That’s what happens when your dad names you Winchester after his favorite rifle. Her older brother goes by Chevy, short for Chevrolet, their dad’s favorite car. In a twist of irony, Chevy drives a Ford. Their mom used to joke if she had one more kid, he or she would have been named ESPN.
Judge Judie’s lip curls, clearly disgusted with the mayor, not Winnie. “You’re his secretary, not a waitress.”
“There’s a number written on the bill,” Winnie says. “I think it’s a phone number.”
Winnie pulls a twenty out of her wallet. Hopping up, she passes it to Judge Judie, who passes it to Lynn Louise and then gives it to Ashlee.
“Did you try calling this number?” Lynn Louise asks.
Winnie snorts. “Not a chance.”
“Smart girl,” Judge Judie says.
Ashlee pulls out her phone. “I’ll call with it on speaker. Winnie, would you mind being the one to talk to him?”
“If I have to,” Winnie says, getting to her feet again.
I give her an encouraging pat on the back as she gets up. Val smacks one side of her butt like a teammate wishing her a good game. Winnie barely even notices, cracking her neck like she’s preparing for battle.
The phone rings twice, and then the mayor’s obnoxious voice booms through the speaker. “Doll face! Is that you?”
Winnie bares her teeth. The only reason Mayor Whitehead keeps getting elected is that no one cares enough to run against him. That, and the Waters family backs his campaigns. The Waters aren’t just loaded; they’re oil-money loaded and as slick as oil too.
“My name is Winnie, sir.”
“Sure, sure. Are you finally ready to join me in my tropical paradise?”
The silence in the room intensifies, and confused glances abound. Tropical paradise?
“You still there, doll face?”
Winnie shifts on her feet. “Again, it’s Winnie. And I’m here.”
Mayor Whitehead laughs. “I’d rather you be here, sweetcakes. I’ve saved a place for you. Right in my lap.”
Ew! The faces in the room mirror my disgust, and Big Mo looks like he’d happily be set loose on the man. Winnie’s expression turns hard, and Ashlee touches her arm, shaking her head as though to calm her. Winnie takes a few deep breaths before speaking again.
“Where are you?” Winnie’s voice is strained with the effort of being cordial. “What tropical paradise would that be?”
“My new place,” the mayor says. “Nothing but sun and sand and surf. I can’t share the details, but I’ll happily send you a plane ticket. Then, I guess, the secret will be out.”
Winnie’s cheeks have flushed from pink to red and her hands are in tight fists in front of her. “When will you be back?”
“Oh, I’m not coming back to that miserable little town.”
I may not have ever planned to end up living in Sheet Cake again, but even I take offense to his words. And what about his wife? Winnie seems to be on that same track.
“What about Mrs. Whitehead? Your wife?”
Another chuckle. “She’s off at some knitting convention. It’ll be quite the surprise when she gets back home and finds out I’m gone and have left divorce papers ready to be served as well. I sold the town for a little nest egg.”
At this, several people at once seem to forget we’re trying to be silent, because there are multiple people yelling at once.
“You sold the town?”
“He owned the town?”