by Ashton Lee
Connie patted her well-sprayed and therefore inert bouffant hairdo and then settled back in her chair. “We had nearly thirty people in our club, mostly women, but there were a few men who showed up eventually. And you wouldn’t believe what a fuss some of the divorced and widowed women made over them. They acted like high-school coeds. But that’s another story for another day.” She chuckled richly and cleared her throat. “We didn’t start out with thirty, of course. Originally, we were just a group of seven and built from there. We concentrated on popular Southern writers, either classic or newcomers that had hit the big time. We’d meet quarterly, allowing six or seven weeks for all the members to read the selection for that particular quarter. So we ended up reviewing four books a year.”
Maura Beth nodded approvingly. “Southern writers—I like that. I think that would work here. Faulkner, Richard Wright, Winston Groom, Willie Morris, Larry Brown—”
“Oh, we eventually got around to most of those men you mentioned and many more, of course,” Connie interrupted. “But, oddly enough, we started out with Southern female writers like Margaret Mitchell, Eudora Welty, and Harper Lee—icons like that. I know our core of women really appreciated it, from the way they dug deep into the discussions. I like to say that it was probably all about heeding voices with estrogen in those early days.”
“I’ve never heard it put quite like that,” Maura Beth said, her laughter reflecting her surprise. “But there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go with that approach here. We could even call ourselves The Cherico Page Turners.”
“Sounds good. It’s not like we had a copyright on the page-turning concept.”
“So, anything else I need to know about your club?”
Connie thought for a while, then perked up. “Well, I kept the books when we got big enough. I was always good with figures. Oh, and I almost forgot. We eventually brought our favorite dishes to these affairs—casseroles, layered salads, lemon and chocolate cake squares, just to name a few—and we learned to do our reviews fully sated after a few mishaps. When there were only seven of us starting out, we sat together in fairly close quarters. That’s when we discovered that it’s pretty distracting having someone’s stomach growling loudly just when you’re trying to make a serious literary point. You feel like you’re being criticized right that instant.”
“That’s too funny!” Maura Beth exclaimed. “But it sounds like you ladies got past all that and literally made a delicious time of it.”
“Not only that, but hardly anyone ever missed a meeting. Why, you practically had to be hospitalized with the swine flu or recovering from an auto accident not to show up.”
A look of determination gripped Maura Beth’s face as she set her jaw firmly. “And that sort of loyalty is exactly what we need to jump-start this library again. Only I was thinking that since we have just about five months to work with, we ought to shorten the reading time for our selections. We need to try to squeeze at least two meetings into our agenda before the deadline. I don’t think one would be enough to gather any momentum and impress anybody, much less that bunch running City Hall. But once we’re good and established, we can try a more leisurely pace the way you did in Nashville.” She brought herself up short, flashing a grin. “Listen to me, going on as if we’ve got this thing in the bag.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. You should definitely act like it’s a done deal.”
Maura Beth nodded enthusiastically and busied herself making notes, leaving Connie to mull things over during the ensuing silence. “Have you thought about how you’re going to advertise the club, Maura Beth?” she finally said. “We printed up tons of flyers for our meetings and distributed them to all the branches in Davidson County, plus we found lots of restaurants downtown that let us tack them up for their lunch crowds.”
“Flyers would absolutely work,” Maura Beth answered, looking up and momentarily putting down her pen. “I know how to do that, and I could get Periwinkle to hand them out to all her customers at The Twinkle. I could also put a sign-up sheet on our bulletin board here for people who might be interested. Maybe we should have an organizational meeting first to see if we can even get this thing off the ground. I wish there were some way I could get the rest of those Music City Page Turners to follow you down here.”
Connie smiled warmly. “I’d love the familiar company, but I’m afraid I have no following to speak of. Actually, Douglas and I weren’t planning to move into our lake house for five more years, when we’ll both turn sixty-five. We still feel like newcomers to Cherico. So even I shouldn’t be here. But we sat down one night by the fire over a good bottle of Chianti, and Douglas told me he’d finally had his fill of trial lawyering for one lifetime. All the legal loopholes and angles were just wearing him down. He said all he really wanted at this stage of his life was to indulge his better nature and drift in the middle of Lake Cherico, sip beer, and catch a few fish. Then he asked me if I’d be willing to give up my job at the hospital so we could just move. You see, I’d been an ICU nurse since I graduated from college, and we’d both been socking away a good bit for our retirement.”
“I’ve always admired you folks in the medical profession,” Maura Beth offered. “I’m afraid I faint at the sight of blood, but I’m glad there are people who don’t or the rest of us would be in big trouble.”
“Frankly, I wondered if I would miss it,” Connie added. “Especially the reality that I was always taking care of people on the brink. There was nothing more distressing to me than seeing somebody flatline. Oh, the finality of that monotonous sound, and the sorrow and trauma that it represented—I never did get used to it! On the other hand, I got such a kick out of seeing my patients recover and get on with their lives. That made it all worthwhile. I guess that’s why I don’t have trouble gutting all those fish Douglas catches. I’m not the least bit squeamish—I’ve seen it all.” Then she suddenly leaned forward. “Do I have on too much perfume?”
Maura Beth cocked an ear and blinked twice. “What?”
“Sorry,” Connie said, retreating slightly. “I just finished an entire stringer of perch before coming here. I was afraid my hands might smell too fishy no matter how many times I washed them. So I spritzed on some of my Estée Lauder for good measure. Too strong?”
Now that she was being asked to focus on it, Maura Beth actually thought that Connie had overdone it a tad. But she had no intention of saying so, as her best public servant instincts rose to the occasion. “I hardly even noticed it.”
“Good,” Connie replied, allowing herself to relax. “So, what’s our next step?”
Maura Beth handed over the notes she had been making, and Connie scanned them quickly, suggesting a few changes. The two of them went back and forth a couple of times and finally came up with a suitable plan: Maura Beth would design and produce the flyer, but Connie would pay for everything out of her “mad money,” as the library simply lacked the funds to pull it off; they would allow a period of two weeks for people to sign up for the club; then Maura Beth would call an organizational meeting at the library and officially get things under way.
“I only hope somebody else will show up,” Maura Beth observed, arching her eyebrows dramatically.
Exactly when Maura Beth had come up with the idea of hand-delivering one of her flyers to Councilman Sparks, she could not recall. But she had run it past both Periwinkle and Connie before acting on it, and the three of them had decided that an aggressive approach was the best one to take. She needed to let the councilmen know she meant business about proving the library’s worth and would be pursuing that goal immediately.
At the moment, she was standing in front of City Hall with its massive, three-story Corinthian columns—indeed, the ornate building dominated the otherwise low skyline of the town—while she summoned the courage to mount the steps and walk in to have her say. At all costs she must shrug off the lingering traces of intimidation that innumerable sessions with these politicians had produced.
&nbs
p; Five minutes later, she found herself sitting in the councilman’s outer office, staring uncomfortably at his personality-free secretary, Nora Duddney. In all the visits she had paid over the years, Maura Beth was quite certain that she had never seen the woman come close to registering an emotion of any kind.
“Miz Mayhew! You’re looking lovely as ever!” Councilman Sparks exclaimed, bursting through the door unannounced after a tedious ten minutes had passed. “So sorry to keep you waiting, but I have the City of Cherico to run, you know. So many departments, so little time. But do come in and tell me what’s on your mind!” He gestured gracefully toward his inner office, turning on his bankable charm full-bore, but Maura Beth couldn’t help but notice that Nora Duddney was as charmless as ever, blankly typing things onto her computer screen.
“So, what brings you in this morning?” he began just after they had settled comfortably into their sumptuous leather chairs. Whatever financial problems the City of Cherico might be having, they were clearly not reflected in the opulent décor of the head honcho’s office. It had the aura of one of those upscale designer showrooms with Persian rugs covering the floor, as distinguished-looking as the touch of gray at Councilman Sparks’s temples.
Maura Beth drew a deep breath as she leaned forward and handed over the flyer. “I’d appreciate it very much if you would read this, please. It will explain everything to you.”
He quickly accepted the paper and commented immediately. “My, my! Is this color supposed to be some shade of gold?”
“The printer called it goldenrod, I believe.”
“Cutesy name. But a little loud, I think.”
“The other choice was bubble gum pink. I don’t know what happened to everyday white.”
“Aha! You were caught between a rock and a hard place! In that case, you chose wisely. Color is such an intriguing part of life. Myself, I’m partial to bright, flaming red.”
After making quite a production of holding up the flyer and thumping it noisily a couple of times, Councilman Sparks chose to read out loud, his tone deliberate but managing to impart a hint of mockery at the same time:
Announcing the organizational meeting of The Cherico Page Turners Book Club! Be one of the first in town to review classic Southern literature and sample delicious potluck dishes with your friends and neighbors. Circle the date. Friday, July 17, 2012, at 7 p. m. in The Cherico Library Meeting Room. Let us know you’re coming by signing up today at the library or at The Twinkle, Twinkle Café on Commerce Street. We hope to see many of you there.
Sincerely,
Maura Beth Mayhew, Librarian, and the
Rest of Your Friendly Cherico Library Staff
“I’d like for you to attend,” Maura Beth said the instant he stopped reading. “And the other councilmen, too, if they’d like. You don’t actually have to sign up and participate. Just drop by and see what we’re trying to accomplish.”
He patiently began folding the flyer several times until it had been reduced to a small square of paper, which he then pressed between his thumb and index finger for an awkward length of time. “Well, first, I’d like to say that the way you capitalized the line about the staff there at the end really made an impression on me,” he began at last. “Just imagine how much more forceful it would have been to have used all caps. I do question whether three people is a staff, however.”
Maura Beth managed to force a smile, refusing to let him get to her. “I’d like to have more personnel, of course. I’d even like to have a whole new library, for that matter. But it all takes money, as you well know.”
“Yes, that appears to be the crux of the matter between us, doesn’t it?” Then he abruptly switched subjects. “As for your invitation to the other councilmen, I think Chunky would definitely show up for the free food. He’d be the first one in line. But I know he wouldn’t sit still for the rest of it. There are times I could swear he can’t even read his utility bill. But he comes in handy with bringing certain voters into the fold. As for Gopher Joe, he’d come if I told him he had to, but you wouldn’t get a peep out of him all evening. No, I think maybe I’d better make this a solo appearance on behalf of the Council. Just call it an executive decision.”
“Then you’ll come?”
“I enjoy keeping an eye on you, though I have to admit, I didn’t expect something like this to pop up. You’ve been a busy little honeybee since we last got together, haven’t you? Doing your frantic little dance to show the way to the pollen, it appears to me.”
Maura Beth was feeling emboldened now and pressed on. “According to what you’ve told me, I have nothing to lose except my job.”
“You have spirit, Miz Mayhew. I like the way you stand up for yourself. It’s a very attractive quality among so many.”
“Thank you for saying so. Oh, and you don’t have to bring a dish with you, by the way.”
“I assure you, I hadn’t planned to. I can’t boil water, and my wife’s not much better. Evie and I eat out as often as we can. But I do appreciate you giving me a heads-up about this club of yours. The truth is, I detest surprises of any kind, especially successful ones.” Then he rose quickly and said, “If there’s nothing else, then, I’ll be seeing you on July 17th at the library. I know you really don’t believe it, but this office is and always has been open to you.”
After she’d left and was heading down the hall, Maura Beth began to get an uneasy feeling about the exchange she’d just had with the man who had hired her. It would be beyond foolish to trust his slick, wolfish demeanor when she imagined him viewing her as Little Redheaded Riding Hood just ripe for the waylaying. He had been far too compliant about everything, and she ended up wondering if she really wanted him there as an observer after all.
3
Missing in Action
The July session of “Who’s Who in Cherico?” was well under way in the library’s drab little meeting room with Miss Voncille Nettles holding forth in her inimitable fashion.
“. . . and this is a photo of the Doak Leonard Winchester Family showing off the brand-new First Farmers’ Bank of Cherico building,” she was saying. “I’ll now pass it around for your perusal. Note especially the big white bows in the ladies’ hair. That was all the rage around the turn of the twentieth century. I know that from my research, of course, not because I was actually there.”
Everyone laughed and began eagerly inspecting the picture, while Miss Voncille looked on approvingly. Though approaching seventy, she projected the vigor of someone ten to fifteen years younger. Especially impressive was the resonance of her voice, even though she was not a large person. Whenever she made genealogical and historical pronouncements as she was now to her handful of followers, they always lapped them up as the gospel truth. Criticisms or disagreements quickly brought out the sharpness of her tongue, enabling her to live up to her prickly surname. Despite the short fuse, however, there were still traces in her face and in the way she carefully arranged her salt-and-pepper hair of the great beauty she had once been, making people all the more curious about her perennial spinster status. If nothing else, she remained the town’s most impeccably dressed woman with no place to go.
On this particular evening, Maura Beth had decided to join Miss Voncille and her loyal members—the Crumpton sisters and widower Locke Linwood—with the deliberate intention of recruiting for her book club. It would be easy enough, she reasoned, to chat with each of them over the fruit punch out of a can and store-bought sugar cookies they routinely trotted out for refreshments. In fact, she had already put a self-serving word in edgewise while ladling a plastic cup for Miss Voncille and was fully counting on closing the deal immediately after the adjournment.
All of a sudden, Mamie Crumpton was shouting about something, and Maura Beth was yanked out of the thoughtful review of her evening agenda.
“Why, Voncille Nettles, you take that back this instant. You simply must retract that outrageous statement. It is most certainly the lie of all time!”
As
the older and decidedly overbearing maiden sister of one of Cherico’s wealthiest families, Mamie had already begun hyperventilating, heaving her ample bosom. Her detractors around town—and there were more than a few—had often conjectured that one of these days she was going to puff herself up so big during one of her tantrums that pricking her with a pin might just send her flying all over Cherico like a deflated Goodyear blimp.
The unassuming and far daintier Marydell Crumpton uncharacteristically joined the attack. “You made that up out of a whole lace tablecloth, Voncille Nettles, and everybody in this room with any knowledge of this town knows it!”
“See?” Mamie added, wagging a bejeweled finger. “You’ve upset my little sister, and you should know by now how hard that is to do!”
“Neither of you has to get so worked up and take everything so seriously!” Miss Voncille exclaimed, deliberately averting her eyes from her accusers. “This is just par for the course for you, Mamie. You haven’t changed in all the years I’ve known you!”
Maura Beth blinked in disbelief at the heated exchange, realizing she had not been paying close attention to Miss Voncille’s latest pronouncement. “Now, everyone, please calm down.”
“I have a right to be upset. Armadillos, indeed!” Mamie repeated, practically spitting out the words. “I’ve never heard such a ridiculous thing in my life. The Crumpton Family has been solvent and respectable from the instant we set foot on these shores. We would never have stooped to the activities you describe. So, once and for all, are you going to retract this incredible fabrication of yours or not? Really, I have no earthly idea what could have gotten into you!”