Castleton

  Mayor Gunther's Residence

  Deputy Newsome and Detective Mackey swivel to peer out of the large glass window at the front of the immaculate mansion. Outside, an extremely long beige limo meanders along the driveway. The detective's mouth twists into an unhappy grimace as Molly Gunther is helped from the limo's cushy confines. Without so much as a thank you to her driver, Molly swaggers up the walkway.

  The housekeeper, Maryna, exits the front door. She rushes to relieve her employer of the numerous shopping bags gripped between freshly manicured fingers. The mayor's wife allows Maryna to take the bulk of her bags, continuing up the staircase with an arrogant air.

  Simon rushes out to greet his returning spouse, kissing her with overly dramatic passion. Molly reciprocates the mayor's kiss without a hint of true emotion. She peers over his left shoulder at Dave and James, her right eyebrow arching with disdain. Separating from Simon, and tossing her long hair in frustration, Molly impatiently addresses her husband.

  "I thought you said...They would be gone today? I'm tired of having someone breathing down my neck and watching my every move. I want my house back, Simon."

  "Hey, Baby. Look...Hey, I'm sorry. The Chief promised me it'll only be for a little while longer. The department is checking a couple more leads. Just a little bit longer, Honey. Please, be patient."

  Simon lightly grips Molly's chin, pressing his lips to hers somewhat forcefully. The emotionally struggling husband is no doubt desperate to make quick amends. To Dave's way of thinking, the bedroom activities within this home must be pretty lively to elicit such a powerful response from the stoic mayor. Having a wife less than half your age will do that to a man. The desire to keep up with the younger boys is a race seldom won by the faint of heart.

  "I have been patient," Molly sighs, separating their lips and roughly pushing at Simon's chest. "It's been two weeks. Two weeks of cops traipsing through my house. Spying on everything I do, watching where I go, sifting through my phone records, disturbing my sleep. I'm tired of it, Simon. I'm tired. Now, if you don't mind...I'm going inside to have a hot bath."

  "Okay, Hon," Mayor Gunther replies, a plea in his voice. "Just be patient a little while longer, Molly. I'll talk to Chief O'Leary again. Maybe we can speed the process up a bit. I'd join you for that hot bath, but I have a conference in less than two hours. We'll go out to eat tonight, okay? Someplace nice. Okay, Honey? Wherever you like."

  "Fine," Molly says, storming past Simon.

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  She stops walking when she is on a line with Detective Mackey. She looks the detective over from head to toe. The detective stares back with a disinterested expression.

  "Detective...You wouldn't mind terribly...Helping me bring some of my bags inside? I'm very tired. I could use the help."

  Detective Mackey keeps his voice level. Dave clears his throat. Molly briefly peers with annoyance at Dave before returning her attention to Detective Mackey. James flexes the fingers of his left hand and brings it up for Molly to see.

  "Sorry. Can't," Mackey says. "I sprained my wrist playing tennis yesterday evening. I really need to keep my other hand free, Madam Gunther. You know, in case I have cause to draw my firearm...During an emergency. I'm very sorry, Madam. It's department procedure. I can't go against the regs."

  Dave restrains the laughter threatening to burst forth. The stunned expression on Molly Gunther's face is too funny to ignore. The much younger woman is used to having men do exactly what she says. If Molly Gunther screams 'jump'; most of the men in her tight circle are pretty quick to say 'how high'. But not James Mackey. James only answers to one woman in his life. In James, Molly has finally met her match. Truth be told, Molly Gunther's mental gymnastics--and her failure to rope Detective Mackey into the middle of them--are likely at the center of her desire to end their police detail. A man Molly can't control, is a man Molly Gunther doesn't want around.

  "Oh," Molly exclaims in an overly shrill voice. "Well, okay. Um...Simon. Will you...Nevermind. Max?!?"

  Molly practically screams across the front porch, loud enough for the groundskeeper to hear her. Max acknowledges the call of his madam with a head nod. He puts down his hedge trimmers and races toward the front porch. Climbing the stairs, Max takes the bag Molly shakes in his direction. A foul grin turns up Molly Gunther's face. She cuts her narrowed eyes over to Detective Mackey--vainly attempting the bait him. Mackey's face remains blank and expressionless.

  "Max, take my bags to my room," Molly says, slight annoyance in her voice. "Leave the smaller bag on the table outside the bathroom. Thank you."

  "Yes, Mrs. Gunther," Max utters softly.

  As soon as Max disappears, Molly turns to Simon, kissing him deeply. Again, she is trying to get a rise out of Detective Mackey. Again, she fails. Dave sneaks and makes eye contact with James, shrugging and grinning mischievously.

  After a long lingering moment, Molly separates from her husband. She pats his left cheek with the palm of her right hand, staring intensely into his eyes. Her voice becomes soft and seductive.

  "Please talk to the Chief for me, Baby. I want my house back. It's so strange...Showering with strange men around. I feel almost...Well. I'd feel just weird asking you to join me, Simon. It wouldn't feel right. Like my life is on display and I'm an exhibit. I'm gonna go soak in the hot tub. My feet are hurting me."

  "Okay, Sweetheart," Simon says, his chest heaving with suppressed arousal. "Don't stay in there too long, okay? I've gotta go to town for a bit. Remember to save some hot water for me."

  "Mmmm," Molly says, kissing Simon again. "Okay, Baby."

  Molly turns on her heels and strolls into the house, swinging her surgically sculpted hips with obvious exaggeration and pushing out her chest. Detective Mackey doesn't even spare Molly a casual glance.

  "I think she likes you," Dave quietly says out of the side of his mouth.

  "Who cares?" James retorts in an equally soft whisper. "She's not my type. I'm not keen on dating Dracula's bride. Besides, I've got what I want."