Page 77 of Building What's Meant to Be

“I told them any money he owes comes to Butterbury first.”

“And rightly so. Anything else? Can you tell me what they looked like?”

“Sure. One was tall. The other short. One thick and the other thin. They both had dark eyes. Something wasn’t right about them.”

Sounds like the Kravens sent their bullies to play fetch. I rub my chin, thinking. What do they want with Stoll? Maybe he’s not missing. Perhaps he’s on the run.

“Aggie, if you see them again or anything suspicious, let me know right away.”

She salutes me as I rush out of the shop. Time to call an emergency meeting.

Instead of my office, the guys meet me at the Starlight. Not my first choice to discuss confidential information, but good enough.

Gathered around a booth, I tell everyone except Taylor, who is home with Mae, about the unwelcome visitors. Buck looks ready to pound someone’s face. Nash scowls. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bo organizes a vigilante group to patrol the town. As for Cassian, as usual, he’s calm, cool, and calculating. I know the gears in his mind turn with the same detail-oriented sophistication mine do. It’s down to our training and our nature—despite the fun-loving farm boy my friends and family know, I have another side that I’ve kept hidden since my original run-in with the Kraven brothers.

We discuss Stoll’s history and the holes I found in it.

“Come to think of it, he did just sort of appear,” Buck says.

Nash lets out a breath and his shoulders drop. “The rest of us weren’t here yet, so we didn’t know any different.”

“If I so much as see that man who claimed to be mayor—” Bo adds with the fierceness of someone who grew up in Butterbury and intends to guard it with his life.

“Remember, you’re speaking in the presence of a federal agent,” Cassian says in a low voice.

“True, but I appreciate your enthusiasm, Bo.”

“So Stoll faked his identity,” Buck says.

“There’s a chance he’s left a trail of scams in his wake, using fake names all along.” I just need a hint like in a crossword puzzle.

“Hey boys, looks intense over here. Everything okay?” Rhondy asks when she refills our drinks.

I take a sip of my sweet tea. “Yeah, just discussing Stoll.”

She grunts. “When he showed up, Paul said if that man becomes mayor, he has a bridge in Brooklyn he could sell. In other words, Stoll was a silver-tongued liar if ever we’d heard one. Talked a big game. And now where is he?”

“Exactly,” Bo says.

“Brooklyn Bridge,” I say lighting up.

“That’s a far click from here,” Rhondy says as she leaves to help another table.

“Yes, but legend has it that the phrase came about after a man sold the bridgetwicealong with Madison Square Garden and the Statue of Liberty. He’d falsify documents, create fake personas, and con country folk.”

The guys lean in, listening intently.

“So Gatlin may have pulled a similar scam but in reverse, faking his identity, going from town to town, and chasing down money.”

“Could be, but what about the cat?” Nash asks.

“That still has me stumped. Do you think the ladybosses would be up to join us for dessert?”

“Or we could bring it to them. They’re at HQ, planning a new product line,” Bo says.

We move the meeting next door and bring two kinds of pie for brainstorming: chocolate cream pie with chocolate crust and chocolate shavings and an apple caramel cinnamon swirl pie that has my mouth watering.

“What brings you boys up here?” Louella Belle asks.

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