The Sweetheart Deal

“Good.”

A moment of silence while Megs wondered why he’d call her on a Saturday morning. And how had he gotten her cell phone number? Probably from the listing on her personal account. She cleared her throat. “So I need to get back to my friends.”

“Sure. Have a good weekend, Megan.”

She hung up before she could tell him to do the same.

* * *

AT TWO, ADAM helped the tellers get their cash drawers back into the vault and shut the door, spinning the dials to secure it for the weekend. He’d hoped that by being in the office on the weekend, he’d get more traffic from the Lincoln Street business owners needing loans. He’d had one customer besides Mr. Taber. John Striker, who ran the hardware store. The damage had been minimal to his store, but enough to need some assistance.

He tried not to take the absence of the other business owners personally, but it looked as though his efforts to improve the relationship of the bank to the community had a long way to go. He walked his staff out to their cars after he’d locked the bank, then used his key fob to unlock the doors to his truck. He had his hand on the door handle, but he didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment just yet. He locked the truck again and decided to head toward downtown and the diner. Maybe a burger and fries would improve his mood.

He entered Rick’s diner and saw the mayor leaning on the counter as he chatted with a guy on one of the stools. Adam took a seat several stools down from him and perused a menu, even though he’d already made up his mind what to eat. Rick walked down the counter and put a glass of ice water in front of him. “Haven’t seen you in here since high school.”

“There’s a time for everything.” He put the menu down. “I’ll get the cheeseburger platter with a diet pop.”

“Good man.” Rick wrote the order down on a pad, then took Adam’s menu and placed it back on the stack near the register. “I’ll go put that in for you.”

Adam noted the other man at the counter. He had longish dark hair and a beard, but he looked familiar from his high school days. The name rested on the tip of his tongue, but it eluded him. Rick set a plastic opaque cup in front of him with his drink. He followed Adam’s gaze. “Jack Novakowski. I believe he was in your year at Lake Mildred High.”