Chapter 18
“Of course Joyce Blakely is here,” Maggie grumbles. “Don’t make eye contact. Don’t tell her you’re a Kirkwood.”
And the annoying thing about having a telepathic-dead-grandma cockatoo is that I can hear her, but I can’t get clarification without looking like a lunatic who converses with birds.
I also can’t remind her that it’s kind of hard to hide that I’m a Kirkwood when I’m the spitting image of my mother and grandmother.
The woman at the head of the table looks—well, exactly like how I thought my grandmother would look, and not just because she’s currently human and decidedly not a pink parrot.
Joyce is soft and round, sweet and harmless, with a smooth white bob and laugh lines and that exact shade of pink lipstick that appears on every seventy-year-old woman at church.
She’s wearing a barn coat and stretchy jeans, smiling warmly and benevolently as she looks around the table.
“Welcome, y’all,” she says. “It looks like we have a new prospective member. Wanna introduce yourself, honey?”
Everyone smiles at me and claps, and Shelby elbows me in the side. I smile brightly and give a little wave.
“She’s got something up her sleeve,” Maggie hisses. “That snake!”
“Hi! I’m Rhea Wolfe. I’m hoping to start a new business downtown.”
Joyce smiles, and her whole face crinkles up in a friendly way. “Can’t wait to hear more about that. We’re always happy for new blood. I hope you like what you hear tonight.”
“Shut up, you lying bitch!” my grandmother yells, which feels so unnecessary. Joyce seems nice, and the way everyone else is smiling at her suggests that she is nice.
“So now that we’ve all got a plate of goodies, let’s settle down to business. Lindy, you’re taking notes? Thank you so much, sweetheart. I guess I’ll turn it over to our president, Nick Harris.”
Nick stands and calls the meeting to order, and everyone quietly eats as he runs through housekeeping items and the treasury reports, none of which mean much to me.
Whenever he closes a topic, he snappily bangs a little gavel on a coaster, and he looks so pleased that I figure it’s his favorite part of this duty.
I spend my time looking around the room at the other members—and trying not to steal too many obvious glances at Hunter Blakely, who’s posted up in a corner, standing with his arms crossed.
A pretty blond girl around my age, maybe a little younger, sits in the chair closest to him.
I haven’t met her yet, but he’s standing closer to her than he has to, which makes me want to bare my teeth even though I have no business doing so.
“And that brings us to new business,” Nick says. “We have several members discussing a memorial for Maggie Kirkwood and Diana McGowan. So far, a bench has been mentioned, as has a piece of artwork or a small garden. Does anyone have strong feelings?”
“Maybe a bench?” Shelby says.
“Absolutely not!” Maggie mutters. “We’ve got enough damn benches, and every time we build a garden, folks let their dogs pee in it. I don’t want folks peeing all over my memorial. You tell her no. Say it should be art.”
“But—” I murmur, hoping to keep a low profile.
“All for a bench?” Nick holds up his gavel.
“No!” Maggie barks.
“A piece of public art might be nice,” I say, feeling awkward as hell. “Maybe a—”
Maggie flaps her wings. “Mural. Sculptures are too expensive. And heavy.”
“A mural. On the side of the video store, since it’s on the corner?”
An appreciative murmur goes up, and I’m glad that Maggie gets a say in her own memorial, even if she’s not actually dead, in the usual way.
Joyce is studying me, squinting like she’s trying to get a better look, and I am very aware that I wasn’t supposed to let on that I am Maggie’s granddaughter.
Not that I can help the way I look. Then again, I only spoke up because it seemed like Maggie wanted me to, and—
God, it’s hard to keep up with the secret life of a reincarnated cockatoo-whispering witch.
“All in favor of commissioning an artist to paint a memorial mural for Maggie and Diana, say aye?”
Everyone in the room says, “Aye!” as Maggie preens a little in her backpack.
“Lindy, can you collect some possible artists and have some quotes for our next meeting? Yes? Thanks. Now, Rhea, if you join the Chamber, can we convince you to volunteer? With our recent, uh, losses, we’ve got openings on several committees.
If you’re not interested, that’s totally fine, but we need to know on behalf of the Chamber how you plan to move forward. ”
Nick’s grin is so friendly and hopeful, and all around me, these people look like dogs desperate for a treat.
“Come on, girl,” Shelby says quietly. “You got this!”
“You’ve got to commit to something,” Maggie warns me.
And, sure, I decided that I was going to see this through, but it’s a lot easier to decide that while holding a lucky dictionary and talking to a bossy cockatoo than it is to have twenty people waiting breathlessly to hear what you’re going to do.
I begin to wonder if it’s silly, dreaming of a little bookstore, and a life here, and…
“You really should,” Colonel says warmly. “We need you.”
I meet Hunter’s eyes, and I would swear there’s a twinkle there, a yearning. He nods encouragingly.
And that’s what pushes me over the edge.
“I guess I’m going to give it a try,” I finally say.
The whole room erupts in applause. I haven’t felt this universally liked since I won the county spelling bee in second grade with the word ahoy.
“That’s great news, Rhea. We’re all so glad.” At Nick’s raised voice, the room calms down a bit. “So will you keep running the video emporium or try something different?”
I take a deep breath.
Saying it out loud makes it real.
Once it’s out there in public, not just an idea but a declaration, this decision will be heavy, demanding…something I have to do. Something that can actually fail.
But, then again, can I really fail worse than a video store?
“I’d like to keep the videos but shift the main business over to books with room for some gifts and artwork. A bookstore.”
This statement is met with whispers and exclamations, all of which seem positive.
Only Joyce and Hunter Blakely don’t meet this news with joy.
Joyce is still squinting at me, frowning, and Hunter’s look is no longer flirty.
I told him I’m renting Maggie’s apartment, and now that he’s made the connection between me and the video store, he knows something is fishy.
I feel a brief press of guilt, but it’s not like I’ve ever straight-up denied I was Maggie’s kin.
Nick gleefully bangs his gavel to bring everyone back to order, and I decide it’s in my best interest to avoid looking at either Blakely just now.
“That’s great,” Nick assures me. “A bookstore would be a very valuable addition to our downtown. And I know our residents will be glad to still have the option to rent videos. And buy peanuts, I hope?”
“We need those peanuts!” cries a silver-haired lady in a caftan and tons of beaded necklaces. She sounds like I just threatened to abolish peanuts altogether, and I’m glad she won’t be an enemy.
“A bookstore is just the thing,” Colonel Gooch agrees. “More culture always brings folks downtown.” He taps his chin. “And possibly some event space? I’d love to see a literary festival one day.”
“Sure,” I allow, although suddenly it sounds like a lot more work.
“And you’re going to need a builder to help with all that,” Nathan says with a smug little grin. “Due to the fragile and historical nature of our downtown architecture, you’ll have to use our only approved contractor.”
This is news to me. “Okay…”
“Do you have availability soon, Hunter?”
I feel like I’ve fallen directly into Nick and Nathan’s dastardly meet-cute plan.
“Of course,” Hunter says.
But he’s wary, not warm at all, with a sort of professional detachment.
Like he knows we’re all hiding something from him, and he knows he’s not going to like it.
“Even though he’s our only contractor, you can trust Hunter and his work,” Nick assures me, as if he understands that Nathan’s winking and grinning are not making me any more comfortable with the situation. “He’s a genius and his prices are more than fair.”
There are mumbles of “It’s true” and “Yep” and “He saved us a thousand dollars.”
Again, everyone looks at me expectantly. I begin to realize that along with the idea of being part of a community comes the part where you have to answer back.
“That sounds great,” is basically my only choice.
“He’ll stop by tomorrow to talk about what you need. Right?” Nathan prompts.
Hunter gives me a tight smile. “Of course. I’m available after lunch, if that works?”
“Sure. I’ll be there.”
“Then it’s settled,” Colonel says.
“And we’ll still have the peanuts,” the caftan lady adds like a prayer.
“Don’t you dare let that boy on my property,” the cockatoo in my backpack hisses in my head. “The Blakelys are a bunch of snakebelly, no good—”
I nudge the backpack with my foot to shut her up.
The Chamber moves on to old business and new business, and everyone has thoughts about how to deal with the turkeys, how many traffic cones we need to buy for the farmers’ market, and whether or not the new visitors’ center brochure should have the old gaol or the toy shop on the cover, as the candy store has already had a turn.
It’s pretty obvious that the toy shop is a better choice for bringing in visitors, but everyone hates the Coves, so they’re putting up a fight.
I can see why. The Coves oppose or question nearly every motion put forth and never seem to smile; these people would argue with a stump.