Page 14 of All You Want
She hums under her breath and scrolls through a website filled with “ghostly” pictures. “Don’t you have a meeting to go to?”
“I want you to find everything you can about Mr. Graves. Start with the Malibu University yearbooks.”
“You’re definitely jealous.” She chuckles. “Why don’t you investigate the real crimes? I heard your mom might have been involved in the kidnapping of little Jessica Patterson.”
There she goes again, picking up on gossip and embellishing it with innuendo. My mother, if nothing else, was the hero this summer when the kidnapping and arson went down. But all the same, it looks like I have to explain again.
“Salem Pryde was caught on the webcam footage taking the puppy, and witnesses say she lured the girl from church. The case is closed, and we have a warrant out for her arrest.”
“Where is she? Did you just let her vanish in thin air?”
“She escaped on her ziplines before I had any idea they were there.”
“Your mother doesn’t have an alibi,” Molly says. She holds her hand, palm up, as if asking me to grease it.
“My mother was busy reporting the crime. She was too scared to approach the trailer, so she called the tip line. Too bad Salem jumped her and stole her phone. After that, she panicked and tried to hike back to town, but when she saw the fire, she ran around in circles, unable to decide what to do. She didn’t have a phone to use. She’s an old woman, and she didn’t know how to fight the fire. What exactly would you have done in her shoes?”
“I think her story’s full of holes.”
“What do you know? You weren’t around.” I try to keep my voice calm.
“If I were, I would have solved the mystery.” She clicks through several websites as if the answers lie there.
I slap my hand over the mouse and take it from her. “I need you to concentrate on Spooky Fest. Run a check on every person listed on Miss King’s event application. We need to look ahead, not back.”
“Won’t help,” she says. “They might all have fake names. Oh, by the way, King George wants to see you at the bank.”
I’m already running late for my meeting with the mayor, but he’s my uncle. He’ll understand. Tami’s father, Mr. George King, is another matter.
I can’t keep him waiting, so I put on my hat and stride across the town square to the Royal King Bank founded by Tami’s ancestor, Hank the Yank King, with his legendary fifty-pound pure gold nugget.
My skin crawls as soon as I step into the smoke-filled office. It has the typical green lantern bankers use to help them count money. His office is wood paneled and also includes a collection of Gold Rush era scales, a set of pans and a field test kit, along with old photographs on the wall.
“You may shut the door,” George says. He gestures for me to take a seat. “I trust you’ll be approving Tami’s event permit?”
“I have to speak to my uncle about the budget for additional security.” Even though I know Mr. King controls the city’s finances, I can’t let myself be pushed around. Men like him need to be checked or at least resisted, or they’d run roughshod over everyone.
“You’re trying to milk these events for all you can get.” He taps the ash from his cigar into an 18-carat gold ashtray engraved with the King family coat of arms. “What? You’re not satisfied with that big honking Tahoe I bought the department?”
“The PPV is well appreciated.” I give him an acknowledging nod. “However, we had a serious problem during Gold Rush Week, and we were understaffed.”
“The kidnapping and fire had nothing to do with the festival, and you know it.” He sucks hard on his cigar and blows a smoke ring at me. “I want you to approve the permit and make sure my little girl is safe.”
“I need to ensure the entire town is safe, as well as the additional visitors to what used to be an abandoned red-light district. We’ll need parking lot monitors, traffic control, as well as additional foot patrol. I’m also meeting with the interim fire chief about the lack of an evacuation plan over the single-lane bridge.”
“Excuses. Excuses. If your jackass uncle and the council had done their jobs, the bridge would have been rebuilt. But no. You had it designated as historical.”
“Hangman’s Bridge is historical.”
“Then build another bridge and blast a tunnel out the other side of the mountain.” George points the cigar at me.
“No budget.”
“Because you’re too stupid to see the chicken and egg problem. You won’t have a budget if you don’t have businesses. And you’re not approving building permits and events because you have no budget. Well, the buck stops here. You tell your drunk uncle I’m running for mayor and taking over this backwards town. I’ve been too patient with you Colsons for way too long.”
I stand and lean over his desk in a dominant posture. I know I’ll pay for it later, because my uncle wants to remain on good terms with Mr. King, but when it comes to public safety, I’m the top dog.
“You’re free to run for mayor in the next election,” I say evenly and slowly so there’s no misunderstanding. “I’ve made my decision. No approval for Tami’s Hallowed Haunts Grand Opening unless she cuts the guest list to twenty.”
