Page 22 of Rhett & Moses
“We’ve reconnected, yes,” I confirmed, deliberately vague. “It’s been twenty years, after all. A lot of water under the bridge.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, accepting his drink from Bronwyn with a curt nod of thanks. “Though some bridges, once burned, are difficult to rebuild.”
I sipped my Old Fashioned, buying time to consider my response. “I’ve always found that it depends on the quality of the original foundation.”
His eyes narrowed slightly at the metaphor. “Clever. But I wonder if you know what you’re getting into, rekindling old... friendships.”
The slight hesitation before the word “friendships” made it clear he knew exactly what had existed between Moses and me. I felt a flash of anger at his implied judgment.
“I think, at thirty-eight, I’m quite capable of choosing my own associations,” I replied, my tone cooler than before.
“Of course,” he backpedaled smoothly. “I meant no offense. It’s just that Morley has a certain reputation in this town. The statue incident was just the beginning of his troublemaking.”
This was news to me. “What do you mean?”
Hayes took a long sip of his scotch, clearly relishing having information I lacked. “Let’s just say that even after he left Gomillion, he continued to cause problems for certain families here. Anonymous letters, threats of exposure for various... indiscretions.”
My heart rate picked up. “Are you suggesting Moses was blackmailing someone?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Hayes replied with practiced innocence. “Merely pointing out that his connection to this town didn’t end when he moved to Atlanta. And that those who align themselves with him might find themselves caught in crossfires they didn’t anticipate.”
The threat was thinly veiled, but before I could respond, a new voice joined our conversation.
“Talking about me behind my back, Mayor Hayes? How predictably Gomillion of you.”
Moses stood just behind us, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. He must have slipped in through the back entrance, catching the tail end of our conversation.
Hayes didn’t flinch, merely turning on his stool to face Moses with that same politician’s smile. “Moses. Just catching up with young Callahan here. Reminiscing about old times.”
“I bet,” Moses replied dryly. “Did you happen to mention your son’s role in those ‘old times’? Or were you focusing solely on my alleged misdeeds?”
A flash of alarm crossed Hayes’s face before he controlled it. “I don’t know what you’re implying..."
“I think you do,” Moses interrupted. “And I think you know exactly why I kept my distance from Gomillion all these years. It wasn’t just shame or fear, though those played their parts. It was the promise I made to your son, a promise I’ve kept for twenty years despite everything it cost me.”
I looked between them, feeling like I was watching a tennis match where I didn’t know the full rules. “What promise?”
Moses glanced at me, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before resolve hardened them once more. “That I would never reveal what really happened that night, or what I found at the scene.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the now-familiar silver pin. “This wasn’t just evidence of who vandalized the statue. It was proof of something much worse.”
Mayor Hayes had gone pale, his knuckles white where they gripped his glass. “This is neither the time nor the place for such discussions.”
“No,” Moses agreed, pocketing the pin once more. “The place is the school lawn, at noon today. I think it’s time for Gomillion to hear the full story, don’t you?”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the back of the bar, disappearing through a door marked “Staff Only.”
Hayes downed the remainder of his scotch in one swallow, then slid off his stool with forced dignity. “Consider carefully the company you keep, Rhett,” he advised, his voice low and tense. “Some stories are better left untold.”
He departed without waiting for my response, leaving me stunned and confused in his wake. Bronwyn appeared almost immediately, refilling my glass without asking.
“What the hell was that about?” I demanded. “What ‘much worse’ thing is Moses talking about?”
She sighed, leaning against the bar. “Like I said, there’s more to the story than he’s told you. More than he’s told anyone, I think.”
“And you don’t know what it is?”
“No,” she admitted. “Though I’ve had my suspicions over the years. Moses keeps his cards close to his chest, especially when it comes to protecting others.”
I pushed my freshly filled glass away, suddenly needing clarity more than comfort. “I need to talk to him.”
