Henrietta's Heart

by Pat Dale

  “I don’t doubt he will. Tell him hi for me, will you?”

  “I’ll sure ‘nuf do that, Hattie. Thank you.”

  She sank back into the swivel chair, smiling at Sheila’s affected drawl. Pleased with her newfound ability to make small decisions, she bent over the desk and began to draw out a master plan for making the big one. Two hours and a half-dozen calls later, she had the ball rolling.

  Now she had time to relax and maybe see about finding that dog. She was at the bottom of the stairs when the bell tinkled at the front door. She looked up to see Charles Manley, the mayor himself, coming in. She met him at mid-store. “Morning, Mayor.”

  “Mornin’, Hattie. I’m glad you’re here. We needs to have us a little talk.”

  “We do?”

  “Yep. Nothin’ serious, but we oughta go where it’s quiet so we can talk business. I got some important news to share with you. Some good news.”

  “Why don’t you come up to my office, then?”

  “That’ll work.”

  After he was seated, she said, “What’s on your mind, Mister Mayor?” She got a squirmy feeling when the man’s gaze traveled to her chest and up again, his smallish leering eyes glowing.

  “Chuck. Call me Chuck, Hattie. My goodness, you sure have growed up a bunch. Anyhow, I got some great news.”

  Ignoring his lecherous manner, she snarled, “You said that. So what is this great news you have for me?”

  “Ever heard of “Wilbur’s World”?”

  “You mean the giant discount stores?”

  “That’s them.”

  “They’re part of Piledriver Wilson’s evil empire, aren’t they?”

  “Yep. But I hear he don’t like to be called that. And he ain’t evil.”

  Hattie gave out a humorless chuckle. “You mean he actually prefers to be called Wilbur?”

  “That’s what I hear. Anyway, it’s clear you heard of him and his stores. Well, he wants to build here in Leadburg.”

  “Here?” She couldn’t believe it. “Why?”

  “He says this town’s a gold mine waitin’ to be tapped.”

  “Wilbur Wilson said that? My father worked in Leadburg for years and never found any gold mine. It was just his hard work and careful planning that made the store profitable enough to keep going.”

  “I know how hard your daddy worked, young lady. And I know he had a plan to build new up on the hill toward the highway some day. You and I have already talked about that.”

  They had indeed talked. Rather, he’d lectured her on the evils of moving out of downtown and she’d listened.

  Manley blinked rapidly and looked down at his hands before adding, “Wilson’s people are in town to check things out. They told me not an hour ago they’ve found a good place to build one of their monster centers for us. The perfect location, they call it.”

  She smelled a rat and focused on Manley’s beady eyes, which were studiously avoiding hers. “And just where did they find this perfect location, Chuck?”

  He shifted in the chair, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, uh, that’s why I’m here talkin’ to you, Miss Hattie. You know that acreage your daddy bought a long time ago?”

  “You mean where he was going to build a new store, someday? The place I’m considering rebuilding on? The very one you said last week would be traitorous for me to move the store to and desert downtown?”

  Manley gurgled before answering. “Uh—yep. The same.”

  “What about it?” Her voice had gone cold to match the icy tension snaking its way down her spine. “Have you changed your mind now?”

  “Well, that’s the place Wilson’s men settled on.”

  “What do you mean, settled on?”

  “That’s where they want to build.”

  “But it doesn’t belong to them.”

  “Nope. You got that right. Not yet, it don’t.”

  “I think you’d better explain what you mean by not yet, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Well, uh...” he squirmed in his chair like he had worms in his craw, “...they want me to work somethin’ out with you.”

  “You mean it would have been wrong for me to build a store up there, but it would be right for Wilson to come in here and do so?” She got to her feet and glared at the man. “Spell it out, Chuck. What’s in this deal for you?”

  “For me?” He jumped up. “There’s nothin’ in it for me, Hattie! I’m just tryin’ to be a good ambassador for the city.”

  “Good ambassador, huh? So they want to buy my property. Or do they want to take it away from me with your help?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. No way. They’re offerin’ big money, a lot more’n it’s really worth, believe me.”

  “I’d like to. Believe you, I mean. What if I don’t want to sell?”

  “I guess it’s yours to build on, or whatever you want. They’ll go to Farmville and build there. Twenty-five miles ain’t far enough to keep our base market here in Leadburg. This Piledriver feller’s gonna get our business one way or another. Why do you figure they call him that?

  “Think about it, Hattie. You never wanted to run this place anyhow, much less get stuck with buildin’ a new store.”

  She stood frozen, surveying the trembling man in front of her. His tie had slipped so she could see past the unbuttoned collar of the white shirt, his chest damp with sweat. Manley’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled for breath.

  To complete the unsavory image of Leadburg’s ambassador, a gluttonous paunch hung over his belt, verifying the man’s reputation as a heavy beer drinker. And to think this was the man Leadburg had chosen to lead the way back to prosperity.

  “Well, Mr. Mayor, we have a bit of a dilemma here. You see, I’d decided to go on and build my own version of a mega-center up the hill. Call it devotion to civic duty if you want. This old hulk of a store needs so much work it doesn’t make sense to keep it going. Wilson’s right. A new store up there will attract business from miles around.”

  “Right.” Manley’s brown eyes finally focused on hers. “And Wilson’s the best person we could ever get to locate up there. Why trouble yourself with all the details? After all, you are an English teacher, I hear. Not a store manager.”

  “Yes. I was an English teacher.” She closed her eyes, wishing this disgusting excuse for a man would drop through the floor. “I’ll have to think about it, Mr. Mayor.”

  He grinned from ear to ear. “That’s the girl. Think about it. You handle this right, you could have enough money you wouldn’t need to teach for a good long time. Maybe open up your own little bookshop or some such.”

  “Some such,” she muttered, her eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Right. Well, you think it out. But don’t take too long.”

  “How long will Wilson’s men be in town?”

  “Didn’t ask. But I got the impression they want to make a decision this week or next, latest.”

  “Okay, Mr. Mayor. This is Tuesday. I’ll give you my answer on Friday. Is that soon enough for you?”

  The mayor’s beady eyes danced. “That’s just dandy. See you Friday, Hattie. And thanks.”

  His enthusiasm made her want to puke. She returned his phony grin with one of her own. “Don’t thank me yet, Chuck. I might still say no.”

  The smile faded from the man’s face. “Oh? Well, okay. But you think on it. Serious.”

  She trailed him down the stairs and to the front door. After he’d made a fool of himself saying goodbye, Hattie turned back and glanced at Gerald, a couple of counters away. She wasn’t ready to share this news with him and Shirley just yet. And her desire for a dog had just evaporated.

  * * *

  Sheila was waiting when Brad came through the door. “I got some really good news, Brad. Hattie done called in and said she wanted to double the size of her ad. And she wants us to put borders on it, too. Oh yeah, and drop the price of the Wellington’s by two bucks.”

  “Wow. That is good. After yesterday, I wasn’t sure if she’d cancel t
he ad.”

  “She said to tell you hi.”

  “Great. She must be in a better mood today.”

  “Don’ know ‘bout better, but she sure was friendly.”

  He patted Sheila’s shoulder. “Thanks for handling it. Well, I’d better get started on paste-ups this morning. We’ll have to spend all day tomorrow setting up and making the run. Don’t want to miss our Thursday distribution.”

  “What’re y’all goin’ to editorialize this week?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’ve been thinking about a piece on the need for modernization of our business community.”

  “What business community?”

  “That’s the point. We need something new and exciting around town to spur interest. Don’t you think?”

  “Sure do. Shoppin’ here’s duller’n watchin’ grass grow.”

  He headed for his office. Part of his sleepless night had been spent thinking about how to help Hattie get off dead center. Since he didn’t seem to be able to speak with a clear head when he was around her, maybe a subtle editorial would work.

  Within an hour, he’d set up most of the ads for this week’s edition. He held up the new bordered version of the Mercantile ad and smiled. Hattie would be pleased for sure.

  Engrossed in his work, Brad didn’t hear the commotion in the outer office. Suddenly, Sheila stuck her head in and cleared her throat. He looked up. “Yes, Sheila. What is it?”

  “We got a visitor. Actually, several of ‘em. I told ‘em you was awful busy, but the Mayor’s with ‘em and just insists you’d want to talk to ‘em. Sorry to bother you, Brad.”

  “It’s okay. Send them back.”

  He gritted his teeth in irritation as Chuck Manley led three well-dressed men into his office. “Well, hello, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Hi, Brad. I’ve got some VIPs I thought you oughta meet, you bein’ the editor of our paper and all. This here’s...” he turned to the tallest and oldest of the men, “...Barry Goodnow. Barry’s executive secretary to Wilbur Wilson.”

  Manley’s verbal stress on the word nearly caused Brad to laugh. “You mean Piledriver Wilson, the wealthy retail tycoon?”

  Manley blushed at Brad’s use of the nickname, but nodded. “The one and only. And these men are Mr. Goodnow’s assistants, Bill Prince and Charlie Durgeon.”

  Brad shook hands all around. “I’d offer you gentlemen a chair but, as you can see, I don’t have enough to go around. Rarely get more than one person back here.”

  Goodnow flashed a toothy smile. “No problem, Trimble. Can’t stay to chat. We just wanted to extend an invitation for you to attend a luncheon meeting we’re having.”

  Men who referred to other men by their last name always offended Brad. “A luncheon meeting? With whom?”

  “Various civic leaders, such as yourself.”

  “Oh? Well, I’m honored. Where and when is the meeting?”

  “We’re staying at the Townhouse Inn. They’ve put a meeting area at our disposal and the luncheon is in an hour. In fact, if you can get away,” Goodnow glanced around the disorganized room, “we’d be happy to offer you a ride up the hill in our limousine.”

  Brad thought about it for a few seconds while his mind raced through the reasons Wilson’s minions would be in this town. Meeting with them might be a good idea. At least, he’d learn what they had in mind. But he didn’t like the idea of crowding into a car with the smarmy city slickers.

  “I’d be glad to go to your meeting. Thing is, I may have to go out on a sales call from there so I’ll just follow you up to the highway in my own vehicle.”

  Goodnow waved a hand airily. “Whatever suits. We’ll be going, then. See you at the top, Trimble.”

  The entourage moved swiftly toward the front and left. As he was closing the door, Manley smiled back at him and winked. Brad looked at Sheila, who was waiting for him to tell all, and shrugged. “I guess I’m going to a luncheon meeting. Up at the Townhouse. Hopefully, I’ll be back here by one or so.”

  “Who are those guys, Brad?”

  “Some stuffed-shirt heavies from the city. Manley wants me to meet with them.”

  “Heavies?” Her eyes went wide. “You mean like gangsters?”

  He laughed. “Not that kind of heavies. They work for Piledriver Wilson.”

  “The Piledriver Wilson?”

  Her use of the same kind of emphasis Manley used sent Brad into peals of laughter. “Yes, Sheila. The one and only.”

  “But what are they doin’ here in little old Leadburg?”

  “That’s what I want to learn. Tell you about it later.”

  * * *

  Hattie stuck her head in the door at the paper. “Hi, Sheila. Brad here?”

  The woman shook her head. “Nope. You just missed him again, Hattie. He’s gone up to the Townhouse to meet with some bigwigs from the city.”

  “Bigwigs from the city?”

  “Yep. These guys work for that Piledriver Wilson fella.”

  Hattie scowled. “Oh, yeah?”

  Warning flares ignited. Manley wanted her to think about selling out to Wilson and now Brad was meeting with Wilson’s henchmen. Something smelled to high heaven.

  “Did Chuck Manley happen to be with them?”

  Sheila smiled. “How did you know?”

  “Just a lucky guess. See you later.”

  She shut the door and started back toward the store. If that rat of a mayor thought he was going to pull the wool over her eyes, he had another thing coming. And if Brad was involved in the mayor’s little scheme, she’d provide a nice comeuppance for him, as well. Hattie stormed down the street to her vehicle and climbed in, then tore out in the direction of the Interstate.

  Chapter Three

  The long black limousine was impossible to miss. Brad’s Jeep was parked next to it with Manley’s gaudy red Cadillac convertible on the other side. She parked as far away as possible on the other side of the lot.

  The luncheon meeting was also easy to find. With the dining room humming with the peak of noonday business, the men sat around the huge table in the center of the adjacent meeting room. Manley, Trimble, and several other local businessmen situated down one side and both ends, with three seriously overdressed men on the far side of the table. The tall man in the center seemed to be holding court.

  On the way up, Hattie thought about what she wanted to say. Now she hesitated, not sure it was smart to embarrass Brad and Chuck in front of strangers. She made her way to a table near the door where she could quietly eavesdrop on them.

  Though she couldn’t hear everything, it was clear the tall stranger controlled the meeting. When he spoke in a deep rumbling voice, she heard prosperity and an economic boom forecast for Leadburg. It was no doubt Wilson’s top dog doing the forecasting.

  After a bit, she concentrated on Brad’s posture. He was giving polite attention, but his face was masked with that inscrutable facial expression which always vexed her. She couldn’t help noting he looked temptingly handsome in his plaid shirt and khaki pants.

  Her impression from the previous day lingered in her mind. He’d changed in subtle ways that had escaped her attention. Tanned, well-muscled forearms showed from the shirt’s short sleeves. And there were the beginnings of mature character lines on the well-tanned face. That inscrutable handsome face…she wrenched her gaze away.

  Why he was involved with these people if he wasn’t part of their scheme to grab her father’s land. No, not Harry’s land. It’s my land now, and my choice, too. Brad knows that very well ,or if he doesn’t, he soon will.

  After the waitress came back for a third time, Hattie ordered soup and iced tea. She had no appetite but it was lunchtime in the busiest restaurant in the county. The least she could do was pay for taking up space.

  Meanwhile, she could decide how to handle Brad and Chuck. Once the men were served, tallboy’s monologue subsided. There was a general air of excitement among the locals as they stuffed their faces. It almost made her laugh to see them be
ing fattened for the kill. Didn’t they know what would happen to their businesses when Wilson and his minions came to town?

  Brad listened attentively to Goodnow’s enthusiastic description of what he could do for their community. And, he had to admit much of what the man said made sense. At least in the overall sense of prosperity, it did.

  He glanced around the table at the affirmative expressions on the faces of his fellow townsmen, wondering how many of them would end up working for Wilson.

  What about Ben Cline? His family owned the town’s only pharmacy for decades. They knew each of their clients personally and could be counted on in any emergency. How could Ben’s little drug store compete with a giant who would only discount prices enough to drive out competition?

  And there was Joe Phillips, who ran the little service station and tire store the same way since before discount stores were invented. Could he hope to compete with the proposed new store’s prices? Probably not.

  His thoughts turned to Hattie’s store. The sole survivor of a long line of retail dinosaurs, it was based on small single sales, but needed lots of them to operate in the black. He shook his head at the food chain mentality. It would end up being another fish gobbled up by an even larger fish.

  By the time the meeting broke up, Hattie decided it would be smarter for her to keep silent for now. She didn’t want Manley to know she was on to his little game. As for Brad, she couldn’t wait to get that character alone again.

  Giving me that song and dance about my father and how much he’d meant to him! She winced at the image of Henry turning in his grave. Oh, well. I can be thankful I’ve learned what the jerk is like before too late.

  It occurred to her that Brad might spot her car in the parking lot. She raced to the register and dropped a bill on the counter, twice the amount of her tab, but she didn’t want a face to face confrontation with the others looking on. Halfway out the door a voice called out. A familiar baritone voice.

  “Hey, Hattie. Hold on. I didn’t know you were having lunch up here.”