Page 94 of Building What's Meant to Be

I pump my hands. “I wouldn’t go that far. Now that Bubba’s is done and my house nearly too, I think I’ll take a break from building projects for a while.”

“Oh yeah? What’s next for you?” Henley lifts and lowers his eyebrows.

Tinsley’s gaze flits to me and then quickly away and she studies the rows of doughnuts.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I didn’t plan for her to be here for this meeting, but it would look strange if I went to meet him alone, given she doesn’t know about my job. I try to think of a way to ask Henley without revealing anything.

“Take a seat.” Henley gestures to the empty stools.

Dora, a plump woman with a rosy face and red hair walks over with the coffee pitcher and refills Henley’s cup. “Dora, have you met Tinsley yet? She’s the newest resident of Butterbury. Tinsley meet Dora Gooseby.”

Her eyes sparkle with a smile. “We haven’t officially met, but I’ve heard about her plenty. I see you traded in your sequins.”

“For now,” Tinsley says as she settles on the stool.

My ears prick. She and I haven’t talked about the answer to Henley’s question,What’s next?I figuredweare next, but the way she said that makes my skin tight and I wonder if she plans to stay.

“All the same, it’s nice to meet you. You’ve got your hands all over this town from the bakery to the BBQ joint, the bees, and rumor has it a certain young man.” She winks at me.

Tinsley opens and closes her mouth like she’s going to reply but then just orders a glazed old-fashioned just like Henley gave her in the jail cell, and I get the same.

“Ah, so is this what you meant by the goose being with the gander?”

Henley laughs. “Yep, code for my doughnuts were ready for pickup.”

I’m happy to have that cleared up, but I can’t help but still think the solution to this case is a lot closer and more obvious than I think, but it still eludes me. More than once, I’ve considered giving up and passing it off to someone else. I’m stumped. Or perhaps just distracted.

For two decades, I’ve gone from case to case, never stopping or settling down

I’ve decided this is my last job before I retire. I’ve put in almost twenty years. That’s plenty of time to almost die more times than I can count. Drove off a cliff in a high-speed chase. In my defense, so did the assailant and I didn’t want him to get away on foot. I’ve been shot four times. Oh, and I choked on a very dry chicken sandwich while eating alone in my car during a stakeout. Now, I just stick to steak cooked rare.

If I were a cat, I’d be on life eight point five.

Time to get back to real living.

My gaze travels to Tinsley. Her blonde hair frizzes from the rain. Her smooth profile with her button nose makes me want to lean in, smoosh her by the ear, on the neck, and along the collarbones.

Who knew I was a collarbones guy?

“So, what’s on your mind?” Henley asks, startling me from my thoughts about the woman by my side.

I craft my words carefully. “Now that Bubba’s is just about done, I thought it would be nice to have a grand reopening and for the mayor to cut the ribbon, but we don’t have one of those.”

“Not at present. I officially declared him missing.” Henley takes a long sip of coffee.

I wish I could say that was what sent me rushing to my office. No, Mrs. Stoll aka Joyce Estelle Blanchard was also declared missing by her neighbor. A quick search revealed Joyce Blanchard to be the daughter of oil baron Bill Blanchard of Louisiana. She married a young man by the name of Sheldon Gatlin Hebert. Last known address: Las Vegas, Nevada. I was able to follow a few leads and contacted his former lawyer, who hinted that although Sheldon had a will, there was little to leave the next of kin: Cindy Clawford.

Could there be a connection? I think so.

“Like a missing person?” Tinsley’s eyebrows curve like two lopsided question marks. Now is not the time to think abouthow adorable and cute and beautiful she is. “Missing like he was kidnapped or he skipped town?” Tinsley asks.

Henley replies, “Not sure. As mayor, he’s supposed to follow a protocol if he’s taking a vacation or otherwise unable to fulfill his duties.”

“Not like he did much of that anyway,” Dora says as she passes.

We probably should’ve had this discussion somewhere more private. “We need a mayor. Who can stand in?”

Henley smirks. “Typically it would be the deputy mayor, but we didn’t elect one. I’ll have to go to the town hall to confirm, but I believe in the original town charter, the mayor’s next of kin would stand in for him until the town elects someone new. Usually, thirty days after the mayor is declared unable to perform his or her duties.”

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