anyone outside of a military setting," he said. "She believes in causes, but she also believes in people. Murder just isn't her style. She's good at working behind the scenes, leveraging other people—mostly women—to do the dirty work, so to speak, as opposed to taking any action herself."
"Even so," Helen said, "Dale might have thought the only way she could ensure the garden's future was by getting rid of the main person interested in buying it. She told me you're the deciding vote on the sale of the garden, but she can't tell where you're going to fall."
"Nowhere in particular," Cory said with a grin. "I try to stay on my feet."
That was definitely an evasive answer, Helen thought, smile or no smile. He was a politician, after all. "You're not going to commit to anything in advance of the vote, are you?"
"There are only two things I ever commit to. Doing my best for the town of Wharton and playing golf." He glanced at the rows of clubs on the wall. "Do you play?"
"It's not really my sport," Helen said. "I used to be pretty good at softball, but that was a long time ago. After that, I was too busy to learn a new game, and then once I had some free time, I didn't have the energy for all that walking."
"Not that kind of golf," Cory said. "Miniature golf. All the fun, all the challenges of precision, but none of the exertion. Just my style."
It did sound like more fun than what her ex-husband and his cronies had engaged in, which was just networking and politics in disguise. "I'm guessing that Wharton has a particularly fine miniature golf course."
"It does." He paused to glance at a calendar on his desk. "I have an open house tomorrow afternoon, but if you can meet me here the day after at noon, I'll give you a tour."
Lunch with Tate was at noon. At least, that was when they both tended to gravitate to the corner table in the garage. It wasn't written down anywhere. She could always tell him she'd be a little late on Wednesday. Or skip their lunch together entirely.
She could, but she didn't really want to.
"How about 2:00 instead?" Helen said as she stood. "If you don't have to be in your office then."
"I'm the boss, so I can take a long lunch or even the entire afternoon off." Cory came around the desk to walk her out. "The middle of a weekday isn't exactly a hotbed of activity for house hunting. Or political calls. Gloria can take messages from my outraged constituents."
"What are they outraged about?"
He shrugged, obviously unfazed. "There's always something. Potholes to be fixed, trash that wasn't picked up on time, streetlights that are out. If it's really important, they can call the public works department or electric company directly. Otherwise, they can wait for an hour or two."
Helen stopped at the closed door and turned to face him. "What if I have a complaint about the town? I'm one of your constituents now."
"You haven't lived here long enough to be mad at me yet."
"I'm a fast learner."
He paused with one hand on the door. "What have I done?"
It really wasn't any of her business how he treated his intern, but Helen couldn't help getting involved. At least offering advice about an employee was probably safer than investigating a murder. "It's about Gloria."
Cory blinked. "My intern?"
"She's a natural salesperson," Helen said. "Have you considered letting her do something more challenging than phone messages and copies?"
"Gloria?" he said, sounding stunned. "Really? I thought she was just interested in clothes and boys."
"Ask her about Crescent Street."
"That hovel? It's a teardown."
"Not according to Gloria, and she almost had me plunking down a deposit on it."
"Hunh." He absently reached for the closest putter hanging on the wall next to him and tapped it against his shoe. "Gloria? Really?"
"Really," she said. "For starters, she'd be great at drafting the descriptions in your listings."
He nodded thoughtfully. "She couldn't do worse than I do."
"And it will give you more time for
"Even so," Helen said, "Dale might have thought the only way she could ensure the garden's future was by getting rid of the main person interested in buying it. She told me you're the deciding vote on the sale of the garden, but she can't tell where you're going to fall."
"Nowhere in particular," Cory said with a grin. "I try to stay on my feet."
That was definitely an evasive answer, Helen thought, smile or no smile. He was a politician, after all. "You're not going to commit to anything in advance of the vote, are you?"
"There are only two things I ever commit to. Doing my best for the town of Wharton and playing golf." He glanced at the rows of clubs on the wall. "Do you play?"
"It's not really my sport," Helen said. "I used to be pretty good at softball, but that was a long time ago. After that, I was too busy to learn a new game, and then once I had some free time, I didn't have the energy for all that walking."
"Not that kind of golf," Cory said. "Miniature golf. All the fun, all the challenges of precision, but none of the exertion. Just my style."
It did sound like more fun than what her ex-husband and his cronies had engaged in, which was just networking and politics in disguise. "I'm guessing that Wharton has a particularly fine miniature golf course."
"It does." He paused to glance at a calendar on his desk. "I have an open house tomorrow afternoon, but if you can meet me here the day after at noon, I'll give you a tour."
Lunch with Tate was at noon. At least, that was when they both tended to gravitate to the corner table in the garage. It wasn't written down anywhere. She could always tell him she'd be a little late on Wednesday. Or skip their lunch together entirely.
She could, but she didn't really want to.
"How about 2:00 instead?" Helen said as she stood. "If you don't have to be in your office then."
"I'm the boss, so I can take a long lunch or even the entire afternoon off." Cory came around the desk to walk her out. "The middle of a weekday isn't exactly a hotbed of activity for house hunting. Or political calls. Gloria can take messages from my outraged constituents."
"What are they outraged about?"
He shrugged, obviously unfazed. "There's always something. Potholes to be fixed, trash that wasn't picked up on time, streetlights that are out. If it's really important, they can call the public works department or electric company directly. Otherwise, they can wait for an hour or two."
Helen stopped at the closed door and turned to face him. "What if I have a complaint about the town? I'm one of your constituents now."
"You haven't lived here long enough to be mad at me yet."
"I'm a fast learner."
He paused with one hand on the door. "What have I done?"
It really wasn't any of her business how he treated his intern, but Helen couldn't help getting involved. At least offering advice about an employee was probably safer than investigating a murder. "It's about Gloria."
Cory blinked. "My intern?"
"She's a natural salesperson," Helen said. "Have you considered letting her do something more challenging than phone messages and copies?"
"Gloria?" he said, sounding stunned. "Really? I thought she was just interested in clothes and boys."
"Ask her about Crescent Street."
"That hovel? It's a teardown."
"Not according to Gloria, and she almost had me plunking down a deposit on it."
"Hunh." He absently reached for the closest putter hanging on the wall next to him and tapped it against his shoe. "Gloria? Really?"
"Really," she said. "For starters, she'd be great at drafting the descriptions in your listings."
He nodded thoughtfully. "She couldn't do worse than I do."
"And it will give you more time for
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