Chapter 8 Fault Lines
fault lines
Hattie-Mae Smith sat in the third row of the library meeting room, where a witch-hunt was about to commence.
She saw the usual suspects front and center, and now that the Capshaws had left town for a bit, a few local parasites decided it was time for a council meeting.
There hadn’t been one in years, and it wasn’t lost on her that the timing wasn’t a coincidence.
When she received the hand-delivered invitation yesterday, she was honestly shocked and awed that the subject matter was about Kayden.
The audacity of people holding a grudge against him for something he not only couldn’t control but wasn’t even responsible for, pissed her off.
The only reason she even bothered to show up was to set them straight.
Even if no one else would, she would stand and speak up for him.
It was a disgrace. She glanced around the stuffy room with its old books and saw Mrs. Arnold, the antique jewelry owner, scowl in tow.
The only real issue she appeared to have had with Kayden was that he never gave her daughter the time of day.
Next were James and Patricia Whitehall, notorious gossips of the town, always looking for any reason to speak against the family.
They tried to corner Lana at the hotel a few nights ago and pulled their ancient cellphones out to take a video.
She gave them a piece of her mind, and they didn’t like being put in their places one bit.
Then there were the Hartwells and finally the Spences, owners of the hotel.
The Spences changed their opinion of him after Kayden showed interest in renovating their building at no cost. They gushed about his work on the diner and looked forward to the project, so she hoped they at least had something nice to say.
Once everyone who cared to show up was seated, brought together by Judge Hartwell’s son Joshua, all anyone could talk about was the accident.
Mavis Simpson, owner of the Thrift shop on the edge of the block, had stood, hand on her hip, wagging her tongue.
“I’m still pissed off about losing power for almost two days!”
“Yeah!” Someone in the back of the room shouted.
“And what about the property damage?” Kevin Wilson asked.
He owned a shoe store across from the hotel, which never had many customers to begin with.
“What property damage? The only damage there was was to those kids, the pole, and the car!” Joseph Smith interjected.
Kevin looked around the room sheepishly, then sat back down without a rebuttal. The room fell silent for a moment, and all you could hear was the occasional shuffle of shoes on the laminate flooring.
“Well, I don’t like the girlfriend. She’s quite rude and very stand-offish,” Patricia Whitehall added.
Aunt Mae couldn’t contain herself anymore and stood, facing the crowd.
“I’ve lived in Hamby my whole life, and I’ve been proud of that fact, until this very moment. How dare you all?”
There were a few gasps as she spoke, but everyone gave her the respect she deserved and let her talk. She looked out at the twenty or so faces and made sure to make eye contact with them all. Some dropped their gazes, some rolled their eyes.
“We’re all going to sit in here and act as if everything Kayden did in the last few months, including almost being killed, doesn’t matter?”
Her voice rose, and she clenched her fists as she continued.
“And what about his fiancée? I’m sitting here listening to you complain that she was “stand-offish”? What in the hell does she owe any of ya? Nothing, that’s what!”
Aunt Mae lumbered over to the podium now and grabbed the microphone out of Joshua’s hand. He moved out of her way and stood off to the side.
“She’s been harassed, run out of town, hit by a car, and lost her child, in our town, on our streets, and somehow you people are the victims?”
Her eyes danced around the stuffy room at them. Some shifted in their seats uncomfortably, and someone in the rear got up and left the room.
“If I were her, I’d be more than just stand-offish if someone shoved their phone in my face!”
Her eyes hit Patricia Whitehall’s, and she dropped her gaze to her lap. Aunt Mae was near seething, her ample bosom heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Joseph got up and made his way to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Now don’t get your pressure up, Hattie-Mae.”
Josh took several unsure steps forward and turned to the small group.
“Everything she just said is proof positive of why we need them out of our town! The Capshaws caused all of that. Not us!” he exclaimed, turning to Hattie-Mae.
James Whitehall stood next.
“And we all know that Maureen pulled her strings to get that batshit crazy girl off, too! That woman is pure evil!”
“Now, Maureen is no saint, but her sins are not her son’s and vice versa. I won’t sit in here and listen to you tear him down anymore. He’s paid his dues to this community, he’s not the same person he once was, and it’s time to let it go already!”
With that, she shoved the mic into Josh’s chest, causing loud interference, and took her seat with the help of Joe.
“They want to restore the Hotel, and I have to say I was looking forward to that,” Mr. Spence stood and said.
“And what’s to stop the next crazy ex-girlfriend from ruining that?” Josh shouted, returning to his post behind the podium.
“Oh, please, Josh,” Aunt Mae broke in, “We all know you’ve been jealous of Kayden since you were children. Why that is, has always escaped me, but don’t pretend that what you’re doing now is out of concern for this town or its property.”
“Exactly. How many times have you volunteered to fix anything around here without a cost to the people in this room?” Joe yelled next.
Glances were exchanged between faces, and someone even giggled in the back of the room. Josh became red-faced, searching the room for an ally to back him up.
“From a legal standpoint, you don’t have any actual reason to stop my project, and we need this in Hamby. I don’t want a tourist trap, just to be clear, but I want to have a building that more people would like to visit. And secure my eventual retirement,” Mr. Spence responded.
“Fine. You want him to have control of your business; that’s up to you. But I thought everyone here wanted the Capshaws out. That was the purpose of this meeting.”
“I for one wouldn’t miss them,” James Whitehall yelled out.
“And what have they ever done to you? I seem to remember the Capshaws giving your son a scholarship to attend any out-of-state college he wanted. It’s not their fault he didn’t graduate,” Joseph retorted.
“You’re just all over them because they re-did the diner. After Kayden trashed it to begin with,” he spat heatedly.
“Yeah, he crashed into it, but that didn’t stop you from eating there the entire time it was being fixed, did it? He made it better. Sometimes you get roses from ashes,” he replied, grabbing hold of Aunt Mae’s hand.
All James could muster was a snort and then sat back down. Lieutenant Bryan Watson stood now in his civilian clothing, his handlebar mustache more prominent than ever against his pale skin, his hands on his hips.
“I for one don’t want ‘em around, but it ain’t any of our call. What’s done is done, and all we can do is continue to be good citizens and uphold the way of life we have here in Hamby.”
Mrs. Arnold spoke next, “Plus, he’s building that ten-million-dollar mansion up the road with plans to stick around, and there isn’t a damn thing any of us can do about it,” she said scowling.
Aunt Mae rolled her eyes. Bryan started walking out of the meeting now, his leather shoes creaking in his wake.
With that, everyone began to shuffle and slowly disperse, making their way out of the room.
Joshua didn’t bother adjourning the meeting—it was over.
Mission failed. Aunt Mae smiled as Joshua stomped out of the library and out into the cold, much like the temperature of his heart.
KIM PACED HER small living room, occasionally looking out the tattered drapes for Clint. He was supposed to be there an hour ago and had stopped answering his cell phone. Where is he, she thought. She sat back down on the dirty, battered couch and rubbed the skin around her ankle bracelet.
The device was really irritating her now, and her nerves were shot, being caged inside like she was.
A small burst of knocks on the front door snapped her head towards it, and she ran over and investigated through the rusty peephole.
Peering through it, she could see Clint in his hoodie, looking around nervously.
She opened the door, and he pushed himself inside, fast, closing the door behind him.
He can’t be more than nineteen, she thought. His strawberry blonde hair peeked out from under the hoodie, with dark glasses on his face.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” she whined.
“I left it at home. What I’m doing isn’t exactly legal, and I don’t want my cell pinging off any towers around here,” he replied.
He flopped down on the couch, dropping his backpack on the coffee table.
She wasn’t sure what any of that meant and didn’t care, really.
What she cared about was what he brought with him.
Kim sat next to him, and her heart raced in anticipation.
An old friend of hers had gotten her the money needed to pay for his services since she was tapped out financially.
She was grateful for the helping hand and surprised that not everyone back home had completely turned their back on her. She needed a real hacker, and her old connect didn’t have the skills necessary to pull this off—either that or he was scared.
“Put your leg on the table,” Clint instructed as he dug inside the Jansport bag.
He pulled out an identical ankle bracelet device like the one she was wearing.
“Um, what’s that?” she asked, confused.
“It’s the cloned bracelet,” he hissed.
“What, you mean I have to wear something still? What’s the damned point?”