A Man Of Influence

Phil made a hacking noise, as if he was coughing up a hairball.

Mildred had planted her walker seat by Phil’s table and seemed lost in thought as she stared at the back of Phil’s head, perhaps pondering the need for a slap to dislodge that hairball of Phil’s.

Rose held a pose at the end of the bakery case, an aging ballerina poised to leap in cargo pants and hiking boots. “You’ll be here ten days, correct?”

Ten days? They were doomed.

The mayor jumped back in the fray. “Plenty of time to experience everything that makes Harmony Valley special.”

True that. Special and weird and wonderful.

However, chances were slim the villainous Chad would recognize wonderful if it sashayed up to him and kissed his cheek.

The reputation-ruiner cast a glance Tracy’s way. Could Chad tell Tracy knew who he was?

Would it matter if he did?

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_84211102-a157-55e2-801e-93874059026d)

SOMETHING DIDN’T SMELL RIGHT.

And it wasn’t the Poop Monster.

Everyone was suddenly too nice. Too kind. Too helpful.

Had someone researched who he was? The only one he’d seen using a cell phone was Tracy, and no one was paying attention to her. She had a tendency to talk slowly and hesitate over her words. Was that why the mayor had snubbed her? Was that why she lived in such a far-flung location?

The need to defend Tracy rose like smoke from a struggling flame. With a puff of exhaled air, he ignored it.

“Mayor Larry will drive with you to the B&B,” the short, spritely old woman was saying. Her name was Aggie or Agnes or something.

“No need to trouble the mayor. Tracy can show me.” Had Chad just said that? He glanced at the coffee barista. He had indeed.

Tracy sported a horrified look. She skimmed her hand over a bakery case. “I’m working.”

“I’ll cover for you.” Eunice leapt to her feet without so much as a quiver of her purplish-gray curls.

“But...” Tracy glanced at each resident in turn.

“You forgot my lumbago, Agnes.” Larry reached for his back. “It’s why I walk nearly everywhere.”

“Sorry, Tracy. We’ve got a game going on.” Felix jumped a checker. “King me.”

“No license,” Phil grumbled. “No car. No ride for the playboy.”

A chorus of “Phils” echoed through Martin’s Bakery.

“Doctor’s appointment.” Mildred sighed, although how she could see the road through those thick glasses was beyond Chad.

“Driving her,” Agnes/Aggie said, explaining everything.

“Riding shotgun.” At least Rose had the courtesy to look apologetic as she twirled slowly in the corner.

Everyone else looked as if they were happy to shirk tour guide duty.

And inexplicably, Chad was okay with that. He smiled at Tracy. “I did shower today and use deodorant. Scout’s honor.”

Tracy studied him as if he was an overpriced used car, one with high mileage and no warranty.

He studied her in return. That tousled hair. That determined jut of her chin. It was weird. Just looking at her made him want to smile. That was the point of his new life, wasn’t it? He smiled.

“Fine,” Tracy grumbled. “But I’m driving.”

“What?” Chad’s gaze bee-lined to his beloved sports car.

“It’s settled.” Agnes/Aggie clapped her hands.

A few minutes later, he and Tracy stepped out on the brick sidewalk. Harmony Valley could have served as a backdrop for a Norman Rockwell painting. Old fashioned lamps lined Main Street. The buildings had brick fronts and canvas awnings. The wind blew brown and orange leaves down the road listlessly, as if even the elements knew the pace here was slow. Tracy zipped up her tan jacket against the autumn chill, and then extended her palm. “The keys.”

“To my car?” He glanced at his cherry red convertible and gripped the key in his hand. He’d ordered it custom from the factory. No one had driven it but him since he’d bought it. It required nimbleness to get in and out of. Neither a walker nor a wheelchair could fit in its trunk. “How about you sit in the passenger seat and I drive?”

“Nope.” She made the gimme motion with her hand and spoke slowly. “I had an accident...” Each word she spoke was labored. “I was in the...side seat.” She scowled, clearly not pleased with her word choice. “I don’t know you. Or how you drive. Or if I can—”

“You can trust me.” He gave her the grin he’d used to charm his mother’s friends when they’d come over to play Bunko. “I’m a good driver.”

“Don’t. Finish. My sentences.” She glowered at him. As glowers went, it was cute.

Chad’s father had been the King of Glowers. Until the last six months of his life when he hadn’t glowered at anyone. Dad’s soul, his personality, his very being had slipped away, leaving Chad to wait until his body gave up, as well.

“Give me the keys.” There was a pleading note hidden between the demanding words and the glower.

Chad stared at her, then at the gray-haired audience inside, and finally at his car. “It’s a stick shift.” A lost art form.

“Perfect.” She breezed past him and slid into the tan leather driver’s seat, leaving Chad no choice but to ride shotgun. She held out her hand for the key fob as soon as his butt hit the stiff leather.

He inserted the key in the ignition. “On cold mornings, she’s a bit touchy going into third gear.” He hoped Tracy wouldn’t grind the clutch. He hoped the B&B wasn’t far away. He hoped he wouldn’t regret coming to Harmony Valley.

“I knew it.” She patted the dashboard and grinned. “Midlife crisis.”

“I’m thirty-five. Too young for a midlife crisis,” Chad grumbled.

“Huh. Makes me wonder...” Tracy swallowed, her grin fading as she forced out the words. “What you’ll drive...when the real crisis hits.” She shoved in the clutch and started the engine with a roar. The grin came back. She backed out competently and sent the car forward without so much as a neck jerk or a grinding gear.

Chad’s apprehension eased. “Why do I get the feeling no one wanted to come with me?”

“Leona is... She’s... You’ll see.” Tracy forced the words out like stale dough through a noodle press.

“Are there a lot of young singles in town?” The place didn’t look like it had much nightlife.