nothing much there besides beer and leftover pizza. Worked for him.
He cracked open a Budweiser and glugged half of it before he even closed the refrigerator door.
“Did you see your probation officer?” he asked his father, who’d followed him into the kitchen.
“Of course. It’s my check-in day.”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“Well, you don’t have to ask,” Bingo said testily. “I’m a grown man. You think I want to go back to prison?”
“Did you want to go there in the first place?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, there you go.” And there went the rest of the beer. His words echoed back to him, mean and irritable. He didn’t like talking to his father that way, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
When he emerged from behind his beer can, Bingo was staring at him reproachfully. “That chip on your shoulder isn’t hurting anyone but yourself, Caleb.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
“You know, a good attitude gets you a long way in life. Try smiling a little more. Be more upbeat. People will like you better.” Bingo gave him his famous megawatt grin, the one that had fooled hundreds of marks. The one Caleb had inherited. “If you learn nothing else from me, that’s enough.”
Caleb crunched the can into a flat disc and sent it winging across the room toward the trash. Nothing but net. Glad to see he still had some skills. “Why should I learn anything from you? I’m a ballplayer, not a con man.”
His father, generally a good-humored man, winked. “Maybe it’s not as different as you think. Don’t you try to fool the hitters and the guys on base?”
“Men on base.”
“That’s what I said.”
“We don’t say ‘guys on base,’ they’re ‘men on base.’ And sure, I try to fool the batters, but I stay within the rules to do it.”
“No cheating, no going after that extra little advantage? What about the one I read about, with the tar on his neck. Brushes his hand against it, gets a better grip. You don�
�t ever do that?”
“No.” Caleb pulled out the pizza and stuck it in the microwave. He pushed the Start button with about twice the necessary force.
“Really? The way the article made it sound, all the big-league pitchers do it. Maybe you should give it a try. Get you back where you belong, on a major league team.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bingo laughed, that jolly, intimate, life-is-wonderful laugh that had reeled in countless marks and three wives—all of them ex-wives now. “When it comes to cheating, I might know a thing or two. Everyone cheats, son, one way or another. Only difference is, some get caught.”
Caleb stared at the pizza going round and round inside the microwave. Maybe when the timer went off, his father would be gone. When the timer went off, he’d have a father who wasn’t a con artist, who hadn’t gone to prison, and who freaking left him alone.
Ding.
Nope. Still there. Caleb spun around and stalked out of the kitchen. “I forgot, I’m meeting the guys for some food. Pizza’s all yours.”
“Maybe I could come along . . .”
But Caleb was already out the door, striding into the warm evening, with its sunset the color of flamingo feathers. There ought to be some Catfish players out there chowing down and getting plastered. If that petition was right, there was bound to be all kinds of trouble to get into. He’d call Mike Solo, see what he was up to.
He was supposed to call that girl, he suddenly remembered. Hauling out his phone and the petition that he’d stuffed into his pocket, he dialed quickly. As it rang, he inserted his long legs into his Jeep Wrangler. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d called a girl. He’d been so focused on baseball and taking care of the family that girls had taken a backseat. Occasionally he hooked up with someone, they had fun for a night, and if they mutually decided on more fun, they texted each other. The texts were just informational: where are we meeting, are you wearing underwear, that sort of thing.
Actually calling someone on the phone felt . . . old-school.
All of Me Page 3
