Scratch the Surface

Jeremiah’s new schedule at The Mission was a good one, but Betty had forbidden him from coming in for a few more days, insisting he needed more time to recover from the assault. His shifts were cut from three days to two, but he’d be there eight hours instead of his usual four, working afternoons and evenings, which made sense. Most kids preferred to attend group sessions later in the evening, as they tended to conflict with after-school activities if held earlier.

It was going to work out better for everyone.

As we drove through town on the way to the police station, we passed Kingman’s and noticed it was closed. I told Jeremiah I was going to call the people at the Rauch Group to have them get in touch with Merrell Barrett, which he agreed was a good idea. I was surprised as I sat there texting with my sister, when I got a call on my business phone. It was a pain to carry two, but I couldn’t have people sending me funny things from TikTok, or check my Twitter and Instagram accounts, on my company phone.

I pulled it out of the breast pocket of my suit jacket. “Cameron Gallagher,” I answered blandly.

“Mr. Gallagher, my name is Merrell Barrett. You left your number with my assistant, along with a message about your client potentially being interested in acquiring Kingman’s restaurant.”

“Yes, I did,” I confirmed, keeping my tone light, crisp, thinking to myself that he had a nice phone voice even though I didn’t want there to be anything even remotely appealing about the man. “Do you have a moment to discuss their proposal?”

“I do.”

It didn’t take long. I was succinct in my explanation of the Rauch Group’s—and, by extension, Axton Enterprises’—interest in Kingman’s. I didn’t discuss the whys or dollar figures, because that was not for me to disclose and might have given Mr. Barrett some leverage. “If you’re considering selling the property, Mr. Barrett, I could definitely have my client contact you, either later today or tomorrow.”

He tipped his hand with the gasp I heard the moment I mentioned selling. I would be sure to relate to Mrs. Nichols that beginning her negotiations with a far lower offer than she would have made the Bowens would be to her advantage. Merrell Barrett was, I imagined, desperate to unload the property.

“Yes, that would be extremely helpful, Mr. Gallagher.”

“I’ll talk to my client immediately. They’ll be in touch.”

“Excellent,” he replied, “thank you so much.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Barrett. Good day.” I hung up, only for the phone to ring again immediately. “Cameron Gallagher,” I answered, noticing someone in my peripheral vision stop as I fielded a question from Mrs. Nichols’s assistant, confirming what time I would be in the following day, and had a quick word about Kingman’s. I smiled at how pleased she was as she gushed about me working some kind of magic in her favor, and I promised to get back to her later with all the specifics. Disconnecting the call, I looked up and saw a man standing no more than five feet from me, staring intently. I might have been alarmed, but he looked quite a bit like Henry Cavill in Superman, which somehow made his standing there looking at me not scary, just weird.

“Are you Cameron Gallagher?”

“I am.” I felt my heart sink then, because I recognized the voice. Of course the man who had history with my new boyfriend would look like a superhero, with a perfect square jawline, jet-black hair, and electric blue eyes that had probably done wonders for him when he campaigned for mayor. “And you’re Mayor-elect Barrett.”

“I am,” he replied coolly, moving closer to me.

I stood so I didn’t have to tip my head back to meet his gaze. He was already taller than me, but at least when I was on my feet, he wasn’t towering over me.

“May I ask what you’re doing in Barrett Crossing?”

My mother had told me from a young age that peeling a bandage off slowly was a terrible idea. You ripped it off, because it was always best to get something painful done as fast as humanly possible.

“I’m here waiting for Jeremiah Wolfe.”

Instant scowl. “How do you know Jeremiah?”

When I’d imagined this exchange in my head, I’d thought announcing to Merrell Barrett who I was to Jeremiah would make me feel like I could fly. But the fact was, now that I was here, in the position to declare we were in a relationship, it felt almost mean to do so.

“We’re close,” I told Merrell, because we were much more, but I didn’t need to rub that in his face, “and I’m waiting to pick him up.”

“He’s in with Creese Robinson, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is.”

He nodded and pointed at the steps, and I took it as an offer to sit.