Chapter Fifty-Four
Everett
“What’s going on?” Mila asks.
I read my sister’s text again in disbelief. “Apparently, there’s some kind of press conference at Town Hall.”
“Press conference? For what?”
“Apparently Gabi plans to confess publicly that she’s to blame for the fire.”
“What? When?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“What time is it now?”
“Eight fifty-five.” Our eyes meet.
“Let’s go.”
I throw enough cash on the table to cover our meal, follow Mila out of the diner, and together, we run down the block.
“Why is she doing this?” Mila asks, our feet pounding the pavement.
“To make it up to us, I think.”
There’s a huge crowd in front of Town Tall, but evidently the doors are locked. The moment they open, the mob pushes inside. Somehow, Mila and I get separated in the chaos, and I spend a few minutes searching for her in the entryway as everyone rushes past me.
I frown as someone jostles me with an elbow. Don’t these people have jobs?
I call Mila’s name and scan every face I see, but she’s nowhere to be found. Eventually, I give up and follow the crowd inside.
The place is noisy and full—every seat taken.
I haven’t seen a crowd this big in here since my very first Coffee with the Mayor, when it seemed like everyone just wanted to get a look at me.
Now Daniel Bartok stands on the stage at the far end of the room, preparing to speak at the lectern. I take up a position in the back.
Someone tugs my sleeve. “Mayor McKean! Isn’t this exciting? It looks like the whole town is here!”
Vera Pratt’s eyes might actually be twinkling.
“Have you seen Mila anywhere?” I ask her.
“No, I haven’t. But I doubt she’d want to miss this.
” She laughs. “I wonder if this will make her look more guilty or less…” She’s a little too excited about all this.
Shouldn’t someone her age have a sweet hobby, like mah-jongg or crocheting hats for newborn babies?
The gleam in Vera’s eyes tells me she’s elevated gossip to a mercenary sport.
Before I can contemplate how terrifying that is, Dan taps the mic. “Can I have your attention, please? Folks, can I have your attention?” It takes a few more tries, but the audience eventually settles. “My name is Dan Bartok, and I’m the president of the Hart’s Landing Diner Detectives.”
“What’s the new evidence?” someone shouts from the crowd.
“I’ll get to that in a second. First, I’d like to thank you all for coming, and to express my gratitude as well for the many tips we’ve received over the last several weeks regarding what really happened the night of the fire at Tart and Soul.”
“Was someone else there?” a woman calls out.
“As you know, investigators concluded that the fire was ‘consistent with combustible material ignition,’ presumably a flour dust explosion. Burn patterns revealed the kitchen as the point of origin, but beyond that, not much could be determined.” Dan pauses to take a sip of water.
“Justice for Mila!” a man bellows.
I look in the direction of the sound. Who could that be?
“At the time,” Dan goes on, looking more excited by the minute, “blame fell on teenage employee Mila Ferguson, since she was on the closing shift.
It was her responsibility to ensure that all safety precautions were taken, including not kicking up too much flour dust during the nightly cleanup, and double-checking that all sources of heat were turned off.
“Now, the story goes that Mila was distracted that night by a flirtation with Everett McKean, and it was that distraction that indirectly caused the fire. However…” Dan pauses dramatically and looks around. “There’s more to the story.”
The crowd murmurs, everyone shifting impatiently in their seats.
“The Diner Detectives have learned that a third person snuck into the back of the bakery that night while Mila and Everett were up front. This person has confessed not only to being there undetected, but also to turning on an oven she forgot to turn off.”
A collective gasp rises in the room.
“Essentially, this person is prepared to accept the blame for the fire. And that person is… Gabi McKean.”
The noise level in the room suddenly ratchets up. Everyone is talking at once as Gabi rises from a chair in front, ascends the steps to the stage, and walks to the microphone.
“Is it true?” someone yells. “Was the fire your fault?”
“Yes, it’s true,” Gabi says, holding her chin high. “Mila Ferguson is not responsible for the fire at Tart and Soul.”
“Yes, I am!”
My eyes widen in shock as I see Mila race up the center aisle and make a very impressive leap onto the stage. She stands beside Gabi and leans forward to speak into the mic. “I used the stove after closing time. I forgot to turn it off. I’m to blame.”
“No, you’re not!” Before I can stop my legs, they’re carrying me toward the front of the room. I hop up onto the stage and take my place next to Mila. “I was…smoking in the back room. I was careless.”
“What? You don’t even smoke,” Gabi says. “You’ve never smoked.”
“I did that night,” I lie.
“Everett, what are you doing?” Mila hisses.
“The same thing you’re doing—what family does.”
She grabs my hand and squeezes it.
“Actually, it was me!” Someone in the back shoots to his feet.
Stunned, I watch Stevie MacDougal make his way to the side aisle and run toward the stage. We scoot over to make room. By the time he takes his place at the mic, the crowd is on its feet, too.
“I was…” Frantically, he searches for an idea. “Playing with matches! Yes, I was a kid playing with matches. I went into the bakery that night to get a cherry lemonade from Mila, and then I hid in the back and played with matches.” He wipes sweat from his brow and steps back into line with us.
Mila and Gabi each put an arm around him, and he looks like he just won a million dollars. By this time, poor Dan Bartok is so confused he has no idea what to say. He stumbles to the mic. “Anyone else want to claim responsibility for the fire?”
“What the hell? I will.” Ripley comes trotting up the center aisle and jumps up on stage. A flabbergasted Dan moves aside, and Ripley grins at his audience. He pokes his chest with a thumb. “That’s right. It was me.”
“You!” It’s a female voice I could swear belongs to Yasmine Khoury. “How did you start the fire?”
“I’m a walking, talking smoke show, sweetheart,” he says cockily. After enjoying the laughter he gets, he backs up and stands beside Gabi.
We form a line now, all five of us. Arms around shoulders. We are family, friends, neighbors. Willing to stand up for each other. Willing to protect each other.
I move forward to speak into the microphone. “If I could speak again, just for a moment.”
The audience settles so I can be heard.
“Like all of you, I came here hoping to learn something about the fire. But I think what I’ve learned today is something about Hart’s Landing.
Sure, there are rumors and gossip. Yes, there are matchmakers and meddlers.
” Laughter drifts from the crowd. “But when it comes down to it, we’re there for each other when it counts.
We’re family.” I glance at Mila. “And nothing means more than that.”