Page 27 of Faking I Do
“Don’t talk to your grandfather like that,” my dad ground out. “If you’d been able to get our property out of here, we wouldn’t be trying to buy back something we already own.”
I clenched my jaw. It wasn’t worth it to argue with either one of them. I’d learned that long ago.
The sight of Lacey bending over a long table brightened my mood. She’d piled her hair up on top of her head. A pencil stuck through it, holding it in place. She had on a fitted long-sleeve shirt under a thermal vest. She looked good in pink. Maybe I’d get up the nerve to tell her that one day. Keep it professional, I reminded myself.
“Mayor Cherish.” My dad reached the table first and thrust his hand toward Lacey.
She looked up, her gaze bouncing from my dad to my pops to me. “Hi there. Glad you could make it. Line starts over there.” She nudged her chin toward a long line of people waiting to check out.
“We’re not in line.” Pops put his palms on the table and leaned toward her. “We’re looking for something in particular and I’m wondering if you can tell us where it is.”
“Oh?” Lacey regarded my granddad with indifference, most likely not an attitude Pops was used to feeling. She picked up a sheet of paper from the table and handed it across the table. “We made up a map.”
Pops crumpled the page into a ball as Lacey’s eyes widened. “I don’t need a map. I need to know where you put the figurines.”
Her forehead creased. “Mr. Phillips, half of the inventory could be considered figurines. Can you be more specific?”
Pops looked like he wanted to leap over the table. He’d never been the patient type.
“I’ll handle this, Dad.” My dad stepped forward, drawing Lacey’s attention. “We’re looking for something specific. I believe we ordered a pallet full of the high school mascot.” A grin spread across his face. “Beavers, actually.”
“Oh, the beavers, right.” Lacey grinned. “The beavers aren’t for sale.”
“Not for sale?” Pops shifted his weight forward, knocking into the table.
Lacey either didn’t notice or decided to ignore it. “That’s right, Mr. Phillips. With the beavers being the high school mascot we figured we’d have plenty of opportunity to use them as centerpieces, or?—”
“They’re not meant for centerpieces,” Pops grunted.
Dad shot Pops a look. I couldn’t see my dad’s face from where I stood slightly behind him, but it was enough to get Pops to clamp his mouth shut and spin away from the table.
“That’s right. The beaver’s a popular critter around here, that’s for sure.” Dad let out a bark of laughter. “That’s why we ordered them. Folks around here can’t get enough. It’s been one of our top sellers.”
“Well, you’ll have to order more. Like I said, the beavers aren’t for sale.” Lacey gave them another long look. Someone called her from a few tables away. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”
I watched her walk away. The way her jeans hugged her ass made something twinge deep in my chest. Dammit. It was Lacey, the gal I used to tease by launching spit wads into herhair. Although, there’d been nothing girlish about the way she’d responded to me a couple of weeks ago, a fact I still hadn’t taken the time to acknowledge.
“Well, there you have it. No beavers.” I gestured toward the door. “If that’s all y’all were after?—”
“Not so fast,” Dad said. “We’ve got to get those beavers back one way or another. Did you think about Buck’s little proposition?”
I leaned close. “I’m not jeopardizing my career to get your case of ceramic doodads back. Just order more and be done with it if they’re so important.”
“Supplier’s out. Can’t get more.” Pops ground his molars together. “See if you can sweet-talk your girlfriend.” Then he turned on his heel and headed toward the door.
“Do what your granddad says.” My dad made a fist and gave me a playful punch on the arm. “Sheriff Phillips . . . can’t you hear it now?”
I took in a deep breath through my nose, trying to refill my patience with air. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Maybe if she was, you’d be able to do what we need you to do. The family’s counting on you, son.” My dad fake-punched me on the arm again then followed in Pops’s footsteps, disappearing out into the drizzly gray morning.
I was tired of the family counting on me, tired of being made to feel solely responsible for cleaning up their messes. I’d looked the other way when my dad was accused of blackmailing the drugstore owner to stop carrying party supplies. There hadn’t been physical proof, although I knew in my heart my dad had something to do with it. And when I got a call that Pops had gotten pissed off and shot up the jukebox down at Ortega’s, I had smoothed things over, allowing Pops to avoid an arrest. But I hadn’t gone into law enforcement to give my family a free pass.
The weather fit my mood today: bleak, gloomy, and somewhat hopeless. I located Lacey, who stood behind one of the long tables, bagging up someone’s purchases. I didn’t want to get in the way so I decided to take a closer look at the kind of things they had for sale. Rows and rows of miscellaneous party and paper supplies lined the warehouse floor. I’d never been directly involved in the import business, preferring to try to keep a little separation between family and my career. But I knew business hadn’t been so great over the past several years. What would cause my dad and Pops to bother with moving a failing operation all the way across the river?
As I contemplated potential motives, I walked back through to the office area. Zina stood on one side of the room, her hand tangled in a clump of leashes. Dogs in various colors and sizes gathered around her legs.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
