Exactly five minutes later, Ted said, “Okay, we’re outta here.” He was backing up the van when the monster iron gates opened slowly to allow the golf cart carrying Lincoln Moss, with Paul Prentice doing the driving, to emerge.

Everyone hopped out of the van and stood silently, watching to see if Moss would get out of the golf cart to shake hands. He did not. What he said was, “Make it quick, folks, I’m right in the middle of mixing some cement for some planters I’m building.”

Maggie was appalled at Moss’s attire. He looked like the hired help next to Paul Prentice. He wore ragged, cutoff shorts, a dirty, sweat-stained T-shirt, and a baseball cap. Just one of the guys. He looked sopping wet from his own sweat. He was also as deeply tanned as Prentice was.

“It looks like you have the lead this year in our Man of the Year contest. How do you feel about that, sir?” Maggie asked.

“Humbled. Appreciative. I’m sure there are others out there more worthy of the honor than I am.”

Maggie mulled over the response and knew it was a crock. She forced a smile, and said, “That is so generous of you. All of the nominees are top-notch. In other words, you are in excellent company. Do you object to a few pictures?”

Moss showed genuine surprise at the question. For a moment, he looked confused but recovered quickly. “Well, if you don’t mind the way I’m dressed, then I guess I don’t mind either.” He hopped out of the golf cart and stood with his hands jammed into the pockets of his ragged shorts.

“We caught the Director of Homeland Security building a tree house for his grandson. His attire was similar to yours, sir,” Ted said. “We also captured Congressman Doolittle in a Speedo at the YMCA teaching a class of tadpoles how to swim.”

Moss quirked an eyebrow, tilted his head, and offered up a smile for Espinosa.

Maggie fixed her gaze on Moss, and said, “They say clothes make the man, but I think that’s a myth. What designer tux will you be wearing for the gala Saturday night? And our readers will want to know what that gorgeous wife of yours will be wearing. Care to share that with us?”

Moss’s smile was gone in a nanosecond, replaced with an ugly look in his eyes. He looked to Maggie’s eyes like he was going to explode, but he got himself under control. “I’m not sure I will be attending, Miss Spritzer. My wife is in France, and I don’t like to attend these sorts of functions without her. However, I did sponsor a table. Now, if that’s all, I need to get back to my cement. Oh, all of my tuxedos are by Hugo Boss.” Moss slid back onto the seat of the golf cart, and said, “Go!”