Rescue Me (Butler Island) (22 page)

Chapter 27

Mayor Cliffburg awoke to the sound of nails repeatedly
scratching at his bedroom door. He opened his eyes; the room was still dark.
God, he was so tired. After spending much of the night pacing back and forth,
trying to formulate a foolproof scheme to woo Lana Phillips into his bed, he’d
collapsed into a heap of exhaustion. And he still had no plan in place.

The scratching happened again.

Moaning, he rolled over and pushed his body upright. His
Shih Tzu, Scotch, was the culprit responsible for the noise, and if he didn’t
get the fur ball outside, and quickly, he’d have a hell of a horrid mess to
clean up. Reluctantly rising from bed, he slipped on a pair of Adidas pants, a
plain white tee, and some leather flops, scooping the mutt off the ground with
one hand.

“You’re becoming a pain in the ass, you know that?” He
mumbled. The dog produced a pathetic-excuse-for-a-bark before licking Michael’s
roughened chin, not the least bit concerned that the sun was still nearly two
hours from rising.

He didn’t even really like the damn mutt, but the long
white hair and cute little face had never failed to get him lucky over the last
year. Women were suckers for men with adorable lap dogs—men pushing baby
carriages, too—but that was taking it a bit too far. He hadn’t been that
desperate to get laid.

Shuffling into the living room, he snatched the leash
from the foyer and clipped it to Scotch’s blue collar. “Let’s make it snappy
this time.”

Yeah, right. Snappy.

Michael roamed the empty streets of Butler Island for
nearly twenty minutes before the damn dog decided on a spot, but it’d been well
worth it once the fur ball kicked grass with his hind legs and prissily trotted
away. He just didn’t understand it—how a dog barely weighing in at twelve
pounds produced two pounds of shit.

A gust of soggy wind surged out of the south. The mayor
checked his watch: barely five
A.M
. and he
could already tell it was going to be unbearably humid today. Not that it was
any surprise. Florida, even here, along the Panhandle Coast, could be summed in
two words: excruciatingly hot.

Enjoying the moderately muggy temps—the word “enjoying”
used rather loosely—he headed toward Third Street. It was a bit out of his way,
maybe adding an extra ten minutes to his early morning stroll, but that was
fine by him. He was already up, Scotch seemed to like the idea, and besides, it
gave him an excuse to coast by Lana’s.

He’d just rounded the corner when he caught movement up
ahead on the right. The door to the gray and white bungalow opened slowly, but
it wasn’t Lana that emerged from the small dwelling.

No, it was Randall-fucking-Burns!

Dodging behind Mr. Humphrey’s beloved rose hedges as not
to be seen, Michael peered through the fragrant shrubs as Randall took off in
the other direction, noting the man’s shirt was inside-out.

I’m sorry
,
but
…
I think you’ve got this all wrong
,
Mayor
Cliffburg
.

This is sort of sudden
.

So
,
tonight
:
bad timing
? He’d asked.

Something like that
,
yes
.

His hands shook with rage. “Lying whore”, he muttered
under his breath. No one made of fool of him.

No one.

Lana—his sweet, beautiful Lana—was living a double life:
the town’s sweetheart by day, cold-hearted, conniving tramp by night.

With Randall out of sight Michael straightened, retracing
his steps back home. Scotch’s little legs worked overtime to keep up with his
fleeting pace, huffing and puffing during the four-block trek. They made it
back in half the time it’d taken Scotch to select his dumping ground, the furry
mutt collapsing into a heaping mound of panting white hair just inside the
front door.

Mayor Cliffburg ran his hands through his dark hair in
frustration, pacing back and forth while the idea of Lana and Randall sunk in
and took root. Damn, he still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe he hadn’t
seen the signs until now.

Lana Phillips was fucking her husband’s best friend…

His vision narrowed, his heart galloping to a hasty beat.
He’d done so much for her. This charity auction idea was all for her.
Celebrating the life of a man he loathed was a sacrifice he’d been willing to
make.

All for her.

Her gratitude and admiration was all part of his
carefully calculated plan. Suddenly she’d see him—not as her boss, but as a
man. A man she would be forever indebted to. And when it came time to collect,
he’d finally claim her body, finally acquire what he’d been lusting after for
seven long years.

But that was over now. Everything was ruined!

She was going to pay for this—pay for humiliating him
like she had. He’d nearly confessed his love for her last night, for
Chrissakes! She’d probably gone inside and had a good laugh with Olivia at his
expense.

Nobody made a fool of Michael Cliffburg.

Lana Phillips was definitely going to pay…

With only three days remaining until the town gathered
for the charity auction, Lana’s mind was overwhelmed. Last minute details
required her attention, and she still needed to tweak the order in which some
of the items were presented. She wanted to ensure they were building interest
and momentum throughout the affair, the value of each item increasing until
they reached the grand finale: a fifty-five inch flat screen T.V.

And to make matters worse, the first named tropical storm
of the season was brewing in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, the local
weatherman predicting landfall some time during the early evening hours on
Memorial Day.

She’d gone to the mayor earlier, inquiring about postponing
the auction until after the storm, but he’d been completely against it.

“
We’ll move the boat parade and the auction up an hour
to give the breakdown volunteers time to clear everything before the storm
arrives
”, he’d suggested. A minor change that required a ton of work on her
end, because now she had to notify everyone of the last minute change.

But that was only a fraction of the static currently
wreaking havoc on her weary mind.

Jimmy had been gone one year. One year…

There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t think of
him. Sometimes she’d still catch herself calling out his name—like he was just
in the other room. Like he wasn’t buried beneath six-feet of sodden dirt in the
Apalachicola Cemetery.

Those first six months without him had been hellish, and
there were still moments when she panicked—when something as simple as drawing
air into her lungs seemed laborious, impossible. That feeling would never go
away entirely, she knew. She’d never rid herself of it completely, but she
could live with that.

She could live with that because she’d found a solid
source of strength, a new passion for life. It was sort of like stepping into
color after living in a world of black and white.

The life she’d come to know had suddenly looked
different—scary, even, at first. Thrust into a new, vivid reality, she’d just
been going through the motions, simply surviving.

Until Randall.

Those assessing gray eyes saw right through her tranquil
veneer; the deep timbre of his voice soothed her battered soul, enveloping her
in a harmonious cocoon. He’d guided her into this new, colorful world… and she
loved him for that.

She loved him.

This, of course, was the core of her dilemma, because she
feared Randall didn’t feel the same way about her.

He’d been a no-show for two nights running. And when
she’d phoned to find out what’d happened he’d brushed her off with an
I’ve-got-a-lot-of-things-going-on-right-now.

Which was true—they both did. But…

But something just… didn’t feel right.

Shaking her head a bit, she returned her attention to the
lengthy list of donations she’d accumulated over the last month. There were
several items she still needed to enter: A three-course dinner for two at
Bruno’s Italian Diner, and the beautifully-crafted necklaces and brooches David
Jetson had kindly donated several nights ago.

Lana’s fingertips rapidly tapped the keyboard, almost as
if they had a mind of their own. She thought about that night—the night Mayor
Cliffburg had accompanied her—the night he’d almost kissed her. She was
relieved to find the air between them the following day had been rather...
normal. There’d been no awkwardness—no signs whatsoever that he was harboring a
grudge. And for that she was grateful.

The mayor’s door swung open just then, diverting Lana’s
attention to the tall figure that halted in front of her desk. “Can I get you
anything?” She offered.

Bracing his hands on the edge of her desk, Mayor
Cliffburg smiled. “How ’bout I buy you lunch? I’m starved.”

“Thanks for the offer, but”—she gestured to the explosion
of papers and files scattered along her desk—“I’ve a ton of things still left
to do. I brought some fruit. I’ll probably just eat at my desk today.”

“All right, suit yourself”, he uttered as he pushed off
her desk. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Call me on my cell if you need me.”

And then he was gone, leaving Lana alone with a myriad of
scribbled notes, and a distinct, eerie chill.

Chapter 28

Mayor Cliffburg had been sitting at the shoddy little bar
three doors down from Leo’s Italiano for nearly twenty-five minutes. The place
was downright filthy, and the smell… A mixture of nicotine, sweat, and stale
beer was…

Well, needless to say his suit was ruined.

The place was small, dark, the ceilings abnormally
low—sort of reminded him of a dungeon. The walls, most likely once white, were
dingy, yellowed by layers of cigarette smoke. He wanted to get this meeting
over with, wanted to get the hell out of this run-down joint before his health
suffered irreparable damage.

The bell attached to the front door jingled as it slid
open, spilling bright light into the cave-like room. Moments later a scorned
woman with auburn hair and creamy skin settled onto the stool beside him.

“You’re late.”

Jenny Carson flashed a humorless grin. “Look, you may run
the city of Butler Island, but if you think your
my-time-is-more-important-than-yours
routine is gonna work on me, you’re wrong. So let’s cut to the chase, shall
we?”

“All right, fair enough… I have some information I think
the town of Butler Island would be very interested in knowing.”

Jenny snatched the whiskey tumbler from the bar and took
a sip, wincing slightly as liquid heat trickled down her throat. “”So have your
girlfriend put it on next month’s city commission agenda.”

The mayor chuckled under his breath. “You’re a
fire-cracker, Mrs. Carson; I like that in a woman.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Mayor.”

“Only when it’s delivered under false pretenses. I could
use someone like you on my side, someone with topnotch people-reading skills. A
mayor is only as good as his staff.”

She eyed him suspiciously for a stretch. “You’re offering
me a job—in your office? What’s the catch?”

“Now, what makes you think there’s a catch, Mrs. Carson?”

“Because you’re a politician—you don’t do anything unless
there’s something in it for you, too.”

Michael’s dark eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. If he
didn’t need her help, he’d have smacked that gloating grin clear off her face.
He was the fucking mayor, for Chrissakes! He deserved respect!

But he did need her help. Couldn’t pull this off without
Jenny—at least, not if he wanted to remain the town’s savior for the next four
years. A scandal like this would ruin him.

That couldn’t happen.

So he begrudgingly relaxed his jaw and forced the corners
of his mouth skyward. “Another straightforward assessment”, he agreed. “All
right, there is a catch… It’s regarding your
B.F.F
, Lana
Phillips—”

“She’s not my—”

Michael stuck his palm out, interrupting her
mid-sentence. “Let’s just say I’ve stumbled upon a rather…
interesting
secret she’s been keeping, something I think many folks in town would be
fascinated to learn about her.”

“Oh no!” Jenny cried sarcastically, placing her palms
over her cheeks like Macaulay Culkin in
Home Alone
. “Trouble in paradise
already?”

Leaning forward, he lowered his voice for emphasis. “She
humiliated you in front of everyone at The Saloon a few months back, correct?”
The amplified, boastful grin disappeared almost instantly. She didn’t utter a
word—just stared back at him as if he’d slapped her across the face.

Time to go in for the kill.

“Just when you thought there was a chance of you and
Tommy patching things up, Lana swoops in and shows him a good time on the dance
floor—shows him the kind of woman he ought to be spending his time with.
Remember that, Jenny? Do you remember the way it felt to be humiliated like
that—by someone who claimed to be one of your friends? Huh?”

“What do you want?” She mumbled.

A devious smile splayed across his lips. “Simple, really:
During the charity auction on Monday, when the town is focused on their beloved
sweetheart, you’re gonna stand up and unearth some disturbing news.” The mayor
leaned closer. “She’s going to be publicly humiliated, Mrs. Carson; she’s going
to suffer karma’s ugly wrath. And you”—he gestured with his finger—“are going
to have a front row seat.”

Jenny chewed on the offer for a few long beats, then drew
in a deep breath. “Didn’t you mention something about a job? Because bussing
tables doesn’t exactly pay well.”

“For your well-timed public outburst, you will be
rewarded with a position as my new secretary. With elections just around the
corner, I’m afraid the scandal involving my current secretary will taint my
upcoming campaign. I mean, what would the good residents of Butler Island think
of me if I didn’t cut ties with the subject of a scandal of this magnitude?”

“When do you need an answer?” she asked nervously,
chewing on her lip.

Rising from his stool he reached into his back pocket and
laid a crisp twenty on the bar, then handed Jenny his business card. “Auction’s
in three days, Mrs. Carson. My offer is good until five
P.M
. today or all bets are off. Call me on my cell if you’re
interested in the position.”

Mayor Cliffburg pivoted, heading for the exit with an
extra bounce in his step. It was a risky plan, yes, but high risks tended to
yield the biggest rewards. Pushing the door open, he stepped into the hot,
merciless sun, inhaling his first clean breath in nearly forty-five minutes.
After sliding into his T-bird he loosened his tie, then removed it. He needed
to get out of these clothes—fast. Turning around, he headed back to the
Mainland Bridge, the wind blowing his dark hair, hammering the wretched stench
from his clothes. He’d stop at home to change before returning to the office;
he didn’t want to have to explain to Lana why he reeked of cigarettes and stale
beer.

Michael had just maneuvered his car into his driveway
when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Okay… I’ll do it.”

Dark, angry clouds lingered above the island, stretching
its somber arms south toward the approaching tropical storm. The wind was
steady at ten miles per hour with gusts nearing twenty. Choppy conditions had
made for an interesting boat parade, the normally calm Gulf reminding onlookers
that beneath its serene surface lay robust power and strength.

Lana stood on the pier along with Kendall and Olivia as
boats decorated in red, white, and blue traveled in single file, drivers
carefully maneuvering their vessels through the tumultuous Gulf while judges
scored their decorative creativity.

Randall’s Boston Whaler was toward the end of the pack,
she knew this because she’d checked the order that morning. Swags of patriotic
colors lined the edge of the boat, an American flag attached to the back
flapped furiously in the wind. The moment she clapped eyes on him her heart
kicked an extra beat. His black hair blew in the steady breeze, his strong
hands gripping the wheel tight, causing the corded muscles in his forearms to
bulge.

She had no idea what was happening between them. Last
night marked the fifth night in a row Randall had been absent from her bed. She
told herself it didn’t mean anything. They’d both been terribly busy the last
week in preparation for today, and after laboring on his boat in the hot sun
all day, he’d probably been too tired to toil with her beneath the sheets.

And yet…

She still had an inkling there was more to it than that.
Tonight, after the stress of the previous month was finally behind them, they
needed to talk. She needed to know where they stood—if there even was a “them”
anymore.

“Oh, there he is”, Kendall uttered excitedly, pointing at
Randall. She nudged Olivia with her elbow. “I hope you’re getting some good
close ups.”

Olivia’s Nikon clicked repeatedly as she twisted the long
lens. “Well, if you stop clobberin’ me with your elbow, I might be able to!”

“Sorry”, she murmured, retracting her arms close to her
body. “It just…I’m so excited for him! He’s wanted that boat for years.”

Lana’s gaze landed on Randall again. Dark shades covered
his eyes, but she didn’t need to see his steel-gray orbs to know they were
looking at her. She could almost feel them whispering over her skin. And then
the corners of his mouth lifted. It was subtle—no one on the crowded pier
probably caught it—but Lana knew that smile was meant just for her.

It was exactly what she’d needed at that moment. She’d
been riding a rollercoaster of emotions all day, dizzy with highs and lows, but
somehow just the mere sight of him calmed her turbulent mind.

“All right, ladies, I’d love to stick around for the rest
of the parade, but I have to meet the auctioneer in front of the stage at
eleven-thirty.”

“You want us to come with you?” Olivia asked.

A wave of emotion took hold of her. Her friends sensed
the struggle she’d been grappling with all morning, sensed she was teetering on
a slippery slope of sadness. Lana swallowed the lump that’d suddenly lodged in
her throat, shaking her head. “No, I… I’ll be fine. You guys stay here, finish
watching the parade. I’ll catch up with you after the auction.”

“You sure?” Kendall asked. “We really don’t mind.”

“Positive.” Lana backed away from the railing, forcing
her trembling lips into a smile.

Pull yourself together
,
Lana
.

Pivoting, she burrowed through the crowd with her head
down, knowing just one sympathetic look from a concerned bystander would
undermine her frail facade. Because when that first teardrop fell, she knew
she’d be powerless to stop the avalanche of tears that followed.

Utterly powerless.

With most of the town settled into a semi-circle in front
of the small, modular platform, Lana shuffled forward on wobbly legs, halting
when she reached the podium at center stage. A prickle of awareness crept down
her spine, the same cold, eerie sensation she’d felt before—only sharper, stronger.
The unyielding sensation intensified as she adjusted the microphone closer to
her mouth with quivering hands.

Her heart beat roared like rolling thunder.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Faster and faster.

Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.

Lana worked the muscles in her throat, trying to swallow,
trying to find her voice.

Her knees wobbled again—they’d buckle if she didn’t
clutch onto something sturdy.

She palmed the edges of the small podium in front of her
for stability while her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the one person
she knew would settle the panic threatening to consume her. But there were so
many people.

“You all right, darlin’?” Someone yelled from the crowd.

“Y-yes, yes I’m… I’m fine”, she answered feebly. “I’m
just… overwhelmed. Really, I… I can’t tell you want it means to me that you’re
all here. And I know Jimmy would—”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, stop the grieving widow routine,
already, will ya?” said a voice from the front row.

Lana’s eyes homed in on said voice, but somehow her brain
was having difficulty believing her eyes.

Jenny stood now, auburn hair whipping in the wind, arms
crossed, satisfaction practically seeping from her pores. “Jimmy’s casket was
barely lowered into the ground before you started whoring around.”

“What?—Th-that’s not true!”

“You mean, all those late nights at the office, secret
romantic dinners with the mayor were—”

“My late nights at the office were spent catching up on
work!” she shouted breathlessly, gripping the podium tighter.

Jenny stroked her chin sarcastically. “Is that what
they’re calling it these days?”

“I… I never… You know how much I loved Jimmy.”

“Of course, you loved him. I’m just merely pointing out
to everyone how quickly you managed to get over—”

“How. Dare. You”, she seethed. “My relationship with Mayor
Cliffburg is completely platonic!”

Blood roared in her ears.

Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.

Moisture clouded her vision, although not enough to
obscure the shocked expressions worn by the audience. Cold sweat trickled down
her neck. She shivered.

“What about Randall Burns?” Jenny asked, her ice-cold
eyes narrowing.

“What about me?”

The crowd gasped as Randall and Tommy suddenly appeared
from the edge of the crowd. Lana’s eyes darted to Randall as if pleading for
him to do something. But with so many people huddled around the makeshift
stage, crowd-surfing was likely his only hope in getting to Jenny in time.

Jenny’s vengeful gaze never left Lana’s. In fact, a hint
of a crooked smile splayed across her lips. “Your relationship strictly
platonic”—she emphasized with air quotes—“with him? Huh?”