by Becki Willis
I live at Lake Whitney. I would be honored to help. My father and uncle parted on bad terms, but I always wanted to know more about my family. This will be a start. Are you his daughter? My cousin?
Madison could almost hear the hope in the woman’s response.
I’m sorry, but I was just a friend. Let me check with the funeral home and see when we can meet with them. Is tomorrow afternoon good for you?
When Barbara agreed that it was, Madison promised to be in touch.
She immediately called the funeral home, where she was put on hold. As she listened to the solemn music on the line, her phone beeped with an incoming call. She ignored the first two calls from Collette and one from her grandmother, but when the funeral director put her on hold to check his schedule, she finally answered the beep. This time, it was Collette again.
“I’m sorry, Collette. I can’t talk. I’m on the phone with the funeral home.”
“Okay, I’ll make this really quick. I think I found something on your RR78.”
“Can you send it to me in a text? Believe it or not, I also found Nigel’s niece Barbara.”
“Really? Where?” She couldn’t have sounded more surprised.
“She lives in Whitney, and she’s helping me make arrangements. I’m setting up our appointment with the funeral home now, so I really need to go.”
“I understand. Call me later. Bye.”
When the director came back on the line, he set up a two o’clock appointment the next day to meet with her and Barbara Barrett Motte. She was sending the information via direct message to the other woman when her phone rang. Again.
She cradled the device on her shoulder as she typed. “Hello, Granny. Sorry I couldn’t answer earlier.”
Without preamble, her grandmother launched into the reason for the call. “The Juliet City Council has called a special meeting for tonight, and has invited the Naomi Council to sit in. This can’t be good.”
The news rattled Madison. “What can we do?”
“I’m calling in the troops. We need as much support present tonight as possible. Get on the phone and call everyone you know and tell them to be at the meeting at seven o’clock sharp.”
“Do we know for a fact this meeting is about Brash?”
“Do we know for a fact Joel Werner is a weasel out to get your husband’s job?” her grandmother countered.
“Without a doubt.”
“I hear he’s encouraged the media outlets to be there tonight, too. It can only mean one thing. He’s planning to make his big push to get Brash suspended. He thinks with Brash down, he can move right in, but we’re going to show Weasel Werner he has another think coming! Get on the horn and call everyone you know. I’ll be at your house at 6:15 to discuss strategy.”
“Wait! Does Brash know?”
“I’m not sure. Better call him and give him a heads-up. I don’t want him blindsided when the mayor calls.”
As she called her husband’s number, Madison spoke to her employee. “Drop whatever you’re doing and change gears. We need a support team for tonight’s city council meeting. Weasel Werner is trying to unseat Brash. Seven o’clock sharp and bring support posters… Sweetheart?” she said, when she heard his deep voice answer. She put effort into keeping hers cheerful. “How’s your day going?”
“Not so bad that I need support posters,” he teased. “Not yet, anyway. What gives?”
“Granny Bert just got word there’s a special session joint city council meeting tonight. Has anyone called you yet?”
“Not yet. But we all know your grandmother hears things first, long before the rest of us. Even those of us whose jobs are hanging in the balance.”
“I’m sure it won’t come down to that, sweetheart. But we both know Weasel Werner will try his best.”
Brash was able to keep his sense of humor, even during dark moments like these. “What happened to Wormy Werner?” he asked, having heard that moniker at last count.
“Weasels are even worse than worms,” Madison informed him. “The man is definitely a weasel. But don’t worry. Granny Bert has a plan.”
“That, sweetheart, is a true oxymoron. ‘Don’t worry’ and ‘a plan by Granny Bert’ should never be used in the same sentence. They simply don’t jive.”
Her warning was stern. “Never underestimate my grandmother.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Word of the special meeting spread faster than wildfire through the sister cities; it spread at the breakneck speed of juicy gossip. Long before the scheduled seven o’clock start time, the venue had changed to the high school gymnasium to accommodate the expected crowd.
Someone wisely appointed Vina Jones as doorman. She assigned seats as people came through the doors, and no one dared argue with the stern enforcer. She instructed Brash’s supporters to have a seat on the much larger Home side of the court. Those backing Werner were relegated to the Visitors section.
There were, no doubt, some who came undecided or with the intentions of siding with Joel Werner, but a stare-down from Vina had them scurrying over to Brash’s side. The nearby trashcan soon filled with their hastily abandoned ‘Werner for Police Chief’ pennants. Myrna Lewis handed out the professionally printed paraphernalia in the parking lot, proof that this was no spur-of-the-moment attack. Madison noted that very few of the paper fans were thrown away, but she understood why. No one wanted to part with his or her very own copy of the now infamous bare-chested photo. Even though one side disparaged Brash deCordova for his playboy ways and his lack of professionalism, the other side openly exploited his sex appeal.
The opposite side of the parking lot was Camp deCordova, where tables were set up with handmade posters and an assortment of cookies and refreshments. If Granny Bert’s friends knew anything, it was how to impress the locals and ply them with home-baked goods.
Megan and the twins couldn’t make it back from Colorado in time for the meeting, but they gathered the troops from afar and asked friends to stand in for them. A smattering of high school students still in town during Spring Break and four uniformed cheerleaders led chants and kept spirits high as the townspeople poured into the gymnasium.
New Beginnings closed early, as well as a few other businesses that were still open after five. A sign at the café urged all citizens to attend the meeting and support their esteemed chief of police.
By the time Brash, Madison, and Granny Bert arrived, the obvious support and outpouring of love was humbling. The Home bleachers were full and supporters stood in the aisles and along the floor, refusing to take a seat on the opposing side, even if it promised to be a long night.
A half dozen or more news crews recorded it all as it happened.
The meeting was called to order and a brief agenda given. After both mayors spoke, touting having the community’s best interests at heart and the need for transparency and justice, they opened the floor to speakers already on the agenda.
Joel Werner was first. He gave a long-winded speech about the lack of professionalism in the current department. He was quick to point out the recent uptick in crime across the community, ignoring the correlating national trend and focusing only on The Sisters. In case anyone had been living under a rock during the past few days, he rehashed Nigel Barrett’s death and the arrest of Tony Sanchez. He played up Brash’s friendship with the accused and reminded people of his other famous friends, painting Chief deCordova as believing himself above the law. He used the recent media frenzy as ‘proof’ that the current chief of police was distracted by his love for attention and his need to be in the headlines.
After pointing out Nigel’s generous gift to the newlyweds, he fell short of accusing Brash of outright murder, but he planted the seeds of doubt. He pointed out how easy it would be for the chief of police and his good friend to conspire against a helpless old man and slip a deadly shrimp into his food. Doing so, he claimed, would ensure a sudden windfall for both men. He alluded to a
secret reason Brash might need the money, which he claimed would be revealed in time. Joel Werner concluded his carefully rehearsed speech with a glowing recap of his own accomplishments as a police officer.
Just before taking a seat, he reminded the joint councils of what was at stake and urged them to consider asking Chief of Police deCordova to step down. As a concerned citizen and a qualified peace officer—and knowing how long it took to find good, honest leadership and protection—he volunteered his services in the interim.
Brash’s response wasn’t nearly as long. Or as pompous.
He told the crowd he was honored to have served as their chief for the past six years, and with the continued support of the community and both city councils, he planned to serve them for many years to come. He didn’t quote his past victories or point out the discrepancies in Werner’s skewed report. He said his record spoke for itself. He gave credit to his deputies and his staff for the exceptional work they did, and to the community for making their jobs easier and more pleasurable. He spoke only briefly about Nigel and Tony, claiming friendship and affection for both men, and sincere regret over the current situation. He refused to comment on Werner’s thinly veiled accusations, saying he trusted the criminal justice system to sort out the particulars of this case and mete out the correct punishment. His only reference to the notorious photo was to remind the crowd of his recent nuptials and to state that the media frenzy had intruded upon their honeymoon and what should have been a sacred and private moment between him and his bride. He closed by thanking the city councils, the outpouring of support from the towns, his family, his staff, and, last but not least, the love of his life who now wore his ring and who had been pulled into this circus by association.
The home crowd gave him a standing ovation, as well as a few crossovers from the other side.
Myrna Lewis was the next scheduled speaker.
Myrna did not have the skills or the voice to be a public speaker. Her voice was high pitched and squeaky, and always reminded Madison of nails scraped across a chalkboard. Her abrasive personality was a perfect match for the audio.
When her name was called as the next speaker, people shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They knew from experience that Myrna’s report would be scathing and bitter, a reflection of the woman herself. No one wanted to hear Myrna Lewis speak, and for once, she seemed attuned to what others were feeling. For that reason, she came prepared with a video.
The first few shots were reruns of the week’s headlines. Brash without his shirt, Brash arresting Tony, Brash with a series of famous athletes, actors, and politicians, followed by several pictures of Brash with beautiful women at his side, none of which were his new wife. She paused the video on a shot of him and an actress known for her sexy roles and skimpy outfits.
“I ask you. Is this the role model we want for our town? Is this playboy a man we trust with our homes, our families, our very lives?” She screeched out the words in her grating voice.
Someone in the crowd yelled out, “Seems he’s done a jam-up job so far!”
“Can’t think of a better role model, myself!” someone else said.
“Look at all the good he’s down for the town!” came another call. “Sit down, Myrna, and quit making a spectacle of yourself!”
The round little woman glared up into the stands, looking for the culprits who dared interrupt her. Myrna had the misfortune to have a body almost as wide as it was tall, and the appearance of having no neck. Instead of wearing clothes that made the best of her attributes, she was completely oblivious to fashion. Tonight, she wore a shapeless dress that draped over her body like a tent and came just below her knees. The bright orange was reminiscent of the jumpsuits worn in jail and did nothing to flatter her figure or her complexion. She wore white tube socks that sported a red band at the top, and a pair of serviceable black rubber-soled shoes. With her ever-present fanny pack strapped around the widest part of her girth, she looked like an overly bright, plump pumpkin banded in half.
She hit the play button, showing another series of photos, these of her beloved yard being trampled by a runaway goat. The caption under the pictures berated the local police department for making light of the destruction and for siding with the local ‘derelict youth’ of the community. It then segued to a series of pictures featuring some of the area’s young people, partying near the river in what the caption claimed was ‘with the support and blessing’ of their esteemed chief of police. There was the question of ‘can we trust his judgment?’ as it showed him on a morning after, picking up the discarded beer cans and tossing them into the back of his personal truck. Mention of ‘divided loyalties’ as it flashed between a photo of him and Tony with their famous professional sports team, and him and the local small-town football team. A panned shot of the sprawling river-bottom ranch his family owned and a close-up of a working pump jack. The words ‘Opportunity,’ ‘Means,’ and a picture of their wedding reception, taken at a distance. The single word ‘Motive?’ and the picture of a bag of money, followed by a picture Madison had seen before on Facebook. It was the photo of Brash and his new deputy, Misty Abraham, at some sort of carnival. They were obviously there as a couple, their arms wrapped around each other and wearing silly grins on their faces while holding over-sized alcoholic beverage souvenir cups.
The photo was only there for a moment, but it was enough to stir an audible gasp among the crowd. The picture immediately merged into one of Brash working at his summer camp for underprivileged youth. Madison thought it was an odd picture for Myrna to use to depict Brash’s poor character. If anything, the photo showcased his generous and giving nature.
She thought it even stranger that the woman should use the second photo. This was of him working a wreck in pouring rain mixed with a generous amount of sleet. Rivulets of water streamed off his hat and down the front of his poncho, while beads of ice crusted on his shirt collar. By the time the words ‘Community service? Neighborhood beautification projects?’ flashed on the screen, she heard her grandmother’s pleased chuckle beside her. Next came a photo of Myrna Lewis herself.
Myrna was well known around town for her ‘special technique’ of gardening. To get her lawn precisely the way she wanted it, she could often be found on her hands and knees, hand-cutting her grass with a pair of shears. To save wear on her knees, she sometimes lay down and rolled on the grass from one area to another. In this picture, she wore one of her more colorful outfits and was caught mid-roll, so that she appeared to be writhing in pain. The photo was no doubt snapped as she yelled obscenities to the photographer, freezing her features in an open-mouth grimace.
The crowd couldn’t help but laugh.
Myrna had been watching the crowd, feeding off the expressions of surprise she read in their faces. When they laughed, the satisfied smirk fell from Myrna’s face, and she jerked her attention back to the screen. She gasped as she saw the photo they were laughing over.
She punched a button on the remote, and the next photo came up. This one was of Brash helping an elderly woman out of her car. Myrna jabbed the button again, and a photo of Sharese and Joel Werner appeared. They were both glassy-eyed and rosy cheeked, surrounded by discarded cocktail glasses and empty wine bottles. Myrna waved the remote in the air frantically, trying to get it to stop. Each photo was more incriminating than the last.
Joel Werner as a young man, being booked into the Bexar County Jail. A more recent photo of him sitting in the defendant’s seat during a trial. A picture of him making an obscene gesture while posing beside a wax replica of Madonna. More pictures of him and his wife partying, always with plenty of alcohol in hand. Another picture of Myrna on the lawn, this one with her broad backside turned up in the air. A close-up of a newspaper showing Werner’s photograph and a headline reading ‘Local Deputy Detained for Questioning.’
While Myrna could think to do nothing but stomp her foot and click needlessly on the remote, Joel Werner stood and demanded that someone put a stop to ‘this mo
ckery of a meeting.’ All the while, the crowd roared with laughter, particularly when the final picture came up. It was of the Werners from several years ago, presumably at a Halloween party. Sharese wore a tiny little cheerleader outfit that barely contained her generous bosom, and Joel was dressed as a bulked-up football player. Oddly enough, he wore a jersey that touted Brash’s name and number.
Joel Werner had dressed as Brash for Halloween. The irony and hypocrisy wasn’t lost upon the crowd.
In typical fashion, Brash came to the rescue. He pulled the plug on the projector and then shut the laptop computer playing the slideshow, effectively putting an end to the compromised presentation.
Granny Bert stood up amid Myrna’s sputtering and took control of the mic.
She reminded the crowd that she needed no introduction. She had been mayor of Juliet for many years, an elected county official before that, and she and her family were institutions in the sister cities. Along with the deCordova family, they were the backbone of the community. She reminded the city councils of how proud everyone had been when their hometown hero had gone on to national stardom, and of how Brash had returned to his roots to serve, protect, and nurture his own. She reminded them of his many good deeds within the community and referred to specific times when he had come to the rescue of those judging him.
“I’m just going to say one thing about all these ridiculous pictures floating around tonight, and on the news, and on the internet,” Bertha Cessna told the crowd. “Bull feathers! In all the years Brash has been back in town, has anyone seen evidence of him being a playboy? The single women of this community—and plenty of those who weren’t!—have chased after that poor man until they were blue in the face, and for the most part, he hasn’t given them the time of day! He’s been too busy being a devoted father and lawman to have much of a social life. The fact that his so-called ‘playboy lifestyle’ hasn’t surfaced until now, just as he marries, is laughable. I don’t know about you folks, but I resent the fact that an outsider comes into our close-knit community and assumes we are too stupid to see through his antics.”