Page 2 of Texas Scandal

As she neared her vehicle, which she’d wedged into what she believed was a legal spot, she realized the paper was too wide to be a ticket. A note? Was someone cursing her out for taking a spot that belonged to them?

Great. Just great.

Melody snatched the paper from her windshield and flattened the note onto the hood of her car.

Drive fifty miles west.

Right now? Was this a prank? She glanced up and down the street, unsure of exactly who or what she was looking for. Someone laughing? Someone staring? Someone paying special attention to her now that she’d read the message? No one seemed to notice her or care, but it was impossible to see everything. Someone could be hiding.

A cold shiver raced up her spine as she reread the chicken scratch handwriting. What was fifty miles from her current location? This had to be a misunderstanding or some kind of practical joke.

Melody reached inside her handbag and located the key fob. She palmed it and then clicked the unlock button. Camrys weren’t exactly rare. This note being placed on hers was probably a mistake.

She took the driver’s seat and then closed the door behind her.

What if it wasn’t, though? She locked the door before grabbing her cell phone to check Google Maps. From her location, fifty miles west of Austin would put her in Blanco, Johnson City or Meadowlakes. Just shy of those would put her in Marble Falls or possibly Shovel Mountain. Since she didn’t know anyone who lived in any of those cities, she crumpled up the note and tossed it onto the passenger seat, determined not to let the cryptic message ruin her post-interview high.

Besides, it wasn’t a ticket, which was no small miracle considering parking in Austin was almost as confusing as sitting in on her employer’s meetings with his accountant at tax time.

A thought struck as Melody navigated out of the parking spot where she was sandwiched between a red Tesla and a Ducati motorcycle. Could this somehow be related to her father? After all, he was in prison awaiting trial for mail fraud. He’d convinced a whole lot of folks they’d be better off handing over their money to “get in on the ground floor” of his new business opportunity. An investigation into his business operations turned up even more charges.

The scheme he’d initially been busted for turned out to be the tip of the iceberg on his illegal dealings. But walking in on her father while he was cheating on her mother with Melody’s favorite high school English teacher in her office had shattered all her beliefs about growing up in what she’d once believed was the perfect family.

When it came to Henry Cooper Cantor II, her attitude was more like,What has he done now?Her brother, Henry Cooper Cantor III, who went by Coop, worked for their father and claimed the man was innocent. Evidence didn’t seem to agree. Melody had walked away from the family drama after catching her dad with his pants down years ago. She’d donated her trust fund to feed the hungry and never looked back. Now, she wished she had kept some so she could repay at least a portion of the money her father had taken from others. The thought of all those lavish birthday parties during her childhood that must have been funded by her father swindling other people out of their cash almost made her sick. Did it make her a target?

Fifty miles west? Was someone waiting out there for her to show up? A murderer? A rapist? Since her current line of thought had taken her to a dark place, she took in a slow, deep breath to hit the mental reset button.

The note creeped her out more than she wanted to admit.

“Call Coop’s cell,” she said to her phone after speaking the magic words to get its attention. Through some magic of Bluetooth technology, the call started ringing through her stereo speakers. She wondered if anyone even called them stereo speakers anymore. If not, what would the new name be? Car speakers made it simple enough.

“You okay?” Coop asked, sounding more than a little caught off guard by the random call. Granted, she could be better about keeping in touch. Since her parents’ divorce, the four of them no longer spent holidays together, let alone have regular conversations. There were no more birthday parties or Sunday brunch tables for four. Her mother, Tilly, had drawn a line in the sand that said she wanted out of all activities that involved her ex. The termcoparentingwas a joke when it came to her mother’s perspective on their former family. Thankfully, Melody and Coop had been old enough to take care of themselves.

“Fine,” she said, realizing she sounded the opposite.

“Is it Dad?” he asked.

“No,” she countered, feeling a little defensive at the abrasiveness in his tone.

“Then what?” he asked.

“Am I not allowed to call and check on my brother?” she asked, feeling every bit the hypocrite. He wasn’t too far off base. Lately, neither one called the other unless there was something to do with their father’s case. Usually, it was more bad news.

He didn’t respond.

“Okay, you got me,” she said. “I don’t call just to check on you but that doesn’t mean I don’t care or think about you.”

The truth was that she’d basically cut herself off from the family when she dumped her trust fund into Austin-area food banks. Her father had flipped out and her brother had called her delusional for thinking money grew on trees. He couldn’t begin to fathom why she might not want Cantor money or wasn’t bursting with pride to have the Cantor name.

Melody never once looked back after getting rid of the trust. Her brother had lost most of his betting on the stock market, thinking he could double it. So, he’d gone to work for their father to rebuild his personal wealth and she’d worked at ordinary jobs they all thumbed their noses at.

The reason for the tension in her brother’s voice dawned on her. If her father was involved in illegal activity, wouldn’t it stand to reason Coop had been, as well? At the very least, he had to have known about the criminal activity. The question was whether or not he was an accomplice or simply looked the other way.

“Are you doing okay, Coop?” she asked. “I mean, about everything?”

“There’s no reason not to be,” he countered a little too quickly. “Dad will beat this because he didn’t do anything wrong. This is a witch hunt, nothing more.”

“You said the exact same words the last time we spoke several weeks ago ever since Dad has been in jail,” she said. As much as she wanted to believe those words, there was far too much evidence to the contrary to be that naive or blindly loyal.

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