know he’s not going to find anything good to eat there.”
“Mrs. Clancy,” Jade interrupted, louder this time. She blinked hard to clear the frustrated tears from her eyes, but couldn’t push the feeling of angry embarrassment away as easily. “Please. Can you let the mayor know about my break-in now? It’s getting chilly out, and Persephone is on the loose.”
There was a loud gasp, then the sound of cookies tumbling and crumbling onto a plate. “There we go. Sugar cookies are just as good in pieces. I’ll run this over right now, and the mayor will be there within ten minutes. You go catch that cat, Jade. If she gets into Carl’s train one more time, he’s going to be furious.”
“Only if she eats the head off his teddy-bear ballerina again,” Jade muttered to the dead phone. A new layer of nerves danced through her tummy. Thanks to some creep, her favorite pink silk thong was dangling off her vanity mirror. And now a strange, possibly incompetent cop was going to paw through her stuff.
And her cat, the scourge of Christmas decorations everywhere, was on the loose.
With a grimace and one more pained glance through the window, Jade turned, calling, “Persephone?”
So frustrated she was ready to cry, Jade made her way to her postage-stamp-size front porch, still calling for her pet. Usually the cat responded instantly. But Persephone wasn’t stupid. She knew the minute she got within grabbing distance, Jade would lock her in the house.
Then she saw her across the street. Right on top of Carl’s six-foot inflatable Santa snow globe. Jade squinted, then moaned. Yep. That was a teddy-bear head dangling from the black furry mouth.
DOUBLE-CHECKING the address, Diego parked his Harley in front of a two-story house that looked as if it’d been puked on by Christmas. Santa waved from a sleigh on the roof, danced with an elf on the lawn and flashed in lights, Vegas style, from the front porch.
This was the mayor’s house? Why couldn’t they have met at his office? This was so … small-town. Diego sighed. He wrenched his helmet off and scanned the view with a grimace. A tree glittered holiday cheer from the front bay window, and a beribboned pail of candy canes hung off the mailbox, inviting people to share one.
But it wasn’t the effusive ode to holiday cheer that had him massaging his temple.
It was the man, probably in his sixties, romping around on the lawn while three kids clung to his back as if he was a bucking bronco. Or—Diego squinted at the brown sticks tied to the guy’s head—maybe a flying reindeer?
Kinnison really knew how to twist the knife, shipping Diego off to a modern-day Mayberry. Small towns were worse than a gang-run ghetto when it came to trying to solve a crime. The residents banded together like glue, protecting their own. And while the ghettos had drugs, guns and prostitution, small towns had closed minds, uptight attitudes and suspicion of outsiders. And mayors who saw their citizens as beloved children to be protected.
It took all Diego’s resolve to swing his leg over the bike and step onto the sidewalk. His tension didn’t shift any when the older guy pulled out a friendly smile instead of a gun.
“Well, hello, there,” the man said from his prone position, looking none the worse for wear as a fourth kid came barreling around the corner to latch onto the guy’s neck like a demented squirrel monkey. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Mayor Applebaum.”
“That’d be me.”
Of course it would. Diego didn’t bother to sigh.
“Sir, I’m Detective Sandoval with the Central California Sheriff’s Department.”
“Ah.” The mayor nodded, then with a few tickles, a hug or two and a direction to head on home for cookies, he dispersed the children and got to his feet. He watched them scurry over his lawn and up the steps of the house next door before giving Diego his full attention.
As long and lanky as he was graying, the man towered over Diego’s own six feet. Brushing grass off his ancient corduroys, he came forward and offered his hand.
“Welcome to Diablo Glen.” He gestured toward the matching detached garage next to the house, just as nauseatingly decorated as the house. “My office is in the town hall, of course, but I seem to get more work done here at home. Less interruptions, I suppose. Come in, we’ll talk.”
On edge, Diego followed.
“Kinnison sent you, then?” the mayor asked, opening the unlocked door. Following him in, Diego felt his shoulders relax for the first time since he’d got his new orders that afternoon.
Despite once being a garage, and the outside decor, this place was all business. The desk might be polished oak and the law books on the shelves leather, but it wasn’t intimidating. Diego grinned at the life-size oil painting of the Three Stooges as he took the seat the older man indicated.
“Nice office,” he said. This wasn’t going to be so bad, he decided. He hadn’t been looking forward to dealing with another micromanaging tightass like Kinnison, but this old guy seemed pretty chill.
Eyes twinkling, the mayor nodded his thanks as he took his own seat behind the large desk. As if just realizing he had it on, he pulled the reindeer-antler hat off and tossed it on the desk.
“I didn’t get word who Kinnison was sending until an hour ago, which means all I have to go on is his assessment and a cursory check of your record.” Before Diego could do more than frown, the mayor continued. “Kinnison would see a case like ours as an irritant. So I figure this goes one of two ways. Either you have a lot of potential, but somehow got on his bad side so he sent you here as a warning. Or you’re too good to fire, but you regularly piss him off and he’s trying to break you.”
“You know the captain pretty well?” Diego sidestepped.
“We’ve served on a few of the same boards.”
It didn’t take years as a detective to read his tone and realize the mayor wasn’t a fan of the new captain. Score one for the old guy’s good taste.
All traces of teddy bear gone now, Applebaum tapped a finger on the stack of files on the corner of his desk. “Punishment, lesson or hand slap aside, I don’t care that this sounds like a joke of a case. I expect it to be handled with tact, delicacy and a tenacious resolve for justice.”
Kinnison’s threats echoing through Diego’s mind, he debated for all of three seconds. Then, unable to do otherwise, he opted for the truth. “I can only guarantee one of the three, sir. I’ve got the highest close rate in the county. I’m a damn good cop.”
“But?”
“But I failed the course in tact, and have no idea what delicacy is when it comes to solving crimes.”
“Then we might have a problem. This case involves a number of women, all embarrassed over the violation of their privacy. You’re a stranger, a man, and a good-looking one at that. To solve this case, you’re going to have to get them to talk to you about their unmentionables.”
Diego grimaced.
Kinnison was probably laughing his ass off.
“I’ll work on the tact, sir.”
