Life would be easy if I slid back into my old lifestyle. Became that guy again. Loud laughter, bar tabs, groggy mornings. It took work to hold steady, to earn trust dirty diaper by dirty diaper.
I reached for that guy, like I did occasionally, trying to connect that version of myself, but day by day, he faded farther away.
So I resolved to sip my beer and enjoy the evening.
Minutes later, Gabe pushed his way through the crowd, a tense smile on his face.
His sleeves were rolled up and he was putting off that “I run off four hours of sleep and Italian espresso” vibe, his hair shaggier than usual, his five-o’-clock shadow approaching unruly stubble, and his normally bright eyes dull.
He gave Nate a big hug and a genuine smile. “Proud of you brother.”
The two of them posed for a photo with their parents, my Aunt Suzie and Uncle Ed, who’d come to town for a visit. Then Gabe downed a sample glass in one gulp.
“Mister Mayor,” one of Maple Street Mafia ladies calls out.
The smile he wore now was the professional one. The one that helped him keep the townsfolk happy, though it slipped when he caught sight of the empties piled up on the table in front of them.
Oh no. The last thing we needed was a repeat of last year’s Oktoberfest.
“We need to talk,” Gabe said to me.
Before I responded, Opal appeared with a tray of what looked like sliders.
She was the executive chef at Thistle & Boar, the fancy restaurant at the inn, and a tiny ball of culinary energy who’d earned a Michelin star early in her career, then decided to make Maplewood her home. Each time Nate and Reed launched a new beer, she’d set up a pop-up and serve the most incredible food.
My mouth watered as I got a look at the food on her tray.
“Charred corn and brown butter lobster sliders?” she asked.
“Bless you, Opal.” Gabe took two and immediately shoved one into his mouth whole.
“The glaze has some bite,” she said as I plucked one from the tray a little less violently.
“So do you,” I teased.
She gave me a warm smile. “I always liked you. Now,” she said, her expression going serious, “make sure this one eats. We can’t have him fainting in the middle of his big press conference tomorrow.”
Press conference? I eyed my cousin, searching for an explanation. Damn, I was out of loop.
But before Gabe stopped chewing, a whole crowd descended.
“Mayor,” Tony said, weaving his hulking form through the crowd. “I’m down 30 percent week over week. If this month tanks, I’ll be tossing dough in the dark.”
Tony was joined by Marty, who ran the diner alongside his mother. Mac,who owned the ice cream shop, appeared next, and then Nora, our pharmacist.
“Bus tours have been canceled,” Marty added. “Apparently people don’t want murder syrup with their pancakes.”
“Caroline and Linda had a wedding cancellation next month,” Nora said, pushing her jeweled glasses up her nose. “The father of the bride asked if our river was contaminated. What on earth is happening?”
Gabe slipped into his mayor mask, his demeanor completely calm, and held his hands up. “I hear you. This is a difficult situation for everyone. And we’re coordinating with the state. I’ve requested additional investigative support and?—”
“Coordinating doesn’t pay the bills,” Bitsy snapped. She’d left her friends and pushed her way into our group. Now, hands on her hips, clad in all purple, she scowled. “Or hire seasonal staff.You need to fix this, Gabriel. The entire town is terrified, what with a murderer running around.”
Several people milling around nearby moved closer, a crowd gathering around us.
Gabe’s jaw ticked, signaling that he was at the end of his rope.
“What’s that?” I pushed up on my toes and peered at Nate, who was on the other side of the bar, a concerned look on his face. “Sorry, guys,” I said, pulling Gabe by the arm. “Nate needs us in the kitchen. Busy night. Family’s gotta chip in.”
