Page 34 of One In Vermillion

“Two hundred thousand. Half of Mickey’s haul.”

“Hmm,” George said, but I had a feeling something else was pressing on him.

“What’s wrong? Everything good with Anemone?”

George looked past me at the river. “She talked that old coot in charge into retiring is position as council president, and then talked everybody on the council into voting me in as his replacement.”

“Why?” I said, knowing how much the council annoyed him.

“I think it’s part of her plan for me to run for mayor.”

That sounded like the Anemone that Liz had told me about. “You’d be a good mayor.”

“A rock would be better than O’Toole,” George pointed out.

“True. Are you going to?”

“I went down that road almost sixteen years ago,” George said. “I’m not sure I want to do it again. Hell, I don’t even want to be council president. But Anemone . . .”

“Burney needs you,” I said. “I remember someone saying that to me not long ago.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Plus, you have Anemone. I get it, that woman is scary. But effective. She was married to a senator once, so a small-town mayor should be a cakewalk for her. She gets things done.”

George smiled. “She does.”

“And as long as O’Toole is in office, we’re stuck with Bartlett as chief.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You want the job?”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“The Peter Principal,” I said. “I didn’t even want to be a detective. I like being on the ground.”

“You’d be good at it,” George said. “The guys respect you.”

“There’s more to it than that,” I said. “There’s—” I was interrupted by my phone playing Ride of the Valkyries.

“That’s Rain,” I said as I pulled it out. I’d left her working the crash site last night. Technically, she’d kicked me out after giving me a quick summary then telling me to go make the Shady Rest rendezvous and stop messing with Liz’s karma. Which, apparently, was blue.

I answered. “What do you have?”

“Good morning to you, too,” she responded.

I heard a voice in the background and recognized it as Molly’s.

“Are you in the bedroom?”

“That’s pretty personal, Vince. But no. I am not. We are in the dining room at the Pink House, waiting for Marianne to drop breakfast on us.”

“What color are the walls in your bedroom?” I asked.

“Blue. But the trim is natural wood.”

“Fuck you.”

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