Page 69 of Hottie on Her Shelf
“Damn it, Bronson, stop obfuscating!”
“Ha.” He laid his index finger on the side of his nose. “A word like that means you really are sneaking around with that librarian and trying to up your game.”
Hell. What had tipped the guy off? Fitz wiped a hand across his mouth. “I’m not sneaking around with Ms. Scott. She’s my opponent, for Christ’s sake. And again, I have to insist that you tell me about Uncle Jeremiah.”
The older man jerked a shoulder to indicate they should walk toward the water’s edge. As if truly worried that someone else might overhear. Once they were shoulder to shoulder at the seawall, Bronson stuffed his hands in his pockets. “He embezzled town money.”
Four simple words, but Fitz could not comprehend how they made any sense all strung together. “What?”
“We used to have a city manager who did all the admin and budget stuff. The mayor’s role was mostly ceremonial. Not even a full-time job. Jeremiah fired him when he started getting wise to the mayor’s fiscal shenanigans. Struck the position from the line items, then went another two years before anybody caught on and called him on it.”
“What happened?” Because he’d never heard so much as a whisper about this. Sure as hell hadn’t seen any proof of it in the city budgets or documentation. A crime of this magnitude had to leave a trail of evidence.
“All the money got put back into the accounts. By your dad, I’m guessing. Or maybe your Aunt Felicia. Jeremiah made up some story about an opportunity in Florida and got the hell out of Dodge.”
What Fitz had been told, while he was still off in grad school, was that his uncle had a medical condition which was exacerbated by the harsh Maine weather. Not life-threatening, but painful. And that an old friend was building a new high-end condo in Miami and offered Jeremiah the penthouse.
What with the location and the scant details about the “old friend,” Fitz had assumed his uncle had come out of the closet. He’d been happy for him, and a little disappointed he’d never gotten an invite to go down to see the new setup and meet the mysterious old friend.
He was reeling. “Why doesn’t anyone know? Why didn’t you report on it in the Gazette?”
Bronson’s matter-of-fact delivery shifted. He took off his hat, fanned himself a few times. Then he put up a hand to shade his eyes and kept his gaze fixed on the pale blue line where the horizon intersected with the Atlantic. “It’s a delicate situation, what with his last name being Montgomery…”
“No,” Fitz ground out from between clenched teeth. It was impossible to comprehend that this man, with his storied career in big papers in Boston and Seattle, would have compromised his ethics and not blown this story wide open. “It’s not. Not delicate. Not tricky. It’s cut and dry. Accountability matters.”
“Not if you’re talking about a Montgomery. No harm was done in the end, since all the money got returned.”
“I don’t care if you’re talking about Santa Claus! The man engaged in criminal conduct. Put the entire town in jeopardy. Everyone deserved to know. And what about whoever cooked the books to hide the evidence after the fact? Is that person still working in my city hall right now?” Disgusted, he paced away, but then paced right back, because it was the only way to get answers.
“I’m sorry, Mayor. I swear to God I thought you knew, back when it happened and then when you took office. I assumed your family told you.”
“So you thought I was complicit? That’s not any better.” Then it hit him. “Did you accept a payoff? Is that why you stayed quiet?”
No response, just that thousand-yard stare at the water, and the slow fanning with the hat.
Fitz snatched it away. “Damn it, I demand to know who in this town has dirty hands.”
“My wife left me.”
“Yeah. Years ago.”
The color drained from his ruddy cheeks. “She ran off with her high-school sweetheart, after meeting back up at a reunion. I didn’t take it well. Went out, got plastered, tried to drive home. Rear-ended your father. Preston wasn’t hurt, the car only had cosmetic damage, but I smelled like I’d bathed in bourbon, and he noticed. Promised to keep it quiet, as long as I came through when he asked for a favor.”
“This situation with Uncle Jeremiah—not reporting on it was Dad calling in the favor?”
“Yeah.”
One problem at a time. Fitz handed back the hat. “You ever driven drunk since? Endangered anyone else?”
“No. I swear. I went into therapy to deal with Laverne leaving. My head’s screwed on straight.”
“Have you covered anything else up for my family or anyone?”
“No. Mr. Mayor, that’s the truth. But once you took office and things looked to be back to normal, there wasn’t any point to—”
He broke off.
Fitz knew what wasn’t being said. There wasn’t any point to a lawsuit, to maybe losing a point on his driving record. To losing the goodwill of the man who owned so much of Swan Cove.
