Page 18 of Something’s Brewing

“Really? You’re going to let me open your mail?”

He shrugged and waited.

She swiped the letter opener from him and sliced the envelope with vigor, then unfolded the letter to read. Her brow rose and she handed the bill to Garrett. He skimmed it over.

His eyebrows connected. “Freakin’ Morty. This is all I need.”

Madison stepped closer and pointed at the line she didn’t like and read, “ ‘We will close your doors if you do not pay by July fifteenth.’ ” Today’s date, July sixth. “A drive-by inspection? Is that even a thing?” She looked to Garrett for an explanation. Her face was too close to his. When their eyes met, he took a step back and swallowed.

“Hell if I know. I’m going to have to pay it. I can’t delay opening any longer.”

Madison grabbed the letter out of his hands. “I’ll take care of it. Point me in the direction of City Hall.” She started for the door. “Never mind. I’ll find it.”

“Hold up.” Garrett reached for his wallet and handed her the company card. “Oh, and Madison, instead of stocking shelves I have another idea to run past you, at our contractually obligated dinner.” A teasing smile tugged at his lips.

“Call me intrigued.” She held up the card. “I better get going. See you later.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

According to the sign on the door at City Hall, she had one hour before they closed for the day. In the center of the lobby, a reception desk lay beneath an expansive skylight that lent the area a spacious feel and illuminated it with natural light.

The young receptionist with expressive green eyes smiled as Madison approached. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?” she asked.

“Hi. I’m Madison Mitchell. I’m working with Garrett Reid at Northern Lights Brewery.” She pulled out the letter from her shoulder bag, unfolded it, and set it on the counter in front of her. “I’d like to speak to the mayor about this drive-by inspection bill we received last week.”

“Of course. Mayor Benson is available. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thank you. I didn’t get your name.”

“Oops, I’m used to everyone knowing me. I’m Frankie, Frankie Fowler. My name is really Francis, but I’m not a fan.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Frankie.”

“You too, Madison.” Frankie pressed the intercom button. “Mayor Benson, there is someone here to see you.”

“Who is it, Frankie?” he asked.

“Madison Mitchell with Northern Lights Brewery.”

“Well, don’t keep her waiting, bring her back,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir.” Frankie disconnected and stood up.

“Right this way, Madison. Follow me.”

Madison had a feeling she wasn’t going to be a fan of the mayor. The biting tone he used with his receptionist had carried through the phone.

Madison trailed Frankie to the door marked “Mayor.” Across from it was another labeled “City Administrator.” Soft, serene landscapes of lake life lined the walls—fishing boats at sunrise, weathered docks, and loons cutting across the water. At the end of the hall was a keypunch-secured door marked “POLICE” in large letters.

Frankie tapped twice on the mayor’s door and entered.

Mayor Benson—mid-to-late thirties, thinning dark brown hair, soft around the middle—looked like a man who spent more time behind a desk than anywhere else.

Madison clocked him in seconds.

Overcompensating posture, practiced smile, the kind of confidence that came from position, not ability. Not someone she’d worry about in a confrontation.

“Please.” He stood and gestured to the seat in front of his desk before settling again in his black leather desk chair, steepling his fingers. “What can I do for you, Miss Mitchell? It is Miss, isn’t it?”