Page 35 of Sugar & Shadows

I shucked off my damp jacket and shoes, then stalked for the bathroom for a towel. I stripped down to my undershirt and boxers and dried off as best as I could, and by the time I emerged, Sabrina had her laptop, charger, and her colored folders out, creating a command center.

“Meg,” she said.

I turned at the sound of her voice, only to realize she was on the phone.

“Got stranded,” she groused. “Fucking snow. Talk to me.”

She paced across the small space, nodding and smiling in a way I didn’t think I’d ever seen.

“Okay, that’s good news. A DUI? I can work with that.”

DUI? Good news? What the hell was she talking about?

I ran the towel over my damp hair, still listening to one side of a very strange conversation.

“Tell him that if he interrupts again, Auntie Sabrina will cut off the Bluey. That should work; we know he needs his fix.”

Holding the towel to my head, I froze. Now I was fully intrigued.

“Nah, campaign finance? Ugh,” she went on with a roll of her eyes. “Pedestrian shit. I was hoping for some actual skeletons in the closet.”

Nodding, she bent over the small table and scribbled on her notepad. Eventually, she straightened, and with a sigh, she tossed the phone onto the bed.

“Who was that?” I asked.

Arms crossed, she shot me a glare. “No one.”

“No one?” I asked. “I thought her name was Meg.”

She turned sharply, stepping close and poking a finger into my damp undershirt. “She is no one and you heard nothing.”

Cringing, I held my hands up. “That’s not a weird response at all. Totally normal to chat with girlfriends about DUIs and Bluey.”

Ignoring me, she hovered over the folders she’d spread out on the comforter. Eventually, she sat on the bed and kicked off those weapons-grade heels.

She reorganized her documents, biting the end of her pen, her eyes narrowed in thought.

Damn. This woman did not stop.

“How about we take a breath and debrief before you plan your hostile takeover of the entire state of Vermont?”

In slow motion, she looked up, her expression darkening, her pen still stuck between her teeth. “There’s no time to take a breath,” she said around it.

“We made progress today.”

“We obtained information,” she retorted. “Some of it useful. And I’m getting more.” Head down, she tapped at her keyboard. “We’re up against more than we thought. This isn’t just about the murder and bad press.”

“How? You heard them. From here, we need to build up organic support, particularly with the farmers and local businesses. Rebuild trust, show them we’ve recovered. Engage in the broader community, maybe plan some small events, win back the festival.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly through her nose. “No,” she snapped. “This hold hands and smile and hope for the best approach won’t work. In fact, it’s potentially catastrophic for the people who elected you to represent them.”

I straightened, my gut twisting. Wow. And here I thought I knew what it meant to not throw punches. “Sorry that I’m trying to build consensus and community,” I grumbled. “I assume your complaint means that the blackmail, murder, and mayhem plans in those color-coded folders are better?”

Fury flashed in her eyes, but she didn’t respond.

So I kept going. “Perhaps you’ll even have time for a few curses, hexes, or voodoo spells too.”

“Fuck off.” Her voice was razor sharp. “This is bigger than Maplewood. It’s bigger than you. And it requires actual adult solutions.”