Page 12 of Booked for Kidnapping

I snorted, as their immediate response informed me they’d planned on me asking some variant of that question. “I was not defeated, beaten, or even accosted by politicians. One did annoy me, but I was spared having to deal with him due to the intervention of a kindred spirit with a strong dislike of the creep. Despite your status as insufferable busybodies, I took pictures and general footage of the event.”

Bradley cracked open an eye and said, “She got to meet with the President of the United States, and the creep was Representative Kennedys. We need to look into Senator Hanson, who seems to be at odds with our favorite representative.”

Most of our friends and family snorted, and the chorused sound reminded me of a bunch of angry cows letting the world know they meant business. “I got a bunch of cards, but I haven’t looked through them yet.”

Bradley’s mother glared at the pile. “We’d noticed them, but none of us are rude enough to shuffle through your mail without your consent, so we’re being eaten alive from curiosity. Once we saw what you two had for lunch, we were also eaten alive from general jealousy. I’m thinking you two planned this so you could gorge on barbecue without us.”

If Bradley’s mother wanted to dodge the core of our problems through humor, I’d play along. “Yes, I absolutely suffered through meeting politicians so I could eat a lot of barbecue.”

“I can’t help but notice my son doesn’t seem to be dying from dairy intake.”

“He did the mature and responsible thing, using that crap alternative he pretends he doesn’t hate,” I reported. “Apparently, he does comprehend dairy is really bad for him. Honestly, I’m surprised the cornbread didn’t include any dairy. Does cornbread usually contain dairy?”

“When it doesn’t contain cheese, it can be made without dairy,” Bradley’s mother replied, shaking her head. “I should be grateful he showed some restraint, except we found you both passed out after having eaten how much food?”

“She packed away an entire rack of ribs.” Bradley grinned at me. “And she beat me on the cornbread, but only because she’s faster than I am and stole the last two pieces.”

To dodge the insanity, I grabbed the envelope filled with cards from the politicians, going to work to open each one and read. As warned, the first ten contained bribes in the form of gift cards, ranging from clothing boutiques, jewelers, and restaurants. Of those ten, two included phone numbers with an invitation to call. The eleventh invited me to dinner, and to my shock, I recognized the name on the card.

Senator Westonhaus wanted to talk, and I couldn’t imagine why. Like the others, he’d included a gift card, although he’d done a better job of anticipating the special reading needs of a librarian, picking a bookstore within reasonable distance of my apartment. He also made a point of congratulating me on my engagement with Bradley.

I treated his card like all of the others, and on second thought, I dug my new phone out of my bag and input all the numbers I’d been given to hide that I’d received an invitation from one of the men we expected to be assassinated.

The memorial service had stressed everyone out enough.

A dinner meeting with a potential target would drive them up a wall and make certain they’d do everything in their power to prevent me from going. After everyone left, I would give the senator a call, and I’d selfishly use the library renovations as a good reason to meet with him.

Nobody would think twice about me talking with a potential donor, and it would make certain nobody tagged along.

I added the gift card to the pile, put the card back in its envelope, and resumed checking through the envelopes. Everyone offered some bribe or another, with the sensible people giving me excuses to go to the bookstore. One would forever earn the love and appreciation of Ajani, offering my fluffy goddess a shopping spree.

“You were right, Bradley. I’m being bribed. My cat is also being bribed.” I showed him the card for the pet store. “A better person would refuse all of these gift cards, but I am not a better person, and I fully intend to enjoy every moment spent indulging on their dime. That said, the gift card for the jeweler terrifies me. There isn’t an amount listed.”

Most of the cards didn’t have an amount listed.

Bradley’s mother swooped in, snagged the card in question, and whipped out her phone. Then, after a moment of reflection, she snatched all my gift cards, stole a pad of paper and a pen, and ran away to my bedroom.

I should have known better.

Bradley’s mother enjoyed fixing problems as much as she enjoyed creating them.

“Good going, Janette,” my fiancé stated, and he grinned at me. “In your shoes, I wouldn’t be turning down those gift cards, either. How many phone numbers did you get?”

“About half of them felt I might want to discuss my status as a true American hero, apparently.” I rolled my eyes. “One wants to talk about a donation to the library, so I’m going to call that one.” Senator Westonhaus would learn about his new interest in donating to the library soon enough, so I didn’t feel I lied. “I’ll probably return all calls just to be polite, but the only ones getting the time of day beyond that will be those wise enough to donate to the library.”

My boss laughed. “You have my blessing to take these politicians for all they’re worth for the library’s sake. Feel free to solicit for donations while you’re at it. They might as well use their money on something good for a change.”

Mr. Tawnlen made no effort to hide his opinion on how some public servants existed to earn money while others, librarians included, struggled to get by.

“I’ll sing about the renovations to our building, and I’ll try to guilt them into doing the right thing,” I promised.

“Good. Did you see anything unusual while at the service?”

“The President and a bunch of politicians,” I reported. “It was terrifying. Absolutely life-threatening. I was concerned they might talk me to death.”

Bradley snickered, yawned, and stretched out. “If we’d been thinking, we would have realized the President would attend, which would make it a pretty safe place.”

“They didn’t give me a whole lot of scrutiny,” I complained. “For an event hosting the President, they should have at least looked in my bag. I could have been armed!”