by Ann McMan
Maddie raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, okay.” David waved a hand in frustration. “Byron Martin showed up at the inn this afternoon and served me with papers outlining all of the new outdoor event ordinances just passed by the county supervisors. Effective immediately.”
“Byron served you?”
David nodded. “I don’t blame him for being the bearer of bad news. He was apologetic about the errand. It’s that homophobic, chinless kumquat who’s the problem. That man ain’t happy unless he’s pissing in somebody else’s Froot Loops.”
“I didn’t know the supervisors met. It’s not even close to the first of the month.”
“Oh, hell yes. It was one of those dead-of-night, ‘emergency’ sessions. You know. Like the ones they use to pass all the gay smackdowns in North Carolina?” He reached out and grabbed a tin of cinnamon Altoids off her desk. “Mind if I have a few of these? There was a ton of onion on my salad at lunch.”
“Help yourself. What are these new ordinances?”
“Are you kidding me? They’re a collection of ridiculous restrictions that have only one purpose: to systematically shut down the outdoor wedding industry in this county.”
David shook out a large handful of the cinnamon candies and popped them into his mouth. “I wish you’d get the peppermint ones. I don’t like these as much.”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
David munched away while Maddie took a moment to process his information. She was truly stunned by how swiftly Watson had made good on his threat. Getting the rest of the board of supervisors to go along with him would have been easy. Most of them were octogenarians who’d held their seats on the board for decades. They were not known for their progressive stances on anything.
“What are the new restrictions?” she asked.
“Oh, let’s see.” David ticked them off on his fingers. “They now require wedding or event planners to apply for the permits at least sixty days before the event, and to provide advance notice to neighbors within five miles of the property. Five miles. I suppose in our case, that’s so noise from the celebrations don’t disrupt the solitude of any geriatric stray goats grazing out there in all those abandoned fields that are contiguous to our property. The measure also requires us to notify the County Sheriff’s Office and local fire department fifteen days before the event so they may be on alert for potential public safety issues. I mean, you never know when some of those crockpot Vienna sausages might combust and take out half the county, right?”
“I agree with you that these are unnecessary hoops to jump through. But they sound more annoying than onerous.”
David shook his head. “Au contraire, mon petit chou. I saved the best for last. Every private venue is limited to a maximum of four events per year. Oh, and finally, only properties of ten acres or more are approved to apply for the permits.”
“Let me guess. You and Michael own fewer than ten acres?”
“Bingo, Cinderella. We own precisely 8.765 acres. And this, our unenlightened public servant knows all too well.”
David shook the remainder of the Altoids into his palm and promptly tossed them into his mouth.
“You gaa ayy mo a deese?”
“No. And don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He gave her the finger.
She sighed. “So. What are you going to do?”
David slumped down in his chair. The posture of defeat made him appear smaller—the way he used to look when they were kids and he’d follow her home after school to avoid his father, who worked third shift at the glass plant.
“I honestly have no idea. This will ruin us financially. We’re still trying to recover from all the rebuilding after the tornado. We already have twelve weddings booked. If we have to cancel? Well. Michael might end up having to sling hash with Nadine full time.”
“What about the inn?”
David made a slashing gesture beneath his chin.
“How many of the weddings are for gay couples?”
David seemed surprised by her question. “About nine. Why?”
“Just searching for a motive.”
“Well, news flash from planet obvious. What do you think his motivation was? That man has been systematically working to undermine every gay-owned business in town ever since he crawled out from beneath his rock and acceded to the mantle of power.”
Maddie did not disagree with him—mostly because she suspected he was right. After all, it was no accident that most of the businesses in Jericho that would be adversely affected by this new ordinance were not only tied to the wedding industry—florist, hair salon, caterer—but all of them were owned and operated by gay men, too. That had become true last year when Gladys Pitzer sold the florist shop to Harold Nicks’ partner, Ryan.
“How much time do you have before you’re required to send cancellation notices for the parties you have booked?”
“About two weeks. I honestly see no way around this one. At best, we’ll have to pull the plug on eight of them—and that’s only if we can figure out a way to get an exception for the acreage requirement.”
Maddie chewed the inside of her cheek. “I think I have an idea about that last part.”
David looked hopeful. “What is it?”
“Be patient, white rabbit.” Maddie reached for her phone.
“More Altoids would help,” he muttered. “You know I have to eat when I’m stressed.”
Maddie opened a desk drawer, pulled out a candy bar, and tossed it to him. He snagged it in flight.
“A Zagnut bar? Seriously?” He sniffed it. “Has this been in there since your dad ran this joint?”
“Take it or leave it.” She punched some numbers into the phone. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
David unwrapped the candy bar and took a cautious bite. “This thing is disgusting. Maybe I should have you update my tetanus vaccination?”
“Where you’re concerned, a case of lockjaw might be considered a charitable act.” Maddie smiled sweetly at him. “However, if you want the vaccine, I’ll be happy to oblige.” She raised the receiver to her ear. “Just take off your pants.”
“On the other hand,” he took another bite. “This is hitting the spot.”
Maddie waved a hand to shush him. “Hi, mom? Quick question. When you bought the Bridle Creek property, wasn’t there an option to add some extra acreage?”
David perked up.
“Uh huh. Yeah. That’s what I thought.” She gave David a thumbs-up. “I think we may just have figured out a use for it. Thanks, mom. See you later.” She hung up.
David was incredulous. “You’re kidding me, right? Celine owns some of that land that backs up to our property?”
“She does right now, but that’s about to change.”
“What do you mean?”
Maddie glanced at her father’s ancient wall clock. “I mean that dinner tomorrow night is at six-thirty. Henry’s coming so we’re having tacos.” She smiled at him. “Bring your checkbook.”
◊ ◊ ◊
“I apologize for that, James.” Celine lowered her cell phone. “It was my daughter.”
“That’s okay, ma’am.” He seemed embarrassed. “I appreciate all they do to help out with Henry.”
“It’s a labor of love for them, as you know.” Celine noticed how James kept shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Why don’t we go sit down where it’s cooler?”
She pointed to a battered picnic table that Bert and Sonny had hauled in from someplace. They’d set it up beneath an old hickory tree. They’d also added an ancient hibachi grill. Bert and Sonny liked hot dogs. They bought them by the gross from Freemantle’s Market.
James followed her to the table and sat down sideways on one of its benches so he could stretch out his leg.
“Is your prosthesis bothering you today?”
He shrugged. “It comes and goes. Most of the time, it’s fine. But some days, it’s like I just got it.”
Celin
e nodded. “Do you worry at all about the effects of driving so many hours?” James was there to talk with Celine about hiring Cougar’s to move her Steinway back to Virginia from California. Her other belongings had already been packed up and loaded into modular PODS that would be delivered once the renovations on the house were completed. Only the piano remained behind in her Brentwood house.
“No ma’am.” James regarded her with his clear blue eyes. “On long hauls, I can rest it when the other driver spells me. It won’t be a problem for me at all.”
“I’d love to hire your company, James. But I’m sure you understand that moving a grand piano is a very specialized kind of process.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. But Natalie’s been in touch with a place in Los Angeles that can take it apart and have it all wrapped up and tied down right. All we’d be doing is picking it up and driving it back here.”
“Did she give you the name of the firm in LA?”
“Yes, ma’am.” James fished a card out of his shirt pocket. “Santana Piano Movers and Storage,” he read. “They have good references and can have it all crated for us. Natalie said to tell you they’re bonded and insured.” He handed her the card. “Natalie said you could give them a call if it would set your mind at ease.”
“It sounds like Natalie pretty much thought of everything.”
He nodded. “They want to move their business more into this kind of work. I volunteered to do this trip. Another new hire of theirs, Rita Chriscoe, will go with me. We’ll share the driving. We should only be gone six to seven days.”
“This won’t interfere too much with your work for Junior?” Celine knew the answer was none of her business, but she couldn’t resist asking.
“No, ma’am. Truth be told, there isn’t really enough work at Junior’s right now to keep us both busy. I was going to have to look for something else to fill the gaps. Driving for Cougar’s will do that, but it has a downside, too.”
“Henry?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Celine had a hard time reading his expression. It was guarded, but there was something about his countenance that hinted at weariness, too.
“It’s hard to be a single parent,” she offered.
“You did it.”
The energy behind his quick response surprised Celine. It rang out more like an accusation than an observation.
“I did, yes. But only part of the time. Maddie spent the summers in Virginia with her father.”
James seemed embarrassed by his retort. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t mean to be rude.”
“James? Please call me Celine. I think we know each other well enough by now and ‘ma’am’ makes me feel like I’m a hundred years old.”
That got a small smile out of him. He was a good-looking man but that detail was easy to overlook because the set to his features was usually so dour. When he smiled, the years and the worry seemed to drop away. He looked younger. He looked hopeful. He looked like Henry.
“I try to be a good dad to him, but I don’t get it right most of the time.”
Celine was surprised by his comment. She wondered if James could read her mind. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “I’m not very good helping with his schoolwork. And I think maybe he’s alone too much.”
“You mean because of the extra work you’ve taken on?”
“That and . . . other things.”
As tempted as she was to follow up and ask him to elaborate on what “other things” meant, she knew she had to tread carefully.
“Are you still getting good support from the VA?”
“Sometimes. I can’t get up to Roanoke much these days.”
“Maybe there are some local groups that could be helpful?”
“What kind of groups?”
“That would depend on what you think you need.”
He didn’t reply.
“I’d be happy to assist you with this, James,” she said gently. “Or with anything else that helps you and Henry.”
“You and your daughter already do too much for us. I wouldn’t feel right asking for anything else.”
“We think of you and Henry as family. Don’t ever worry about asking us for help.”
“They already said they’d keep him if I did the California trip.”
Celine smiled. “Did Natalie take care of that, too?”
That got a laugh out of him. “No, ma’am—Celine. I asked Syd when I called about dropping Henry off at the library tomorrow.”
“That’s right. We’re all having dinner together tomorrow night. Why don’t you join us?”
“I’d like to, but I can’t. I have to do a run over to Bristol for Cougar’s. Syd and Maddie are keeping Henry overnight.”
“Well then, we’ll be sure to save you some tacos.”
James got to his feet. “Thanks for talking with me today.”
“Of course.” Celine stood up, too, and extended her hand. “I appreciate you coming all the way out here.”
He gave her hand a modest squeeze. “It’s okay.” He looked over the setting and the scattered piles of construction debris. It was clear that Bert and Sonny were making good progress on all the tear-outs. “I kind of wanted to see what all was happening out here.”
“It’s a work in progress. But you are welcome to stop by any time.”
“Thanks.”
He was halfway to his car when Celine called out to him. He stopped and turned to face her.
“Tell Natalie that I’d be honored to have you fetch my piano,” she said.
“Really?”
She nodded. “This place will be far enough along for me to move in by the end of next week. The sooner I have my piano, the sooner I can begin inflicting regular lessons on your son in earnest.”
He laughed. “I won’t tell him that.”
“Good. We need to keep some things just between us.”
He took a second to think about that before waving goodbye. “I’ll have Natalie call you about the move.”
“You do that.”
Celine stood beside the freshly underpinned front porch of her new home and watched as James’s white Ranger pickup made slow, deliberate progress back along the rutted lane that led to the county road. Luckily for her, Bert and Sonny had plans for how to remedy that, too.
She still had the small white card in her hand.
Santana Piano Movers, someone had written with a soft-lead pencil. The script was a florid combination of loops and squiggles. She felt certain the handwriting did not belong to James. There was a phone number, too, but part of it was too badly smudged to be readable.
Celine smiled and tossed the card onto a nearby pile of debris.
“If they’re good enough for Carlos, they’re good enough for me.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Henry was outside, busily making his rounds and reconnecting with the menagerie of animals at the farm. He’d already finished his homework, and Syd told him he could play outside until dinnertime. When David arrived, Henry quickly conscripted him and took off for the pond with a large can of fish food.
Maddie remained behind so she could help in the kitchen with dinner preparations. Right now, Syd was chopping vegetables and Maddie was grating cheese. In fact, Maddie was doing more complaining than grating—which was typical for taco night.
“I fail to understand why we keep buying these mammoth blocks of cheddar.”
“You mean why do I keep buying them?” Syd didn’t bother looking up from her task.
“Yes. You.” Maddie stepped back from the island and waved the ancient cheese grater in the air with disgust. “This damn thing is a relic. And it’s dangerous.”
“It was your father’s.”
“I know it was my father’s. It still has his blood stains on it.”
“Maddie . . .”
“I just don’t get it.” She resumed grating. “I mean—they make those wonderful zipper bags packed with shredded cheese. The dairy aisles
are full of them. You want some shredded cheese? Presto! You just open the bag. No fuss. No muss. And no skin grafts when you’re through.”
“Oh, good lord.” Syd turned around to investigate. “How much have you done so far?”
Maddie tipped her bowl so Syd could assess her handiwork. It contained what generously could be called a trace element of grated cheese.
“Seriously?” Syd returned to her task. “Keep grating.”
“Oh, come on. How much more do you want?”
“More than that,” Syd said over her shoulder. She resumed her energetic chopping.
Maddie muttered an epithet and proceeded to grate. “Where’s mom?”
“She’s outside with Henry and David. They went down to the pond to feed the fish.”
“I wonder if they’d like some of this cheese?”
“Don’t even think about it, sawbones.”
Maddie took a break from her grating and picked up her wine glass. They’d opened a bottle of Invetro because the full-bodied super Tuscan was big enough to stand up to tonight’s menu. Maddie sniffed it and let its dazzling aroma fill up her senses. She took a conservative sip and savored it while she listened to the staccato sound of Syd’s knife contacting the chopping block.
“What are you doing over there? It sounds incredibly tedious.”
“I’m making salsa.”
“Making salsa? What’s wrong with the kind that comes in the jar?”
“Maddie?” Syd turned around again. “Keep it up and you’ll be eating Marshmallow Fluff for dinner.”
Maddie brightened up at once. “Do we have some of that?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“You’ll have to get in line.”
Syd rolled her eyes and walked to the stove to stir the ground meat and seasonings. “I’ll claim prior privilege.”
“That might work.”
“Not that any special inducements are required, but who else wants to kill you?”
“Today, or in general?”
Syd laughed. “Let’s start with in general and go from there.”
“Oh.” Maddie picked up the brick of cheese and gave it a couple of halfhearted grates. “I think I let Lizzy down.”