Story of My Life (Story Lake #1)

16. No unsanctioned potato throwing

16

NO UNSANCTIONED POTATO THROWING

CAMPBELL

Okay. That’s enough,” Hazel said into her mic.

She’d ditched the glasses, straightened her hair, and put on some kind of makeup that made those watchful brown eyes look bigger, more dangerous. But apparently I was the only one who noticed.

I cleared my throat loudly. At the back of the room, Levi got to his feet and started staring down neighbors. Gage did the same from the front. The unruly crowd reluctantly zipped their lips.

“Thank you,” Hazel said, looking at me. “Now I don’t know how gossip travels in this town, but it needs an upgrade. I didn’t commit vehicular birdslaughter. Your eagle hit me in the head with a fish and made me crash into your sign. I didn’t come here to kill birds or destroy your town. And I certainly didn’t come here to get potatoes thrown at me by a bunch of strangers.”

People started to sit back down, which I took as a good sign.

“As I was saying,” Hazel continued. “I moved here because I was under the assumption that people were friendlier in small towns. But you people make my neighbor who got arrested for murdering my other neighbor look like a day-care teacher.”

“Why’d you chop up poor Goose with your helicopter?” Ms. Patsy demanded.

“For the love of—do I look like I have a helicopter? And who hunts bald eagles with helicopters? That sounds like a Marvel villain.” Hazel sounded like she was five seconds away from yelling or crying. I was hoping for the former. Gage signaled me from the audience, and I gave a subtle shake of my head. If we stepped in too early, everyone would back down, but they sure as hell wouldn’t respect her. And apparently it was the Bishop family’s duty to make sure that our highest-paying customer wasn’t about to be run out of town.

Garland slithered up to the stage with his phone extended.

“Don’t do it—” I warned him.

But a series of flashes blinded me. “Seriously, Garland? Do you not know how to turn off your flash?” Hazel said, blinking rapidly and feeling around for the table.

“Journalistic integrity requires me to shine the most amount of light on the truth as possible,” he insisted.

“I’ll shove your journalistic integrity so far up your ass you’ll need a flashlight to find it,” I told him. He swallowed hard and backed away, landing in Kitty Suarez’s lap.

“I got hit in the head with a freaking fish, people.” Hazel pushed up her bangs to show her bandage. “Goose is fine. End of story. I’m sorry you were all dragged here for this meeting when there was no bird murder. But I can promise you, as a council member, I will do my best to limit frivolous meetings so you don’t have to give up whatever the hell you were going to do tonight.”

“Ultimate bingo,” Junior Wallpeter yelled through cupped hands.

“See? You shouldn’t be missing out on whatever that is,” Hazel said.

“It’s awesome,” Junior called back.

“Where’s your proof?” Emilie demanded from the council table.

I rolled my eyes. Emilie was the kind of woman who never had what she wanted and thought that everyone else had stolen it from her. She made enemies like it was a competitive sport.

“You know damn well ultimate bingo is awesome, Emilie,” my mother reminded her with a sharp smile.

“Not you, Pep. I’m talking to the bird murderer.”

Hazel’s hand clenched in her lap. She leaned forward and tapped her mic. The shrill whine had everyone covering their ears. “Is this thing on or does Dr. Ace need to give you a hearing test, Emilie ?”

“Oooh,” crooned the crowd.

Zoey punched her fist in the air. “That’s my girl!”

“I’m not taking your word for it,” Emilie said snidely. “For all we know, you’re opening your big-city beer bottles with Goose’s beak in your fancy suit.”

“First of all, I prefer wine. And secondly, what is your problem, lady ?” Hazel got to her feet, hands fisted at her sides.

I sighed and gripped her by the back of her jacket in case she tried to launch herself at Emilie. I gave Gage the nod.

He strutted to the microphone at the front of the room. “Hey, y’all. I’m Gage Bishop.”

“Jesus, Mary, and my butt. We know who you are,” our fourth-grade teacher yelled.

“Thank you for that, Mrs. Hoffman. What you may not know is that I’m also Ms. Hart’s attorney.”

Hazel opened her mouth to speak, but I pulled her back into her seat. “Let him talk,” I advised.

“But I didn’t hire him. What’s he going to do? Plead guilty on my behalf?” she whispered. “Potatoes hurt, Cam!”

“If I can just get everybody to direct their attention to the screen,” Gage continued, pointing to the TV mounted on the wall. “Fire it up will you, Lacresha?”

The funeral home director hit the remote from her seat.

A memorial video collage started with a sepia-toned photo of Mr. Stewart as a baby dressed in a sailor suit over some jazzy big band music.

“Wrong video, Lacresha,” Gage said.

“My bad, folks. Gimme one second,” she said, stabbing remote buttons.

Hazel leaned into me. “What the hell is going on?”

“We’re clearing your name,” I told her.

“Why?”

“Why?” I repeated. “If you want to go down in town history as a bird murderer, that’s your call.”

She bit her lip. “No. I mean, is it because you want to help me or because you’re worried I’ll get run out of town before I can pay you for your work?”

“Obviously the second one.”

Her snort laugh surprised us both. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

“Aha! Here we go,” Lacresha said triumphantly as the correct footage finally rolled.

Hazel leaned forward, watching the screen with rapt attention. I watched her instead of the screen since I already knew what was on it. She was pretty all dolled up like this, but I liked her better the other way. Softer. Messier. More touchable.

What the hell was my problem? I didn’t sit around opining about the attractive qualities of a woman.

The collective gasp drew my attention, and I watched for the fiftieth time as Goose dipped low over the convertible with the gleaming fish in his talons.

Laughter erupted as the damn bird hit the damn woman in the head with the damn fish.

Beside me, Hazel covered her face when her car careened off the road and into the sign. “Oh my God. It looks even worse than it felt.”

“They still got America’s Funniest Home Videos ? ’Cause that there’s a finalist,” someone hooted.

Gage waited until the laughter had quieted to a low roar. “Now, as you can see from my brother Cam’s dashcam footage, Goose hit Hazel. Not the other way around,” he explained, pointing to the eagle as he flew off the car and landed in the grass.

Hazel leaned into her mic. “I told you there was no helicopter.”

A collective mutter rose from the crowd.

“Maybe not. But no one’s seen Goose since yesterday. He could have died from internal injuries after he flew off,” Emilie squawked.

“Thank you for that perfect lead-in to exhibit B, Emilie,” Gage said, flashing a grin that was all charm at the glowering woman.

The dashcam footage disappeared and was replaced with another video.

On-screen, my mother waved from the bank of the creek that cut through their property. Next to her, Laura sat in her chair, shading her eyes from the sun. They were under one of the sycamore trees that arched over the water.

“Today is Wednesday, August 17,” my dad’s voice announced on the video. “Emilie Rump canceled ultimate bingo for an emergency town meeting on the welfare of Goose tonight, and the breakfast special at the Fish Hook was blueberry pancakes.”

The camera panned upward, following the trunk of the tree. Until it hit a branch hanging out over the water where a big-ass bald eagle perched.

The crowd gasped, and Gage sent me a victorious smile.

Hazel tore her gaze away from the TV to look at me.

Emilie scoffed. “That could easily be AI generated.”

“Don’t shit on me, Goose,” Laura warned, glaring up at the bird.

Goose took that as an invitation to swoop majestically to the ground, landing ten feet in front of her. He tucked one wing awkwardly into his side and limp-hopped closer. Laura rolled her eyes and opened the bag of treats in her lap.

“See? He’s obviously still injured. She should pay the price for maiming a bald eagle,” Emilie shouted.

“That’s his other wing, and we all know he does this all the time. Why do you think we all have eagle treats in our glove compartments?” Scooter Vakapuna called out from the back of the room.

“Or maybe it’s someone else’s bald eagle,” she said. “Dominion’s always been jealous that we have Goose. Maybe they got their own eagle?”

The rumblings from the crowd were no longer directed at Hazel, and Emilie knew it.

“In light of this new evidence, I think we can all agree that Hazel Hart did not run over, chop up with helicopter blades, or otherwise harm Goose,” Darius announced.

There were enough nods from the audience that it looked like a consensus had been reached.

Emilie took her seat and began one of her legendary pouts. I had a feeling her husband, Amos, was going to be sleeping in the garage tonight.

I gave my parents and sister a nod. Laura covertly flashed me the middle finger in return. Without turning her head to look at Laura, Mom reached out and smacked my sister on the shoulder.

I flashed my sister the smug “you’re in trouble” look, and she stuck her tongue out at me.

Hazel leaned into my space, and I fought the twin urges to move closer and farther away. “So no potatoes then?” she asked hopefully.

“Not this time. But I’d be careful for the next day or two until someone else does something stupid.”

“Thank God,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Getting run out of town was not part of my plan.”

Before I could ask her what her plan was, Garland popped up in front of us and snapped another picture with the blinding flash.

Blinking away the light show, I pointed in his direction. “If you don’t sit the hell down, Garland, I’m going to break your phone with your face.”

“Freedom of the press,” he squeaked, backing out of face-breaking range.

“Okay, folks. Hazel’s rental insurance will cover the damage to the sign—which desperately needed replacing anyway. So that’s a win. Now, let’s move on to our final agenda item,” Darius said, scrolling through his meeting notes—or maybe they were his Dungeon Master notes—on his tablet. “Law enforcement.”

I frowned. Story Lake had once had a small police force, but with the mass exodus after the hospital closed down, our budget had taken a hit. We now contracted with the neighboring town, Dominion, to use its police force. It was less than ideal, considering the entire town was a bunch of assholes with too much money and not enough fucking sense. Half the time they didn’t even respond to calls in Story Lake, and when they did, it was hours after the fact.

Last spring, Ms. Patsy thought someone was breaking into her garage, called 911, and then fired four rounds from her shotgun at the Easter garden flag that had gotten plastered to her window. The Dominion cops had showed up two days later to take her statement.

“Due to recent events that I won’t get into here and now, it’s clear that a police presence is necessary in Story Lake.”

“Are you talking about Jessie flashing her boobs on Main Street Saturday?” someone called out.

“Jessie as in Angelo’s Jessie? How old is she?” Hazel wondered under her breath.

“Eighty-four,” I supplied.

“Or Quaid and Gator getting into that fight in the bank drive-through after Quaid ran over Gator’s golf cart?”

“As I said before, we shouldn’t be driving golf carts on public roads,” Darius began.

“The bank drive-through ain’t no road,” Gator said defensively.

“Yes, but to get to the drive-through…never mind. Let’s stick to the point,” Darius said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Hazel leaned in again. “You know, last week I saw a guy stab another guy with takeaway chopsticks in an alley next to a literal dumpster fire.” She picked up her pen and started scribbling notes.

“Welcome to Story Lake,” I said dryly.

“It’s time we consider nominating a chief of police,” Darius announced. “Now, I crunched the numbers after track practice. We don’t have the budget for an entire department. But if we put off the new roof on the municipal building for another year, we’ll have enough for an underpaid chief. Someone who can be on call to handle things like fender benders and fistfights. The bigger calls will still go to Dominion. But I think it’s time we take back some of that authority for our own.”

The rumble from the room seemed like it was mostly in favor of the proposal. And, as long as I wasn’t the guy who got stuck with the job, I didn’t see a downside to it.

Emilie’s hand flew up. “I nominate myself.”

And that right there was the downside.

A wheezy bagpipe version of “My Way” kicked off next door and drowned out the audience.

“I second the nomination,” Emilie’s red-faced husband said, jumping to his feet.

I scanned the crowd, looking for an answer. My gaze snagged on my sister, who had a smirk playing on her lips. Shit.

Laura raised her hand. “I nominate Levi Bishop,” she said over the bagpiping.

Gage and I both gave ourselves whiplash surging to our feet. “Second,” we barked.

Darius looked relieved, Levi sat stone-faced, and Hazel was scribbling at top speed.

The boy mayor grinned. “It sounds like we’ve got ourselves a special election, folks. We’ll vote at the next regularly scheduled town meeting.”

With the official squeak of the pig, the meeting was adjourned.

Levi, looking mad enough to spit nails, was instantly surrounded by back slappers and well-wishers.

“Does your brother have any law enforcement experience?” Hazel asked.

“Besides getting arrested at twelve for stealing Dirk Davis’s bike after he locked Gage in his grandpa’s chicken coop? Nope.”

“He doesn’t look happy about it,” she observed.

“Nope.”

“But you look ecstatic.”

“Yep.”

“What’s with the squeaky dog toy?” she asked, gathering up her things.

“Something about gavels and hangovers in the nineties. I’ll see you tomorrow.”