Yesterday's Scandal

“There usually are a lot of family connections in a small town like this one,” Mac observed, following Wade’s glance. He wondered if the police chief would be so cool if Mac told him about his own family connection to the chief’s wife.

Turning away from the window, Wade sat in one of the chairs. Mac settled in the other. “What can I do for you, Chief?”

“Call me Wade. Seems more appropriate between colleagues, don’t you think?”

“Colleagues?” Mac repeated carefully.

“One cop to another.”

Long experienced at concealing his emotions, Mac kept his posture relaxed. “Cop to ex-cop is more accurate.”

Wade nodded acknowledgment of the distinction.

“Any particular reason you’ve been checking up on me?”

“You’ve come to my town at the same time as what passes for a crime wave in these parts. Seemed appropriate.”

“You always keep this close an eye on things around here?”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Because Mac knew how little small-town police chiefs typically earned, he chuckled dryly. “Careful. Start talking about big bucks and I’ll suspect you’re on the take.”

“Marvella Tucker slips me a dozen home-baked cookies about once a month. She’s ninety years old, likes to drive her big old car right down the middle of Main Street. She thinks I won’t ticket her if she keeps baking cookies for me.”

“Is she right?”

Wade grinned and patted his stomach. “What do you think?”

“I think I need to figure out a way to get on Mrs. Tucker’s cookie list.”

“So what’s a former vice cop doing remodeling an old house in this burg? How’d you choose the Garrett place?”

“Still checking up on me?”

“Making conversation,” Wade corrected him. “I used to be with Atlanta P.D. Burned out, came to Honoria for the slower pace and better working hours. What brought you here?”

Mac lifted a shoulder. “Mine’s a similar story. Got tired of working vice and decided I needed a change. Old houses have always interested me, so that’s the direction I took. It’s satisfying work.”

“My wife and I live in a house her father built more than forty years ago. There’s always something needing repairs, but I still prefer it to one of those new cut-and-paste houses. Emily says it has character.”

“Most old houses do,” Mac agreed.

“You never told me how you found the Garrett place.”

“I saw a photo in a real estate listing. It looked as if it had potential, so I came here to check it out. You know the rest.” The answer was only partially true, but close enough not to bother Mac’s conscience overly much.

“You’ve got the town all abuzz, you know. Nothing the folks around here like better than having someone new to talk about.”

“So I gather.”

“They’re good people, for the most part. The gossip only occasionally turns vicious.”

Mac thought Wade was being generous, considering how often the gossip had turned against his wife’s family. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that the McBride name had been synonymous with scandal for several generations.

No one but Mac was aware that there was one scandal yet to be revealed. One in which he was intimately involved. One for which he deserved some sort of revenge—once he found out who to direct it toward.

“So what’s the buzz on me?” Mac asked casually. “What made you think you needed to run a check?”

Wade shrugged. “What would you have done in my position? The only stranger in town just happened in the vicinity of the very isolated Porter place when it was being robbed. No real reason for you to be out there. Last time you were in town, when you were buying the Garrett house, someone broke into Joe Baker’s storage shed and took an RV and some other expensive sporting goods. I make it a practice to be skeptical of coincidences.”

Through narrowed eyes, Mac studied the other man warily, having trouble reading Wade’s affable expression. He wasn’t sure why the chief was telling him all this. If the guy really suspected he was involved, would he be quite so open about it? Was Wade saying Mac’s law enforcement background cleared him of suspicion, or that circumstantial evidence still pointed his way? “I guess I’d have done the same in your position. But I’m not your thief.”

“That’s what my hunch tells me.”

“How accurate do your hunches generally turn out to be?”

Wade grinned lazily. “Oh, about ninety percent.”

“Ten percent margin of error. Not bad. So, who’s your hunch telling you to go after?”

His smile fading, Wade sighed. “Unfortunately, it isn’t leading me anywhere. I literally haven’t got a clue yet. Just a feeling that I’ve got four break-ins that are all related, and that there’s something going on in my town I don’t know about. And that pisses me off.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open. Sometimes an outsider sees or hears something the locals miss.”

“Especially an outsider who worked vice for a number of years, I’d imagine. I’d appreciate your insight if something catches your attention.”

Though he didn’t really expect to be in a position to identify a local crime ring, Mac nodded.

Wade planted his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. “We’ll have to swap shop talk soon. Over lunch at Cora’s Café, maybe. Tasted her pies yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. She makes the best I’ve ever had—and I’m something of a connoisseur when it comes to desserts.” With a last glance out the window toward the McBride Law Firm, he moved toward the door. “I’ll see you around, Mac.”

Still clueless as to the real purpose behind the chief’s visit, Mac saw him out, then watched from the window as Wade drove away.

He had an itchy feeling that Wade Davenport wasn’t an easy man to mislead.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE INVITED him to dinner,” Emily McBride Davenport chided her husband later that evening when he mentioned his call on Mac Cordero.

Looking up from the block tower he was building with their almost-two-year-old daughter, Claire, Wade lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Now, why would I do that? We don’t even know the guy.”

Watching from the couch where she’d been reading a book, Emily pushed her mop of golden curls out of her face to frown at him. “He’s new to town, Wade. He’s probably lonely.”

“I’m not so sure about that. He seems like the self-contained sort. Probably prefers his solitude. You know he’s turned down most of the invitations he’s received from well-intentioned townsfolk.”

“Most likely because he could tell most of them just want to pump him for personal information,” Emily retorted.