Mostly I’d say I’ve succeeded. Then again, my mind flashes to Magnolia Kasper. She’s made it clear that she thinks I’m scum. I don’t know what I did. Sure, I pulled her over a couple months back, but I was doing my job. I’ve tried to engage her this month, tried to be charming, and all she’s done is turn up her nose and act like what we do here in Cashmere Cove doesn’t hold a candle to the big-city law enforcement life she left behind. The woman is infuriating.
I allow myself a small smile at the memory of the look on her face last night when she found out her car had been towed. It hadn’t been my idea—it was the rest of the day-shift crew who tipped off the Cove’s parking enforcement officer. I just happened to be the one to watch the prank unfold. I’ll admit I took a smidge of satisfaction in seeing her knocked down a peg or two.
My dad pushes open the door, and he and Roger saunter into the office, thus ending my musings. I stand to shake my accountant-turned-data-analyst’s hand.
My mom shuffles in behind my dad with a platter of snacks. “Be right back with drinks.”
“Better bring in the scotch, Bev.”
My mom ducks out and returns with the decanter of expensive alcohol. She sets it down for my dad to pour and closes the door behind us when she leaves.
“Excellent, excellent. Now we can get down to the real work at hand.”
“I’m good, Pops.” I hold up my water bottle. I don’t make it a habit of drinking hard liquor before dinner time, and even after that, it’s rare. In my line of work, I’ve seen too many instances of alcohol intake leading to disastrous results.
My father frowns but doesn’t say anything. He finishes pouring his drink and takes his seat behind his desk. His face takes on a serious edge. “Well, Roger, what do ya have for us? How’re the numbers?”
I resist the urge to laugh. You’d think I was running for president of the United States with the solemn attention my father gives to my campaign. I know I should be grateful, but come on.
Roger shoves his reading glasses up his nose and gets out some paperwork. He hands a packet to each of us. “Here’s what we’ve got so far. That page shows the results from the surveys and polls put out by the local news media, comparing you to McDermit.”
I nod, skimming the second page. Both Lloyd McDermit and I had to provide written answers to a series of questions, and the viewers and general public picked who they’d vote for if they were casting their ballots that day.
I look up to see my dad’s forehead creased with displeasure as he studies the data.
Gary taps his paper. “It makes sense that you’ve got the edge with the thirty-and-under crowd.”
“And the female voters,” Sean adds. He tosses me a wink, and I give an easy-going shrug.
“I think that’s more of a problem than something to be celebrating.” My dad’s tone wipes the smile from my face.
“Come on, Pops. It’s not like I’m flaunting myself out there like a piece of meat.” I know I’m good looking. I’d never try to capitalize on my looks in a way that’s dishonest, but hey, if it helps me out, I’ll take it.
My dad crinkles the paper in a firm grip and shakes it in the air. “I’m not saying you are, but look at the rest of the numbers. The under-thirty crowd is one of the smallest segments of voters. Back me up on this, Roger.” My dad turns to him.
Roger nods. “Dirk’s right. If you look at the rest of the data, you’ll see the projections have you behind in almost every other age range.”
I frown. “Not by much, though. It’s pretty close.”
“Pretty close won’t cut it,” my dad says.
I bite the inside of my lip.
“Interesting that, when polled, over sixty-five percent of respondents say that Lloyd McDermit is the better choice based on his family values and community roots,” Sean notes.
“He started running those TV ads with his wife and kids on the local networks,” Gary adds. “They’re pretty sweet.”
I hold up my hands in a shrug. “What do you want me to do? Film a TV commercial of me, myself, and I? Sorry to disappoint, but I can’t come up with a wife and kids in”—I pretend to check my watch—“the next eleven months.”
My dad glances toward Roger, who looks at Gary and then at Sean.
My dad’s gaze settles back on me with the force of a rocket launcher. “Actually, I think you should.”
I blink. And blink again. Because I’m suddenly feeling twitchy. He cannot be serious. I study his face, but it betrays no signs that this is a joke, something that he can tease me about and say tohis buddies,we actually had him going, thinking he needed a wife and kids to win the sheriff’s seat.
“You’re serious?” I lean back in my chair, as if that’ll help shield me from the unique brand of crazy that’s somehow overtaken the room.
“Hear us out on this,” Gary says, taking the lead. “The people want to elect someone they can trust. Someone reliable and dependable. Someone who they believe has the best interests of the community in mind.”
