Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Penny and I slipped through the Historical Society’s grand oak doors, our footsteps echoing off marble floors.
The scent of Sarah’s coffee and Maude’s sliders drifted down the portrait-lined corridor, guiding us toward the main exhibition hall.
A cluster of business owners huddled near a display case, their worried whispers bouncing off the vaulted ceiling.
“Look.” Penny tugged my sleeve, pointing to a series of photographs hanging on the wall. One black and white image immediately caught my attention.
“Your grandfather’s shoes were incredible.” Penny pressed closer to the glass. “Look at those wing-tips!”
“Admiring our history?” Adelaide’s voice made us jump. She approached with her curator’s smile, cat-eye glasses glinting in the lamplight. “That’s from quite a significant summer.”
“Summer of ’73, says here.” Penny tapped the small plaque with a manicured nail.
Adelaide nodded. “Your grandfather Benji had just won that craftsmanship award from Boston.”
“And of course, your other grandfather.” The way she said it suggested volumes. “Not many people stood up to the development commission back then, but one word from him...” She cleared her throat delicately.
“Benji’s craftsmanship with his mate’s... unique connections opened doors to quite an exclusive clientele.” Adelaide’s diplomatic phrasing made me hide a smile. Everyone knew the stories about Chesapeake Joe, though no one quite knew which ones were true.
Her attention shifted to another figure, and something in her expression changed. “And here’s the man who transformed our district. Brilliant mind for development while respecting historical character.” Her voice softened as she indicated her brother Richard.
“Who’s that beside him?” Penny asked pointing to the sharp-dressed young man standing next to Richard Fairfax.
“Oh, that’s Thomas Wong,” she said, adjusting her emerald brooch. “He worked closely with Richard on the preservation guidelines we still use today.”
The way Richard and the other man stood, shoulders almost touching, spoke of an intimacy beyond business partners. Penny’s sharp glance out of the corner of his eye told me he’d noticed too.
“Thomas Wong.” I repeated the name aloud. It didn’t ring a bell.
“Whatever happened to Mr. Wong?” Penny asked.
Adelaide frowned. “I honestly have no idea. He left rather suddenly. Right before the big development deal of ’73.’” She straightened her glasses. “But we should start the meeting, shouldn’t we? So much to discuss.”
The exhibition hall buzzed with anxious energy as we followed Adelaide inside. Sarah poured coffee into paper cups while Emma Wilson distributed her grandmother’s pastries. The scent of Maude’s sliders mingled with Minnie’s glazed apple turnovers and Rosie’s blackberry scones.
Business owners clustered around the long mahogany table, their faces illuminated by brass reading lamps. The walls surrounding us chronicled Millcrest’s history—sepia photographs and faded newspaper clippings telling stories of prosperity and hardship, of families who’d shaped our community.
I sank into a chair near the table’s edge while Penny claimed the seat next to mine. Emma slid into the seat across from us, spreadsheets spilling from her folder. The numbers in red made my stomach clench.
Adelaide cleared her throat, commanding attention from her position at the head of the table.
The emerald brooch at her collar sparkled as she straightened.
“Thank you all for coming. As your Historical Society curator and council representative, I called this meeting to address our district’s mounting challenges. ”
“Challenges?” Minnie’s bitter laugh cut through the polite murmurs. “My insurance premiums doubled after the vandalism. Another month like this and I’ll have to close.”
A chorus of agreement rippled through the room. Emma’s spreadsheets circulated, painting a grim picture of declining sales and rising costs. The vandalism had scared away tourists, and with property taxes climbing...
“We need to draw customers back to our neighborhood and revive business.” Adelaide’s voice carried over the growing despair.
“What about a fair?” Sarah suggested. “Like we did this summer?”
“Insurance costs would kill us,” Emma countered. “Premiums doubled after the vandalism. We can’t afford another fair-scale event right now.”
“Actually...” Adelaide adjusted her glasses, a familiar, calculating glint in her eye. “I’ve been researching past fundraising efforts. In 1962, when the district faced similar hardships, the preservation society held quite a successful bachelor auction.”
The room fell silent.
“A bachelor auction?” Penny perked up beside me, his cotton candy and citrus scent brightening with interest. “Like, actual dates with local business owners?”
“Precisely.” Adelaide’s smile held a hint of mischief. “The society pages buzzed about it for months. We raised enough to restore the clock tower and establish our first historic preservation fund.”
Sarah set down her coffee pot, brow furrowed. “But who would bid on dates with us? We’re not exactly society darlings.”
“Speak for yourself.” Penny tossed his pink hair. “Some of us are fabulous.”
A ripple of laughter broke the tension. Even Minnie cracked a smile.
“The district has charm,” Adelaide continued. “History. Romance. And with the mayoral election approaching, we’ll have media attention. The right publicity could draw bidders from Boston’s social circles.”
Emma shuffled her spreadsheets. “The numbers could work. If we factor in sponsorships, ticket sales, silent auction items...”
Penny playfully jabbed me with his elbow. “Leo should definitely participate. That auburn hair and flawless complexion? Those rich alphas and betas will eat you alive.”
“Some omegas too.” Emma said with a gentle smile.
My face grew warm. “I don’t think—“
“Perfect!” Adelaide clapped her hands. “Leo’s family connection to the district adds historical appeal. And Penny, your fashion expertise could help style our participants.”
The meeting devolved into excited chatter. Sarah volunteered The Hideaway for planning sessions. Minnie offered to cater. Even Rosie’s eyes sparked with hope as she suggested displaying old photos of past district events.
“We’ll need a glamorous venue,” Penny mused. “Somewhere with history but elegance.”
“Fairfax Mansion.” Adelaide’s voice carried over the buzz. “My family’s ballroom hosted the ’62 auction. I’m sure I could convince Richard.”
The Fairfax name carried weight in Millcrest—old money, older roots.
Fairfax Mansion loomed at the edge of the Historical District, its pristine white columns and precisely trimmed hedges promulgated “old money.” I remembered looking through those wrought-iron gates as a child, imagining what lay behind the mansion’s heavy oak doors.
What would Adelaide’s brother think of his home being invaded for this event?
“Richard’s never there anyway.” Adelaide waved her hand, her emerald ring catching the light. “The house needs some life in it. All those empty rooms collecting dust.”
As the meeting wound down, business owners lingered in smaller groups. Penny dragged me toward Adelaide’s office, babbling about vintage fashion and publicity photos. His enthusiasm for the auction sparked through his rapid gestures, pink hair bouncing with each animated step.
“We need her artistic eye for the auction posters. And the lighting setup. And the stage design. And—”
“Breathe, Penny.” I laughed, letting him drag me along.
Adelaide’s office door stood ajar, warm lamplight spilling into the hallway.
The museum curator’s workspace carried its signature mix of aged paper and bergamot.
Periodicals from bygone decades blanketed her desk, color-coded tabs jutting from the pages.
The scene suited the historical society’s most passionate advocate—and our potential next mayor.
“Councilwoman Fairfax, we need your expertise.” Penny released my arm to spread his hands in a theatrical flourish. “The bachelor auction needs that perfect blend of class and allure.”
“What can I help you with?” Adelaide asked with a patient smile.
“Heaven knows we can’t let him dress everyone in polka dots and stripes.” I dodged Penny’s playful swat.
Adelaide laughed, her eyes sparkling behind the frames of her vintage cat-eye glasses.
“You wound me. My taste is impeccable.” Penny sniffed arrogantly, then pivoted toward Adelaide. “Now, for the stage backdrop—”
Before we could dive deeper into Penny’s grand vision, a shadow darkened the doorway.
“Richard!” Adelaide’s voice jumped an octave. “What brings you here so late?”
Richard Fairfax Sr. filled the doorway, his silver hair and tailored suit mirror images of his sister’s elegant style. His cold gaze swept over us before fixing on Adelaide.
“Community meeting?” His tone suggested he already knew the answer.
Richard’s presence sucked the warmth from the room.
His alpha scent—winter pine and old leather, eerily similar to his sister’s but sharp with something darker—made my omega instincts bristle.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Penny clutching his pendent, his earlier enthusiasm draining away as Richard dominated the space.
“Just discussing district preservation.” Adelaide’s voice stayed light, but her hand crept to her emerald brooch. “Your specialty, once upon a time.”
Richard’s lip curled. “Ancient history.”
The silence stretched like pulled taffy, sticky and uncomfortable. Richard’s scent—cold and stale—filled my lungs with each breath, making my omega instincts scream to flee.
“Well.” Adelaide clapped her hands together, the sharp sound shattering the quiet. “Come along, dears. Let me show you both the new exhibit downstairs,” Adelaide said, her voice carrying the same practiced cheerfulness she used with difficult donors.