Her shoulders slump, and she looks so sad and defeated I almost feel bad about ruining her night. Almost. “Why ask when you already know the answer?”
I let go of her, and she walks away. She doesn’t pause, but weaves through the crowd toward the coat check without even looking around.
I should feel justified and righteous about making my point, but my chest is hollow and a familiar sense of shame rises. I didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one in the wrong.
So why do I still feel like the asshole?
CHAPTER FOUR
Blue
Sneaking into the headquarters of Garrick’s business should not make me grin like a loon. Especially not after the night I had. A night that included calling Charles Rutherford and finding out that the council did meet without me and he hadn’t let me know because they threatened to ruin his shot at re-election if he did.
It would seem that, even without me being there, my desire for Garrick’s request to be approved was its death knell. The people who want me out of office outnumber those on my side and they voted against me rather than in the best interests of the town.
Charles tried to give me some story about those opposed to the permits being truly concerned about Garrick and his clients being able to see into private homes at night, but that’s bullshit. The closest house to the land Garrick wants to use is several hundred yards away. The council just doesn’t want me succeeding at anything.
I spent most of the rest of the night rage pacing, trying not to cry, and begging a hostile Lilith to eat. Shocker: she didn’t eat.
Garrick’s headquarters are in a small, log cabin on the edge of town, nestled right in among towering aspens and surrounded this time of year by deep snow. All the kayaks and paddle boards are put away for the season and the snowmobiles are arranged artfully and shining in the sunlight, inviting folks to step inside and buy a ticket to adventure.
I’m not stepping inside, I’m breaking in through the back door where no one can see me, and I’m having more fun than I’ve had in months. And that includes that one night with the tourist who could tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue.
I use the lock pick kit my mother gave me when I was thirteen to get in the back door.
My mother hasn’t given me many gifts that were worth keeping, but this one has helped me more times than I can count. She gave me the kit because her boyfriend at the time thought it was okay to flip our bedroom doorknobs around to lock me and Peach in our rooms when he wanted ‘a break.’ Mom didn’t see that as enough of a red flag to dump him, probably because his trust fund was larger than the GDP of some small countries, but at least she gave me and Peach a way out.
Shoving the kit in my back pocket, I let myself into a hallway only dimly lit by a small window near the ceiling.
I’ve been here only once before, when Garrick gave me a tour, so I’d understand why he needed approval to use the town’s official vehicles whenever he wanted, but I remember the layout. I learned years ago to always know where the exits are in any building.
Clutching the paper bag with my supplies in one hand, I head for the second doorway and the employee locker room. Garrick’s company employs him and three other guides, but there are ten lockers, each of them shut tight.
Unfortunately, Garrick didn’t point out his locker on the tour, so I’m going to have to open every locker and hope Garrick’s has something inside that’s recognizably his. And I have to do it quietly.
Peach hacked their system this morning and got me a copy of their schedule. Garrick is supposed to be out on a two-hour snowshoe tour along with one of the other guides. That leaves two guides, one of whom is scheduled to be taking a couple out on a snowmobile tour this afternoon and the other who is probably manning the phones at the front desk.
Someone could walk in here at any moment and the number of variables makes it more likely I’ll get caught.
Excitement bubbles through my veins. Being mayor is important to me, but it’s not exactly fun. And I have to be so damn good all the time. I have to worry about acting professionally and shaking hands and kissing babies. I have to care whether people like me, even if I don’t like them.
It feels good to be bad. To do something petty just for the fun of it.
The first locker has a woman’s deodorant in it. Probably not Garrick’s. The second has a nondescript company sweatshirt and hiking boots that are a size ten. Luckily, I know shoes. Garrick’s are at least size twelve, probably thirteen.
The third locker has nothing I can identify as definitely Garrick’s and nothing that points with certainty away from him.
I glance over my shoulder, but there’s no one around. The building is quiet. Too quiet. Maybe Garrick wasn’t exaggerating about his business being close to ruination.
Thankfully, the fourth locker has a Nalgene bottle with a sticker proclaiming its owner the ‘Best Boss Ever’ and a floppy fishing hat I’ve seen Garrick wear around town. I swear he started wearing it more often after I told him how stupid it looks.
I dig around as carefully as I can, trying not to disturb anything. I want Garrick to have no idea his locker’s been touched.
Just when I’m about to give up, my fingers brush a zipper and I pull out an insulated lunch box.
“Bingo,” I say under my breath.
I carefully remove his lunch box from the locker and gently, so very gently, unzip it.
