Janet Evanovich - Full Tilt

"Uh-huh." Jamie figured it was best to keep her mouth shut.

"Ask her if she has considered therapy," Muffin said.

"I don't need therapy," Jamie replied, then realized she was talking to a computer. Maybe she did need a little counseling after all. She laced her fingers together in her lap, trying to appear as normal as she could after having convinced them she wasn't. Okay, she was obviously more stressed than she'd thought. "You know, I wouldn't have freaked out if your computer had made herself known a little earlier. I thought you were nutso."

Muffin spoke. "I didn't approve of Max inviting an engaged woman to take a ride with him. It's not proper. Instead of saying anything I decided to keep quiet."

"Sounds like you've been reading Miss Manners again, Muf," Max said.

Jamie looked at him. "Um, Max, could we just forget this ride and conversation ever took place?"

"Aw, Jamie, don't be embarrassed. It happens to the best of us."

"I'll bet you've never had a panic attack."

"Are you kidding?" Muffin said. "The man thrives on stress."

Max patted Jamie's hand. "Don't worry, I won't say anything."

Max pulled into the parking lot of the country club some minutes later and parked close to the front door. The bars lifted. "Thank you for an, um, interesting evening," he said. "I hope to have the pleasure again real soon."

Jamie couldn't get away quickly enough. Without another word, she climbed from the car and raced toward the building, almost running into Phillip inside as he was coming out of the men's room. Safe, predictable Phillip. He hadn't stood her up after all.

"Jamie, I'm so sorry I'm late. Both of my tuxes were at the cleaners. I completely forgot. I had to call the owner and ask him to reopen so I could get them. I tried to call."

She buried her face against his chest, no longer annoyed with him for being late. She smoothed his reddish-blond hair into place. The man had obviously rushed to get there.

"Honey, are you okay?"

"I am now."

* * * * *

"… And one more thing," Frankie said, standing at the podium before a crowd that took up four dining rooms. "I promise not only to lower the sales tax, I'm going to make significant cuts to what I see as outrageous property taxes."

The group applauded heartily.

"The people in this town pay far too much in taxes. And for what?" He paused. "What happened to the new sewage treatment facility we were promised?

"Our government offices are overcrowded. We probably have more committees and task forces than New York City. We've even got a committee that oversees the rest of the committees. Why?" Several in the crowd chuckled. "I, for one, am sick of all the bureaucracy. Hell's bells, I had to go through ten different departments to get my name on the ballot." More laughter.

Max, having arrived just as they were serving dinner, glanced at Deedee. She met his gaze and frowned. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

"I saw you on the balcony with Jamie Swift earlier. Shortly before the two of you disappeared. What's with that?"

Max shrugged. "She and I both share an interest in cars. Did you know she and her father rebuilt the Mustang she's driving?"

Deedee nodded. "That's how we met. Frankie tried to buy it from her a couple of years back. She wouldn't part with it, but we've been friends ever since." Deedee paused. "You didn't mention the fact I asked you to help her out?"

"Of course not. But she's a smart woman. She'll figure it out sooner or later."

Deedee looked thoughtful. "So, what do you think of her?"

"I think she's a fine person."

"You know she's engaged."

Max looked across the room, not for the first time, and noticed the man sitting next to Jamie. "He's a lucky man."

Frankie continued his speech. "I promise, if I'm elected, I'll start a full investigation into our missing tax dollars. I'm going to find out once and for all what happened to that money."

Max leaned close to Deedee. "Smile, big sister. You should be very proud of your husband for wanting to make this town a better place."

"Frankie's made a lot of promises to these people. I just hope he lives long enough to keep them."

* * * * *

An hour later, a man stepped inside a telephone booth, dropped two quarters into the slot and dialed. He waited for the person on the other end to answer. "Fontana just won the hearts of everybody in this town with his speech tonight. He's planning an investigation into the missing tax dollars."

There was a slight pause. "That's bad news."

"I don't know how seriously we can take him. He's an ex-wrestler, for God's sake. He's not smart enough."

"Oh, he's smarter than you think. He also has his brother-in-law by his side now. Max Holt has the brains and the wherewithal to get anything he needs."

"So what's the plan?"

"We get rid of them. And I know just the person who will do it."

Jamie parked her mustang in her personal slot near the front of the building and sat there for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She felt crummy for sending Phillip home last night, but she had been in no mood for lovemaking. After he'd left, she'd lain awake most of the night thinking about how she'd made such a fool of herself in front of Max whatever-his-last-name-was and worrying about what today would bring.

She ran her hand along the dashboard and was surprised to find it dusty. Normally, she kept her car spotless. She lovingly washed it once a week and hand-waxed it when necessary, taking comfort in the task because of the comfortable feelings it evoked, as well as the memories. It frightened her sometimes to think how close she'd come to selling it. Her father had given it to her as a college graduation gift, and she tended to it as one would a well-loved family member. She often wished she had a brother or sister, but she had no one, no aunts and uncles, no cousins. She had lost her grandmother years before, a soft-spoken, white-haired woman with crystal-blue eyes and a kindly face who had once offered to take Jamie in because she feared her son was incapable of handling the responsibilities of fatherhood.

Jamie had balked at the idea. She and her father could handle anything as long as they were together. She would simply have to try harder to be a better daughter, she'd told herself. She would cook his favorite foods and keep the house just as her mother had left it. She would keep the woman's framed pictures dusted and sitting just so on her father's night table. And she would pretend, just as he had, that her mother would come back and everything would be fine. A normal family.

Sometimes, Jamie imagined she smelled her father's Aqua Velva aftershave in the upholstery, and then she would get tears in her eyes because she felt so very much alone now that he was gone. Then she would think of Phillip, and the knot in her stomach would melt like soft candy. Phillip, who loved her deeply and wanted to share his life with her. They'd met at a fund-raising dance where the men had to pay to dance with the woman of their choice. Phillip had paid five hundred dollars to dance with Jamie.

He offered the stability she'd craved as a child.

His family loved her, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins. And Phillip's mother, Annabelle, who treated her like the daughter she'd always wanted and planned to give them a wedding to end all weddings.

Jamie knew she was blessed. Finally, she would have the family she had always longed for. She imagined holidays with fat turkeys and brown-sugar-coated hams and relatives rushing in and out bearing Christmas gifts and shopping with Phillip for nieces and nephews. The scenes in her head were like Norman Rockwell paintings. They represented everything that was sane and normal and real.