Page 15 of The Fast Lane

Mae’s eyes narrowed. “He does need someone to challenge him.”

“Yes, he does.” I took a huge bite of my second croissant, suddenly feeling ten times better than five minutes before.

Mae’s fingers began tapping on the counter. “You know what would be amazing? If someone finally ran against him in the mayoral race. The elections are this spring.”

Peter has run unopposed for his last two (and only) races. Like his father who’d been mayor before him and his grandfather before that. They had a monopoly on the Two Harts political scene.

I laughed. “I’d support anyone who ran against him. It could be an inanimate object, maybe one of those gnomes, and I’d still vote for it.”

Mae’s blue eyes fixed on me with intensity.

“You’re creeping me out.”

“Just thinking that person would need spunk to run against him.” She flicked a finger up. “Someone who loves this town.” Another finger. “Someone who Peter can’t intimidate.” Yet another finger. “Someone who has a strong sense of justice.” Suddenly, one long finger was pointed at me. “Someone like you.”

My mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding?”

“Not even a little.” She smirked. “Think how angry Peter would be.”

“You cannot be serious.”

Ignoring me, Mae pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen and began writing. “Oh, man. I would pay to see his face when he found out. I could be your campaign manager and we could make signs.” She paused and tapped the pen on her mouth, staring off into the distance.

I snapped my fingers in her face. “Mae. I am not running for mayor. People would laugh their heads off.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, they wouldn’t. They would absolutely support you. The more I think about this, the more I know you’d be amazing.”

“No.”

“We were just talking about how it’s time for a change.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of changing out the curtains in my living room or getting a new phone, not running for public office.” Agitated, I stood and dumped the other half of my croissant in the garbage can. “All I wanted to do was cry over chocolate croissants with my sensible, practical best friend. Instead, it appears she has lost her ever-lovin’ mind.”

Mae leaned back in her chair, unperturbed by my outburst. “I am in total control of my faculties, thank you very much, and I’m serious.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled and marched out of the office, around the counter and was almost to the door when it opened and Mrs. Katz, my now-retired sixth-grade teacher and, because he was never far behind her, Horace Otismeyer, former train conductor, breezed in. Mrs. Katz had scared the crap out of me when I was a kid, and it wasn’t much better now I was an adult. She had a brisk, no-nonsense way about her that tended to get under my skin. Probably because I prided myself on being as indirect as possible when it suited my needs.

I pasted on a smile and waved. “Hi, Mrs. Katz.”

“Alicia,” she said as she sailed past me, clearly on a mission.

I’d just pulled the door open when I heard her exclaim, “Maebell Sampson, is that a hickey on your neck?”

SIX

Note to self:

Rearrange all of Frankie’s kitchen cabinets while he’s at work.

And hide his hair gel.

Frankie was waiting by my front door when I arrived home, still in his uniform from working a ten-hour shift overnight. Like everything in his life, Frankie took his job seriously, right down to the creases in his uniform pants. He worked out every day, ate the recommended number of calories to maintain his physique, and made sure to get the right amount of sleep to keep him alert.

And although he’d never admit it, he spray-tanned on the regular. Ruth happened to work at a tanning salon. I couldn’t confirm which came first—the spray tan or the girlfriend—but it all led down the same path. My meathead brother, with his obsession for rules, and slightly orange skin.

He was also my next-door neighbor. Mom loved this arrangement. She had a built-in snitch.

“Hello, brother, dear.” I bounced up the steps to my front door and opened it.