by Sarah Fox
He also added that he missed me. That put a smile on my face and also brought me some relief. It was nice to know those feelings went both ways.
I thought about filling him in on my investigation, but decided that could wait until he was back in town. Besides, what was there to tell him? I didn’t feel like I’d made all that much progress since we’d last spoken. Hopefully by the time he got home the police would have Marcie’s killer in custody. I figured there was a good chance Detective Marquez and her colleagues were way ahead of me in terms of tracking down the murderer.
Before putting my phone away, I sent a quick text message to Shontelle, letting her know about the meeting at the town hall. As a fellow local business owner, I thought she might want to know what was going on.
What is up with that woman? she wrote back almost right away.
A moment later, she added, I’ll try to be there. And I’ll spread the word.
Hopefully those of us in support of the Craft Nation episode would far outnumber those against it. I had trouble imagining anyone supporting Eleanor’s point of view on the subject, but she’d lived in Shady Creek her whole life and it was entirely possible that she had people in her corner who would stand behind her. That thought sent a flutter of worry through my chest, but it quickly settled. Even if Eleanor had a whole army behind her, I doubted the people at the television network would even consider scrapping the Craft Nation episode. Nevertheless, I fully intended to be at the meeting to voice my support for the show.
Shortly before I needed to leave for the town hall, Judson came into the pub, hanging his jacket up by the door before claiming a stool at the bar. Damien served him a pint of beer while I mixed up three Yellow Brick Road cocktails for a table of local women. Made with limoncello, yellow lemonade, and lemon-lime soda, the Yellow Brick Road was a refreshing drink that had gone over well with the Inkwell’s customers.
When I had a free moment, I moved down the bar to say hello to Judson.
“Do you have the day off of work?” I asked after greeting him.
“Just half the day,” he said. “The Honeywells have me working extra hours lately.”
“To get ready for the masquerade,” I guessed.
He nodded and took a sip of his beer. “I was hoping to see you here.”
“Is anything wrong?” I asked, not failing to notice that his expression had become more serious.
“No more than you already know about.” He set his glass down on the bar. “But I’m worried.”
“About what’s been happening at the manor?”
“About you,” he said, surprising me. “I know you’ve solved mysteries in the past, Sadie, and I don’t doubt your smarts, but I wanted to tell you . . .”
“What?” I asked, apprehension heavy in my stomach.
Judson leveled his gaze at me. “You should stay away from the manor. Otherwise, you might end up getting hurt. Or worse.”
Chapter 25
The chill of Judson’s warning stayed with me, even after he left the pub. Eventually, I shook it off, but I knew his concern wasn’t entirely baseless. I decided not to think about that for the time being, though. I had too much else on my mind, and a meeting to attend.
When I reached the town hall, I noticed Shontelle heading my way, cutting across the green from her shop. I waited on the front steps of the old brick building, enjoying the fresh evening air and wondering how different the atmosphere would be inside. The town hall was within my sight as soon as I’d left the Inkwell and I’d yet to see anyone entering the building. I didn’t know if that meant there wouldn’t be many people at the meeting, or if Eleanor had shown up early with a gaggle of supporters.
“It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?” Shontelle asked as she crossed Hemlock Street to join me.
“Let’s hope that doesn’t change,” I said as we climbed the steps to the double doors leading into the town hall.
Rows of chairs had been set up facing a podium at the far end of the building’s main room. I spotted Eleanor right away. She was sitting primly in the front row, her back to us. Two women and a man also sat in the front row, and about half a dozen others were scattered among the remaining seats, most of which were empty.
“I hope the majority is on our side,” Shontelle whispered as we moved farther into the room.
I held up my crossed fingers as we slipped into seats three rows back from Eleanor.
“Who are they?” I asked, also keeping my voice to a whisper as I nodded toward the three people sharing Eleanor’s row.
“The younger woman is Angelica,” Shontelle replied. “I’ve seen her at church. I don’t know much about her, but her husband died a few years ago. Complications related to alcoholism.”
“I guess that could explain why she’s on Eleanor’s side,” I said, with a surge of sympathy for Angelica. I wondered if Eleanor had a similar experience in her past. She was a widow too. Maybe I shouldn’t have judged her so harshly.
“The other two I’m not sure about,” Shontelle said.
We didn’t have the best vantage point for identifying them, since we were staring at the backs of their heads, but the other woman was closer to Eleanor in age than to Angelica, who—judging by the brief glimpse I got of her profile—couldn’t have been much older than fifty. The gray-haired man with them was also of Eleanor’s generation.
Shontelle glanced around the room. “Looks like just about everyone else here is a business owner, like us.”
I took that as a good sign. I couldn’t imagine any local businesses taking a stance against free, nation-wide publicity for our town. I recognized Bert Caldwell of the Caldwell Cheese Company, and Helen Lundquist and her daughter Katie, who ran Shady Creek’s Five Owls Winery together. A couple of the other faces were familiar, but I couldn’t put names to them.
A moment later, someone else walked into the room. I turned in my seat to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. I smiled and waved when I recognized Juliana, the woman in charge of public relations at the Spirit Hill Brewery. Grayson’s representative had arrived.
Juliana slipped into the vacant seat to my right. “Have I missed anything?”
“Not yet,” I replied.
Eleanor stood up and smoothed down her moss-green skirt.
“Here we go,” Shontelle said.
Eleanor approached the podium at the front of the room, her sharp gaze scanning over those of us present for the meeting. I wasn’t entirely sure, but I thought I saw her eyes narrow when she caught sight of me.
“Good evening, fellow citizens of Shady Creek. Thank you for coming this evening. I called this meeting to impress upon you the dangers of advertising our beloved town as a haven for drunkards and criminals.”
Bert let out a loud guffaw of laughter. That nearly spurred me on, but I managed to swallow the giggle that threatened to burst out of me.
“You’ll have your chance to speak, Bert Caldwell,” Eleanor said sharply, her expression one of annoyance and disapproval.
Bert sat back in his chair and clasped his hands over his generous stomach. “Don’t let me stop you from continuing.”
Eleanor sent a death glare his way before clearing her throat and addressing the room at large again. “As you all are surely aware, a television show glamorizing alcohol was recently here in Shady Creek filming an episode. Although the episode will feature the Spirit Hill Brewery”—she said the name with obvious distaste—“when it airs on television, it will also showcase our town, in what I can only describe as a negative light.”
“Who are you trying to fool?” a middle-aged man called out from his seat near Bert. “The show will do nothing but good for Shady Creek. It’ll bring tourists, and tourists bring money.”
“Here, here!” Bert said.
Helen and her daughter applauded, and Shontelle, Juliana, and I joined in.
Eleanor scowled at us. “Some things are more important than money.”
“What do you have against tourists coming to Shady
Creek?” Helen called out. “The town wouldn’t survive without them.”
Eleanor gripped the edge of the podium. “I don’t have a problem with tourists per se,” she said, her voice tight, “but with the type of tourists this sort of publicity will bring.”
“Ones who will visit the brewery, pub, and our winery?” Katie asked. “I don’t see the problem there.”
“You wouldn’t, would you?” Eleanor shot the sharp words across the room.
No doubt she meant the comment as an insult, but Katie smiled, completely unfazed.
The elderly man sitting in the front row stood up and shook a finger at the rest of us. “You folks settle down and let Eleanor say her piece.”
Juliana stood up and spoke politely, but firmly. “I think it’s clear that the majority of us won’t be swayed by Eleanor’s opinion, so why don’t we move things along so everybody can get on with their evening?”
The man sat down, grumbling under his breath, while the two women sitting next to him shook their heads.
Eleanor held up a sheet of paper. “I’ve brought this petition along. I invite all of you who understand the detrimental impact this show could have on our town to add your signature. The petition will be sent to the television network and requests that the Craft Nation episode featuring the Spirit Hill Brewery be canceled. I have pens available.”
The two women and the man from the front row immediately got up and hurried over to the podium, where they formed an orderly line. Eleanor handed a pen to the older woman, who wasted no time adding her signature to the petition.
“That’s it?” Juliana asked quietly. “It was hardly worth coming.”
Shontelle and I stood up, and Juliana did the same.
“At least we know Eleanor’s movement doesn’t have much support,” I said.
“True.” Juliana already had her phone out. “I’ll let Grayson know. I doubt he’ll be surprised. The majority of the town’s always been supportive of the brewery.”
“Same with the Inkwell,” I said.
We filed out of the town hall, everyone except Eleanor and her three supporters following in our wake.
We all congregated on the front steps.
“I swear, that woman gets nuttier with every year that passes,” Bert said, settling a ball cap on his head. “Anyway, I’m off to the pub for a drink.” He grinned and descended the steps. “See you there, Sadie.”
Juliana said a quick goodbye too, and headed off across the green, texting on her phone.
I was thinking of texting Grayson too, even though he’d already be getting a report from Juliana. I wondered if he was enjoying his trip, or if his days were filled with dull meetings. At least he wasn’t meeting with Eleanor Grimes.
I slipped my phone out of my purse, but I was distracted from my thoughts of Grayson when I heard Helen say, “How is Jan doing, Margaret?”
She was speaking to one of the meeting attendees I hadn’t recognized, a thin woman with graying hair.
“She was released from the hospital today,” Margaret replied. “She’ll be laid up for a while, but she’s glad to be home.”
“Are you Jan’s mother?” I asked.
“That’s right,” she said. “Margaret Finch.”
I introduced myself and Shontelle. “I was at the manor when Jan was hurt,” I explained. “I was worried about her, so I’m glad to hear she’s out of the hospital.”
“It’s such a terrible thing.” Margaret pulled her cardigan more tightly around her. “I can’t believe somebody harmed my poor Jan.”
“It’s a blessing she wasn’t hurt worse,” Helen said. “I heard her attacker is probably the same person who pushed that poor young woman out the window.”
Margaret shuddered. “I can’t bear to even think about it.”
Helen put a hand on her arm. “Of course not.”
“I know it was a bit of a mystery why Jan was on the second floor of the manor when she was attacked,” I said. “Has she shed any light on that?”
Something changed in Margaret’s face, like shutters had slammed shut across her eyes. “She doesn’t remember, but I’m sure she had a perfectly legitimate reason for being there.”
“Of course,” I said quickly, not wanting to upset her. “I hope Jan recovers quickly.”
“Thank you,” Margaret said, as she started down the steps.
Helen and her daughter stayed at her side. “Katie and I will walk you to your car.”
We exchanged goodbyes and Shontelle and I slowly descended the town hall steps.
“Will you be going to the masquerade?” I heard Katie ask Margaret as they walked along Hemlock Street.
“Definitely not,” Jan’s mother replied. “I don’t want to go near that place.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about Eleanor’s petition,” Shontelle said as we paused at the base of the steps.
“No, it doesn’t seem so,” I agreed. “That’s a relief.”
I glanced at my phone. Shontelle didn’t fail to notice.
She smiled. “Thinking of calling Grayson?”
“No,” I said quickly.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I was thinking of texting him.”
“Same difference,” she said with a triumphant smile. “Do you miss him?”
“He’s only been gone a couple of days.”
Her smile changed from triumphant to knowing. “Mm-hmm.”
“Okay, maybe a little,” I admitted. “But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. It’s far too early to let my heart get carried away.”
“Sometimes hearts like to get carried away, no matter what,” Shontelle said.
I almost said “That’s what I’m worried about,” but I was distracted by someone calling my name.
Cordelia ran along Hemlock Street from the direction of the Creekside Inn, her crinkly red hair streaming out behind her.
“Am I too late?” she asked as she reached us, out of breath. “Did I miss the meeting?”
“The meeting, yes,” Shontelle said. “But anything of importance? No.”
“Oh.” Cordelia’s breathing settled. “Gran wanted me to come so I could let her know what happened. She doesn’t want the Craft Nation episode getting canceled. The inn depends on tourists coming to town.”
“Neither of you need to worry,” I assured her. “It looks like Eleanor’s petition will end up with only three signatures aside from her own.”
She let out a whoosh of breath. “That’s a relief. Still, Gran won’t be pleased that I missed the meeting. I was reading a book and lost track of time.”
“Been there, done that,” I said.
Her face brightened. “I’m starving. You ladies want to go grab some pizza?”
“I can’t,” Shontelle said. “I have to get home. But I’ll talk to you both soon.”
“I’ll join you,” I told Cordelia, my stomach giving a rumble of hunger. “But I can’t stay long. I need to get back to the pub.”
“I should get back to the inn before long too,” Cordelia said.
We walked with Shontelle until we reached Hillview Road. Then she turned toward home while Cordelia and I continued on to Spice and Slice, the local pizza parlor. As we walked, I told her about what had taken place at the meeting.
“I don’t understand Eleanor,” Cordelia said with a shake of her head once I’d filled her in. “If she doesn’t want to drink alcohol, that’s perfectly fine, but why try to make the whole town teetotalers? And it’s not like the pub, winery, and brewery attract drunkards.”
“No, we don’t.”
The Inkwell rarely had trouble with patrons who’d had too much to drink. What passed for the rowdy crowd in Shady Creek tended to hang out at the local pool hall. Even there, incidents of note were few and far between.
“The town should have a viewing party,” Cordelia said. “You know, when the episode airs.”
“That’s a great idea!” The wheels in my head immediately started turning. “I
could host one at the Inkwell.” I reconsidered. “Unless Grayson would rather have one at the brewery.”
The setup was probably more suitable at the pub, though. The brewery had a tasting room, but no seating available. Still, I didn’t want to step on any toes.
“Maybe the Inkwell and the brewery could cohost,” Cordelia suggested.
“Another great idea.”
I was tempted to text Grayson with the idea right away, but it could wait. Besides, we’d reached Spice and Slice, and the rumbles of hunger coming from my stomach were growing louder.
Inside the pizza parlor, the delicious smell of cheese and other toppings greeted us. “Jailhouse Rock” played on the old-style jukebox and a waitress with dark hair tapped her foot to the beat as she took orders from a group of four teenagers. The floor featured a black-and-white checkerboard pattern, and the tables and vinyl booths were all bright red. Neon signs and vintage posters decorated the walls. The place had a fun, upbeat vibe, but I knew from past visits that it also offered mouth-watering pizza. I’d heard that the spicy chicken wings were delicious too, but I’d always opted for the pizza.
The dinner rush had already passed by the time we arrived, so there were several tables available. We claimed one at the back of the restaurant, near a window that looked out over the parking lot. We ordered soft drinks and a single slice of pizza each. Then we sat back in our booth to wait for our food.
Cordelia was telling me about her plans to spread the word about the Inkwell’s future writers’ group when movement out in the parking lot caught my eye.
“Isn’t that Karidee?” I asked as a blond woman headed away from the pizza parlor.
Cordelia twisted around in her seat so she could see out the window. “She works here. Her shift probably just ended.” She was about to turn back to the table when she froze, probably for the same reason my eyes had gone wide.
Detective Marquez had just climbed out of an unmarked vehicle. She intercepted Karidee in the middle of the parking lot. They spoke for a moment or two, Karidee fidgeting the whole time, and then Marquez led her to the unmarked police vehicle and guided her into the back seat. Seconds later, the detective drove out of the parking lot, whisking Karidee away.