Page 48 of Her Wild Coast Promise

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Peyton’s eyebrow arches. “Your campaign manager was fired for coming onto her boss at the Montana DOJ.”

Next to me, Cora inhales a sharp breath. Before I can make sense of what’s happening, the event’s emcee announces dinner and people start moving in the direction of the tables.

Peyton gives me one last glance, her eyes dark with satisfaction, then spins away.

When I turn to Cora, her face is flushed and she’s pressing her lips together so tightly it looks painful. “This is bad,” she says, her voice barely audible over the announcements from the emcee.

“Cora,” I say, my voice firm. “Peyton’s just trying to rattle us. I’m sure whatever happened—”

“It’s notwhatshe said that’s rattling me,” Cora says with a shake of her head. “It’s the implication. Peyton has an informant.”

Informants are an integral part of any crime investigation, but I can’t figure out why Peyton would need one. “So?”

Cora takes my arm to hurry toward our table. “It means she’s pulling out all the stops, and we’d better be ready.”

ChapterThirteen

SETH

“How?”I don’t like the idea of Cora sinking to my opponent’s level.

But Cora is looking straight ahead, her chin held high. We reach the table before I can ask anything else.

I pull out Cora’s chair and she settles in. If she’s still rattled, it doesn’t show. Throughout dinner, she effectively steers the conversation to topics of mutual interest, all while being delightful. We talk about Hope House and the causes we’re here to support, the upcoming Army vs Navy football game, and debate the deep fryer vs. oven-baked method for our Thanksgiving turkeys.

Though I’m engaged in the conversation, in the back of my mind, I’m hard at work. Where did Peyton find an informant? If she’s up to speed on office gossip from the Montana DOJ, what other petty bullshit is she planning to sling in our faces?

This level of low is so blatantly wasteful of people’s time. We should be talking about what matters to our community.

Like Peyton’s threat to use the increased crime rate as an indicator that the McKenzie County Sheriff’s Department is failing its citizens. She’s wrong, but will I even get the chance to debate this when she’s clogging the airwaves with lies?

The true cause to our current predicament is complex and has more to do with our staffing issue, some holes in our training department, and the sudden rate at which our crime rate jumped. We simply weren’t ready. That Peyton could exploit what could happen to any small-town department facing similar challenges makes me sick.

How can I fight back? Peyton has never been a cop and has no idea how to be one, yet most citizens won’t care. In fact, some may see that as an asset—with Peyton as sheriff, the department will have a fresh perspective.

Even more troubling is her claim that abandoning the “high profile” cases in favor of being more present in our community will magically solve our rising crime problems. I have every reason to believe that unless we can close these “high profile” cases, we’ll experience more of them, more violence.

The only way to stop this is by doing good, honest police work. Knocking on doors, following leads, linking the forensic evidence, and inter-agency collaboration.

Cora leans closer. “Seth.”

I zoom out and realize the emcee is calling my name. Shit, my speech. I gulp a sip of water and stand, tugging my shirt down to smooth any wrinkles. I hope I don’t have any food stuck in my teeth, but it’s too late to check a mirror.

At the podium, I thank the emcee and adjust the microphone to my height. After greeting my audience—a sea of faces clustered around empty place settings at the tables—I plunge in. It’s a straightforward commendation of Hope House and the generous work they do supporting our most vulnerable youth. I finish with the slide show showcasing the many volunteers in action. There’s a shot of Brian Ambrose and Cooper McCabe mugging for the camera over a pile of donated clothes and shoes, their smiles bright. Several of the volunteers running the store where foster kids can shop for free. I show the tutoring center next to the high school and the cramped interior where community volunteers help foster and homeless kids stay on top of their schoolwork and receive career counseling.

It's an easy speech to make because it’s highlighting the service of others, and a cause I believe in.

“Please raise your paddles tonight so that these dedicated volunteers can continue to support the youth of our community. Thank you.”

With a final smile, I step back from the podium. Relief settles through me as I make my way back to my table.

Cora is beaming when I arrive, but the exchange is quick because auction paddles are popping up all over the room to the call of the emcee’s request for donations. The bids start at two hundred and fifty dollars to five hundred to one thousand, then five thousand.

I raise my number, my arm stretched high. I don’t exactly have a pile of cash sitting around, but I can figure out how to donate this much.

The emcee calls out the numbers waving in the air. “Thank you for your generosity.”

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