She’d always been a sucker for people who knew how to fit in and have fun.
“Call me tomorrow after you meet him, okay?” Maddy said. “And let me know if I can help.”
Posy hung up, browsed a few more pages of Wes Fallon pictures and then closed the tab. Now that she’d thoroughly depressed herself, she opened her email to send a message to Wyatt, her boss, that she needed to take some time off. An emergency. She rarely used her vacation, so she knew it wouldn’t be a problem. She’d call in tomorrow and talk to him just to be sure.
Four days tops. That was how long they’d estimated it might take for Trish to get to the city, get her aunt’s bank to set up a wire transfer and see the money cleared into her account.
If Posy could keep Wes Fallon and Chloe Chastain in the dark about the crime for four days at the most, her mom would be home free. And then maybe if she got rid of all this stuff and set her mom up with the model-train enthusiast, she could finally put down her load of guilt. The one she’d been carrying ever since the family court judge made the final custody arrangements by looking Posy in the eye and saying, “Pick.”
* * *
W HEN SHE GOT downstairs the next morning, she found a note written on thick white stationery with a red-and-green border and the Wonders logo at the top. Her mom had decided to strike out early for the city to get the money as soon as possible. Posy would meet the man from the foundation at one o’clock. Trish would be in touch as soon as she’d spoken with her aunt.
Posy didn’t like this. She and Trish had planned to have breakfast at the Lemon Drop together this morning. Her mom loved to be seen out with her daughter. Why would she skip that and why would she leave a note instead of waking Posy?
She called her mom’s cell, but it went straight to voice mail.
She glanced at the note again.
There was a P.S. on the back. Angel’s lamb and rice–formula dog food was in a plastic container in the pantry. The best-before date was coming up and Angel had a delicate stomach. If Posy needed to restock, she should be sure to buy the premium food.
Angel lifted her front paw and scratched at the glass sliding door. She wanted out.
“That makes two of us, sugar.”
* * *
W ES BALANCED THE BOX of Hand-to-Hand promotional
T-shirts and bumper stickers on his hip as he unlocked the door to his temporary office. He left the key in the lock momentarily while he scratched his head. The hospital staff had had to shave a strip above his ear to stitch up a cut the doctors were pretty sure came from one of the metal parts on the truck’s grille. And then, of course, Gary Krota shaved the rest of the hair off on their last night out. The hair growing in not only itched incessantly, it made it impossible for him to forget the accident for longer than five minutes at a time.
Deacon had arranged for him to rent office space in the Kirkland town center. He thought it was a good idea for Wes to be in proximity to the mayor and the members of the town board, who had offices in the building. Without their zoning variance, the site Deacon had picked out wouldn’t be approved.
The door swung open when he turned the key, and Wes stepped inside. The room was cramped, but the two windows set in the back wall made up for the small size. He put the box of shirts and stickers on the floor near the door and let his duffel bag slide to the ground as he opened the blinds. The office overlooked a small staff parking lot and an empty playground behind the building. Midday on a Tuesday didn’t seem like a popular time—all the swings were empty and not one kid was on the basketball court.
It was a shame to see such a nice court going to waste.
He hadn’t played since his accident, but his doctor had cleared him for normal activities before he left Madrid. His shoulder would need some physical therapy, but it didn’t hurt anymore.
He had the ball in his bag.
Flipping the cord, he let the blinds fall back down. Later. He was here to do a job for Deacon.
Trish Jones, the lady who collected the donations, was due in just a few minutes. He kicked the duffel bag behind the desk and then opened the box of shirts. Deacon’s wife, Julia, said he needed some props for his charm offensive. He was supposed to give the Hand-to-Hand shirts out so that eventually it would seem inevitable to the town that the partnership was going to go through.
Wes left his office and went in search of the Kirkland mayor. He found an office with the mayor’s nameplate on the wall. When he knocked on the doorjamb, the young guy sitting behind the desk looked up.
“I’m Wes Fallon, from the Fallon Foundation. I thought I’d say hello to Mayor Meacham.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Fallon. I’ve been hoping to meet you.” The guy hopped up and came around to shake hands. “Ryan O’Malley, the mayor’s special assistant.”
“Good to meet you, too,” Wes said. Ryan looked as if he’d only recently graduated from college, but he had a firm handshake and his dark suit made Wes wonder if he’d underdressed in dark jeans and a golf shirt.
“The mayor isn’t in at the moment, I expect him back shortly,” Ryan said. “But I wanted to tell you how much respect I have for the work you’re doing. This Hand-to-Hand center is the kind of innovation we need in the community services world.”
Wes smiled. “We just have to get the variance and then we’ll be all set. In the meantime, can I give you a T-shirt or a sticker?”
Ryan smiled and took one of each. Then he asked for a second shirt for his fiancée.
Wes handed them over, happy to have recruited his first ally in Kirkland.
A short guy with blond hair thinning on the top entered the office. “Hey, there you are, Wes,” he said. “Great to see you again.”
Wes smiled and nodded even though he didn’t know how the guy knew him.
At that moment a tall woman with dark hair glanced into the office, but kept walking down the hall.
“Wes,” Ryan said, “this is Mayor Meacham.”
“Jay,” the mayor said. “Call me Jay.” He took Wes’s hand and pumped it. “It’s good to have you here. Man, it’s been years.”
Wes had no memory of Jay Meacham. He had very few memories of anything that happened to him before Deacon got custody of him when he was eight, but he doubted Jay knew him from that long ago. Deacon wouldn’t have forgotten to tell him that the mayor of Kirkland was actually their long-lost cousin.
Jay must have noticed his confusion. “I met you after the last game your first season at Western U. I’m an alum, too. Big supporter of the basketball team.”
Wes still didn’t remember meeting the mayor, but he remembered that game, in particular one of the sweetest three-pointers he’d shot in his life. He wasn’t much of a jumper, but he’d had springs in his legs that night and he’d scored right over the head of the defender from the Cardinals team.
“Nice to see you again,” Wes said.
The tall woman he’d seen before passed the open door again and then paused. She stood behind the mayor, but since she was about six inches taller than him, she had a perfect view into the room.
“That was some game,” Jay said, oblivious to the woman. “You had twenty-eight points.” He’d been holding a baseball cap by his side, and now he put it on. “You signed my T-shirt that night. Mind signing my hat now?”
He