Page 16 of Fake-Off with Fate
I swear she rolls her eyes. Then like we’re gossiping over thewater cooler, she opens her mouth and makes a sound like she’s talking to me. I imagine she’s saying, “Honey, I’d give my right paw to go out to dinner without my cub. Bring me a milkshake, would you?”
She keeps chatting while I open my car door and hurry inside. I unroll my window and tell her, “You take care now.”
I hurry to lock the doors and roll up the window as a swell of relief washes over me the likes I haven’t felt since I talked that guy out of jumping onto the subway tracks last year. I promised him rink-side tickets to a game if he wouldn’t do it. Luckily, he was a hockey fan.
Thinking of my past close calls, I realize any of them would probably make a small-town person shake in fear. I’ve evaded two attempted muggings, I’ve been robbed at gunpoint, and I interfered in a domestic violence attack. In the last instance, I got kicked so hard by the woman I was trying to defend that I walked with a limp for a week. But now that I’ve come face to face with not only one bear, but two, all that looks like child’s play.
I start the ignition and fool around trying to find an appropriate Spotify playlist to celebrate a successful ending to my first wildlife encounter, when my car tips violently to the side. I’m half convinced it’s an earthquake, but then I glance up and see who I can only guess is the cub’s father. He’s huge and he does not look happy that I was getting to know his family.
I instinctively lay on the horn hoping to get the papa bear to leave me alone, but it only seems to make him madder. He slaps the side of the SUV with enough force to cause worry. Without looking in the rearview mirror, I shift into reverse and step on the gas. I’m less concerned about hitting a tree than having this beast flip me over.
Once I’m safely away from him, I put the pedal to the metal. I’m one hundred percent sure I’m not made for this kind of life and wonder if it’s too late to go back to New York.
CHAPTER 9
ASHLYN
I haveno idea what to do about the call I just received from Alexander MacDonald’s lawyer. If I talk to Phillip, he’ll demand to speak with my dad—which is impossible. I can’t really talk to anyone without them wanting to consult the mayor directly.
Opening my dad’s desk, I pull out the list of phone numbers he left for me. The fourth name down is a woman named Marcy Fontaine. She’s the town’s accountant. While I’m not sure exactly how an accountant can help me, she seems far enough removed from the mayor’s office that I might get some information out of her without her feeling the need to go directly to my father.
Picking up the phone on the desk, I punch in the number. It rings twice before she answers. “Marcy Fontaine Accounting, this is Marcy. How can I help you?”
“Marcy,” I start slowly as I try to formulate exactly what to say to her. I finally end up with, “This is Ashlyn Thompkins, mayor Thompkins’ daughter?”
“Hi, Ms. Thompkins,” she says. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m helping my dad out this week and I’ve come across a confidential situation that I need some help understanding.”
“An accounting problem?” She sounds confused and quicklyadds, “I assure you, I keep meticulous records. I can supply evidentiary documentation should you require it.”
“This isn’t something you did,” I tell her. “But before I explain further, I’m going to need your word that you won’t share any details of what I’m about to tell you.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll sign a confidentiality agreement if you want.”
Her offer makes it clear she’s not from Maple Falls. People in small towns usually just take each other’s word. Having said that, I know a lot about confidentiality agreements. I’m required to sign one before I start most of my jobs so that I’m legally bound to stay quiet about what I see in my client’s homes. They don’t want me to call TMZ and talk about their secret cache of whips or evening gowns. The last was the case with a governor I worked for. The dresses were his, not his wife’s.
“No need to sign anything,” I tell her. “But is it possible to meet for coffee somewhere outside Town Hall so we can talk in person?”Away from snoops like Phillip Bane.
“I don’t even work at Town Hall, I’m independent,” she announces. “I could meet you at Maple Grounds on Main Street in twenty minutes.”
I quickly look at the clock. I have to meet the captain of the Ice Breakers across the street at Shirley May’s, so it’s a convenient location. “See you there.”
After hanging up the phone, I quickly pull a compact out of my purse and open it before touching up my lipstick. I’m not currently dressed in business attire, so I figure the least I can do is look as presentable as possible.
I walk out of my dad’s office without a backward glance. It takes fewer than two minutes to drive to my destination. After parking my car in front of the bakery, I stop to admire the decorations starting to pop up. One of the things I love about this little town is that everyone celebrates the seasons, especially autumn. There are already scarecrows appearing on the streetlamps on Main Street. In conjunction with Maple Fest, the townholds a contest for the best scarecrow. They decorate the downtown area with them until the time of judging and it’s really a cool sight.
I go inside and order two hot ciders, then I sit down at a table to wait for Marcy. I forgot to ask what she looks like but even so I know who she is the minute she walks into Maple Grounds. A tallish young woman, about my age, appears. She’s wearing a sleek pencil skirt and twinset. Her hair is pulled back in a no-nonsense bun. I wonder if she knows she has a pencil tucked behind her ear.
Raising my hand, I stand up and call out, “Marcy. Over here.”
She turns and immediately approaches. “How did you know it was me?”
“Lucky guess,” I tell her, indicating that she should sit down. Then I push over the extra cup and say, “I hope you like cider.”
She smiles. “I love it. Now, what can I do for you, Ms. Thompkins?”
“I’m not sure you can do anything, but you might know who could,” I tell her. “Do you know anything about the history of Maple Falls?”
