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“You go back and see Sudie. We’ll be home later and will take you down to the beach for a walk.”
Tracer wagged his tail, barked, and wagged his tail again.
“I swear he just said ‘promise,’” said Thorn.
“I didn’t know you spoke basset hound. You should have told me.”
Thorn chuckled. “He’s pretty good at making his wants and needs known. And yes, Tracer, that’s a promise.”
The jolly basset hound turned around and trotted back up to the house, his tail wagging gaily as he did so.
Thorn shook his head. “What a goofball. Is he always like that?”
Jessica nodded. “Pretty much. He gets demanding when he wants something or thinks he’s being left out, but the minute he gets his way, all’s right with his world. It’s a bit like living with a perpetual, good-natured toddler.”
“Toddlers can be tyrants.”
“I said what I said, and I’ll stand by it,” asserted Jessica.
Thorn chuckled and put his arm around her, directing her to the driver’s side of the Range Rover.
“Don’t you want to drive?” she asked.
“I can if you want, but you’re the one who knows Badger’s Drift.” He helped her into the SUV and then got in on the other side. “Home or office for Selma?”
“Office. It’s always best to beard the lioness in her own den. At her home, Selma can be evasive and a complete bitch. At her office in City Hall? She has to make nice and be the consummate politician.”
“Have you ever wondered where that phrase came from and what it really means?” asked Thorn.
“It’s a Latin phrase based on a biblical story, and it means to tell an important person something unpleasant or in this case ask her some embarrassing questions.”
“I think this qualifies.”
“Maybe we should get a whip and chair,” suggested Jessica.
“I didn’t know the people of Badger’s Drift went in for that kind of stuff.”
“You’d be surprised or maybe you wouldn’t—some of those pictures were pretty kinky,” laughed Jessica.
Thorn got quiet, and Jessica looked over at him.
“You may be onto something—you may have just stumbled onto what all of this—the ledger, the photos, the lists, Thompson’s death, all of it—may be about.”
CHAPTER 12
THORN
As they drove up to City Hall, Thorn shook his head. For a small town, Badger’s Drift’s City Hall seemed to have delusions of grandeur. Walking through the ornate and heavy glass and wood doors into the lobby of the building, Thorn was impressed by the expanse of marble that stretched between the doors and the security guard station.
“I’m surprised they don’t have metal detectors,” he said.
“Oh, they do.”
“I have a gun.”
“Yes, and their fancy system runs that information along with facial recognition. The system would have flagged you as state police and given you a pass. The detectors are built into the door frames—we don’t want to mar the aesthetics—and there is also some kind of detection system that can spot all kinds of things a metal detector won’t pick up on. It was stupidly expensive; I think the only reason they picked the one they did was for the aesthetics. I get it; the building is on the national historic list, but seriously.”
“Yes, but it looks so much better for those photo ops,” he said, chuckling as they approached the security guard.
