Graveminder

Chapter 9

NICOLAS WHITTAKER WASN’T THE SORT OF MAN TO PATROL THE STREETS; HE had people who handled that, people who were out doing it while he waited in the comfort of the mayoral office. It’s the natural order of things. He’d grown up secure in the fact that his hometown was a place where a person could grow up healthy and together. His children, when he was selected to have some, would be safe. They wouldn’t move to some city and get mugged. They wouldn’t have any of those childhood diseases that killed other people’s children. They would be protected. The town founders had made sure of it. Only one real threat to the family he intended to have someday ever existed in Claysville—and only when the Graveminder failed to keep that threat in check.

Mayor Whittaker paced to the small mahogany bar that his father had added to the mayoral office during his tenure. The soft clink of ice in his glass seemed loud in the empty office. At this hour, his secretary was long gone. He poured himself another bourbon, absently thinking he was lucky that alcoholism didn’t strike the townsfolk either.

A tap at the door was followed by the entrance of two of the councilors, Bonnie Jean and Daniel. At twenty-six, Bonnie Jean was the youngest of the council members. Her youth made her fearless in a way the other members weren’t, but then again, she hadn’t been on the council the last time they’d had a problem.

Now her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were widened. “We didn’t see anything, you know, weird while we were out.”

Behind her, Daniel shook his head.

“We put out the mountain-lion flyers,” Bonnie Jean added.

“Good.” Nicolas smiled at her. He couldn’t help himself— or see any reason to— she was a lovely girl, albeit not necessarily breeding material. He held up an empty glass. “Would you like a drink to warm up a bit?”

The young councilwoman flashed a smile at him, even as Daniel caught Nicolas’ gaze and scowled. “It’s getting late, Mayor .”

Nicolas arched a brow. “Well then, I’ll see you later, Mr. Greeley.”

“Bonnie Jean doesn’t need to be walking alone with a murderer out there, sir.” Daniel stepped forward so he was standing beside Bonnie Jean. “A young woman doesn’t need—”

“Um, right here, guys.” Bonnie Jean slipped her hand into her handbag and showed them a .38 gripped in her manicured hand.

“I see,” Nicolas murmured. “Maybe we should be asking the lady to escort us, Daniel.”

Bonnie Jean grinned. “Dan’s driving, and he’s more than able to handle himself. What about you, Mayor?”

With the same showmanship he relied on in meetings, Nicolas patted his trouser pockets and then opened his suit jacket. “Actually, I’m afraid I’m unarmed, my dear. Perhaps I do need an escort.” He smiled at her. “Unfortunately, I’m not quite ready to leave the office. Could I impose upon you to wait?”

“You could.” She turned to Daniel. “I’m perfectly able to handle whatever’s out there”—she flashed Nicolas a smile—“or in here.”

After a pointed look at Bonnie Jean, which she ignored, Daniel shook his head and left. She followed him to the door, kissed him on the cheek, and closed the door.

Nicolas poured Bonnie Jean a glass of Scotch and held it out to her.