Page 1 of Reptile Dysfunction
Chapter One
Thad
“Mr. Fangborn, do you always frown that hard when you teach children not to drown, or is that expression just for me?”
The question comes from a prim blonde in a crisp white blouse who’s standing at the edge of the YMCA pool deck, clutching a leather-bound notebook like it might save her from drowning. Considering the heels she’s wearing on a slick pool deck, someone might drown today—but it sure won’t be one of my students.
My snakes hiss in irritation, sensing my mood. “Members only on the pool deck. Safety regulations.” I mutter, trying—and failing—to ignore the challenging glint in her eyes.
“Not only am I a member, but I teach a class here. Though I’m not here for that right now.” She flashes a press badge that dangles from a lanyard around her neck. “Sloane Whitaker,Harmony Glen Gazette.I was hoping to steal five minutes of your time for a quick word about the upcoming Revelation Day celebration.”
Of course she is. Everyone in this damn town has been trying to rope me into their feel-good anniversary bullshit for weeks. Five years since monsters came out of hiding. Five years of awkward integration and forced smiles. Five years of becoming increasingly useless.
“No comment.” I turn back to the group of kids waiting in the shallow end. “Tyler, show me your backstroke again. Remember to keep your hips up.”
The blonde—Sloane—doesn’t take the hint. Instead, she perches on a nearby bench, crossing legs that seem to go on forever despite her modest pencil skirt. “I only need five minutes. Mayor Whitaker specifically suggested I speak with you, since your brother is such an integral part of the community.”
“Mayor Whitaker can kiss my—” My snakes hiss in warning, reminding me of the eight-year-olds splashing nearby. “I’m working.”
“I can wait.” She smiles sweetly, uncapping a pen that probably costs more than my hourly rate.
The mayor’s daughter. That explains the attitude, the expensive shoes and, considering how beautiful she is, probably a fortunein plastic surgery. How does anyone have a face that flawless without some nips and tucks?
“My schedule ends at four.” Maybe she’ll get bored and leave.
She doesn’t.
There isn’t a break between my tadpole class and the Silver Swimmers. For the next forty-five minutes, I put the senior water aerobics class through their paces. The whole time, I feel Sloan’s eyes on me. Analyzing. Assessing. It makes my snakes restless, which in turn makes them pull against each other, giving me the beginnings of a headache.
The seniors, particularly Iris, Mabel, and Dorothy, keep shooting me knowing glances. They’re Sebastian’s neighbors and consider themselves honorary aunties to both of us.
They also fancy themselves matchmakers and take full credit for getting Sebastian and his girlfriend Aspen together. If I were a betting male, I’d wager that this situation with Sloane is about to get exponentially worse.
“Thaddeus, dear,” Iris calls as they finish their cool-down stretches. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“She’s not my friend,” I mutter.
“What was that, dear?” Mabel cups her ear dramatically. “My hearing aid must be acting up again.”
Hearing aid, my ass.
Sloane takes this as an invitation, rising from her bench with practiced grace. “Sloane Whitaker, ma’am. I’m with theGazette, doing a piece on the Revelation Day anniversary.”
Dorothy’s eyes light up. “Oh! You’re Charles’s daughter! I was just telling the girls what a lovely job you did on that article about the community garden. Wasn’t it wonderful, Iris?”
“Absolutely splendid,” Iris agrees, though I’d bet my Harley she hasn’t read a word of it. “And how nice of you to want to feature our Thaddeus. He was so instrumental during the Revelation, you know.”
My jaw clenches. “Ladies, don’t you have your book club meeting?”
“Not until five,” Mabel says cheerfully. “Plenty of time for us to gossip with Ms. Whitaker here.”
“I’d love to hear about Mr. Fangborn’s role,” Sloane says, her pen poised over her notebook. “The official records are surprisingly sparse on details.”
There’s a reason for that. Official records don’t usually say ‘scared the shit out of humans’ to encourage them to behave.
“Thaddeus was our protector,” Dorothy says proudly. “When those nasty protesters came from the next county over, he stood at the town line and—”
“Ladies,” I interrupt, probably more curtly than I should. “I’m sure Ms. Whitaker has other interviews scheduled. And youneed to change for your meeting. You wouldn’t want to drip all over your books, would you?”
