The Last Honest Man. Lynnette Kent
drew a deep breath. “Happy birthday to you,” he sang to his mother, aware of every face in the room turned his way. The words were perfect, the pitch true. The words he couldn’t speak, he could sing. So he sent birthday wishes to his mother in a song.
He’d sung solos in church choir since the age of five, and stuttered since he was eight, but that talent had never influenced his speech, no matter how many years of choral practices he endured. He only hoped Phoebe could change the pattern. In less than three months.
When the verse ended, Preston gestured to the crowd and they all sang another round as Cynthia DeVries smiled and delicately wiped tears from her eyes. More champagne circulated with the servings of cake.
Since his chair faced the doorway, Adam had a chance to watch the arrivals and departures of other diners in the restaurant. About nine-thirty, he looked up from the cake he was moving around his plate to check out the commotion going on in the entry area…and then wished he hadn’t.
L. T. LaRue had come to the Vineyard for dinner. The mayor stood next to him, with an arm around LaRue’s shoulders, every few seconds patting him on the back. They’d come in through the bar in the back of the house, because they already had drinks in their hands. The hostess approached and led them to their seats—not in the rear parlor, of course, but in the front room directly across the hall from the banquet room where Adam sat.
During the next hour, when he wasn’t watching his mother open her gifts and smile at the toasts made in her honor, Adam watched LaRue celebrate “winning” the housing project contract. The word should be “buying,” of course—a fact confirmed by the arrival of several city council members who joined the mayor’s party with every evidence of satisfaction at a deal well made.
Preston DeVries leaned across the corner of the table. “The only way we’re going to get this town cleaned up,” he told Adam, “is to elect a new mayor.” He pushed his chair back and got to his feet as guests prepared to take their leave. “I wish to God there was an honest man with the guts to take on that crook and give him a run for his money.”
Adam swallowed hard. After setting an appointment for speech therapy, then actually showing up, this was the hardest moment he’d had to face since the day in the third grade when his dog died. “D-Dad?”
“Yes?”
“We’ve already g-got that m-man.”
“You don’t say? Who is it? I’ll be damn glad to write a check for his campaign, help get those crooks evicted.”
Standing, Adam faced his father eye to eye. “M-make your ch-check out to m-me.”
“You?” Preston’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t understand.”
He took a deep breath. “I’ve already f-f-filed the p-papers. I’m running for m-m-mayor of New Sk-Skye.”
His father stared at him, speechless, for a long moment. “Dear God, son,” he said finally, too loudly. “Surely you’re not serious! You wouldn’t do something that stupid.” His anxious brown gaze searched Adam’s face. “Would you?”
CHAPTER TWO
TOMMY WHISTLED THE THEME song from Goldfinger as he crossed the parking lot on Thursday morning and entered the back door of the small building that housed his insurance agency. He wasn’t a player in this town yet, though his family had been around forever and the Crawford name still meant something—mostly, a long line of men who let money run through their hands like water. But Tommy was going to turn that situation around, with a lot of smarts and a little help from his good buddy Adam DeVries.
He whistled his way to the front of the office, but there the tune died. Only one person sat in the waiting area. Her hair was shiny black, cut short in spiky strands that made her look like an elf…a very sexy elf. She wore a red suit jacket over a black top and a short black skirt that left a long, long stretch of excellent leg bare to his gaze. Tommy had no doubt who and what she was waiting for.
“’Morning, Sam.” He fought to sound casual. “Long time, no see.”
The reporter looked up from her magazine and gave him a wink. “I figured you would expect me to show up sooner or later, and that I might as well make it sooner.” She came to her feet with a wiggle that had Tommy swallowing hard. “Can we talk?”
“Sure thing.” He looked across at the reception desk, where his cousin and sole employee stared at him with her mouth open. “’Morning, Bonnie. Let me know when my first appointment gets here.”
“Your first…?” She might well be confused, since she knew damn well he didn’t have any appointments today. But he lifted an eyebrow and she got the message. “Sure, Tommy. I’ll buzz you.”
He glanced back to Sam Pettit and smiled. “Right this way. Would you like some coffee? Bonnie makes a pretty decent brew.”
“Sounds good.” Her voice was deep, a little rough for a woman, and rubbed shivers over his spine.
“Sugar? Cream?” Tommy prayed the milk in the fridge hadn’t gone sour.
“Black, thanks.”
“That’s easy.” He poured them each a mug and put Sam’s in her red-taloned hand, then led the way to his office across the hall. “Have a seat.” His room was spectacularly neat, which might indicate a genius for organization but only represented, Tommy hated to admit, a lack of business. Shutting the door, he went to the chair behind his desk and sat down. “Now, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
Sam eyed him over the rim of her mug as she took a sip, which allowed him to concentrate on her light gray eyes framed by dark, thick lashes. Hypnotic, to say the least. “You know why I’m here, Tommy. Tell me about Adam DeVries.”
“Nice guy. I’ve known him pretty much all our lives. We graduated in the same high school class—1989, New Skye High.”
“And he’s running for mayor.”
“That he is.” Her scent filled the room, a combination of danger and invitation that made his head swim.
“Why?”
Tommy sank back in his chair, letting the mug of coffee warm his palms, the steam fill his nostrils in defense. “I think it’s a little early to put out position papers.”
“But you can tell me what his motivation is.”
“Why do you want to write an article on motivation?”
“Because, from all I can gather, DeVries is different from every other politician in town. Maybe the whole state. He’s a dark horse coming up from behind. I think my readers will be interested in this race.”
“So do I. But the flag hasn’t dropped yet, Sam. We’re announcing Adam’s bid on Labor Day weekend with a big rally. I’ll send you free tickets.”
“The paper will give me tickets.” She leaned forward to put her mug on his desk, and he got a glimpse of the curves of her breasts just underneath the top she wore.
His mouth went dry. A gulp of hot coffee did not help. Sam eased to her feet and adjusted the strap of her purse. “Well, if you’re not going to deliver, then I’ll let you move on with your day.”
Tommy set down his own mug and joined her on the other side of the desk. “You don’t have to pout.”
She grinned and stuck out her red lower lip. “I will if I want to.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that. You’ll do anything you think you can get away with.” They’d met a number of times in the year she’d been in town, and he was always amazed to realize she was shorter than he, even in high heels. Since he wasn’t a big man—only five-seven—that made Sam Pettit, well, petite.
“Damn straight, I will.” She turned in the open doorway and brushed back the spiky black bangs in her