Marc exclaimed, “That little twit? But at least he must be honest. Surely they know he’s not tied up with any of this.”
“Not necessarily.” Alex replied. “The grand jury may have considered evidence against him. Just didn’t have enough to indict him. Isaac is the most senior person remaining on the council, so he’s the logical choice,” Alex said.
The attorney continued, “At this point, I’d like to invite acting Mayor Isaac to say a few words.” An uneasy-looking Isaac stepped up to the microphone. He unfolded a crumpled sheet of lined paper and composed his face into what he must have felt was a humble, thoughtful expression. He glanced at the paper and began in a shaky voice, “Fellow citizens of Westbury, this is a dark day indeed.” He turned to acknowledge the other councilmembers lined up behind him with a nod of his head and continued. “We will devote ourselves to resolving the crisis facing our town. We ask for your patience, and your prayers, in the days and weeks ahead. Rest assured, we’ll work together to represent the people of Westbury to the best of our ability.” Isaac smiled weakly at the press as he edged back to allow Chief Thomas to take his place.
“Mayor Wheeler is represented by counsel and has posted bail. He will be released shortly. This is an ongoing criminal investigation, and I can’t discuss anything further.”
Attorney Stetson announced that this concluded the news conference and they wouldn’t take any questions. The council and the chief filed out of the room, with Russell Isaac nodding and waving tentatively to the cameras as he left.
“Now what?” Marc asked.
“If Wheeler is convicted, or steps down, they’ll have to hold a special election,” Alex replied.
“If they’re smart,” Susan interjected “and if they think it’s likely that he’ll be convicted, or that too much dirty laundry will get aired during the trial, he’ll resign now. Holding the special election sooner rather than later will be to their advantage. Gives the opposition less time to organize a campaign—and less opportunity for damaging information to surface. The longer they delay, the better it is for the other side.”
“Exactly,” Alex said. “I talked to Tonya about whether she wants to run. She won’t risk losing the one truly independent voice we have on the council right now. So she’s going to stay put.”
“Makes sense,” Maggie said. “What about you? Will you run?”
“Yes. If I can collect enough signatures to get on the ballot, that is. Marc and I discussed this. The timing is lousy. Our house won’t be ready for months, but at least my practice is back to normal. We’re moving back into our old location next week.”
“This is a critical time for the town,” Marc said. “We need Alex’s vision. I can take care of the house. That’s small stuff, comparatively.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Maggie said. “And I’ll work on your campaign, if you’d like. I’ve been part of local races before. We can get you on the ballot—I’m sure of it. Why don’t we start working on your campaign slogan and platform so we’re ready to go if Wheeler resigns?”
“I was hoping you’d offer,” Alex replied. “I’ll be a long shot. We’ll have to work night and day to pull this off,” he warned.
“Sounds like my kind of deal. Count me in,” Maggie assured him. With a call to action at hand, they all headed off to bed.
Chapter 25
Maggie was busily working at her computer the next morning when Susan appeared, fully tricked out in workout clothes. Oh no, Maggie thought.
“Mom, go get dressed. I went online and found a gym near here. It’s off the town square. When the weather is nice, you can walk. They have a class in an hour that I think we should try. It’s three days a week, and it’ll be perfect for you. So let’s check it out.”
Maggie groaned and was beginning to object when Susan cut her off. “Nope, don’t even start with me. This is for your own good and you know it. Come on. Chop-chop.”
Three hours later, an invigorated Maggie and a vindicated Susan were walking back home. “You were right. That class was just what I needed. I’m so out of shape. I’ll be sore and cursing you tomorrow. But it felt good.”
“You’ll keep at it?” Susan asked. “I want you to stay healthy and well for a long time.”
“No worries,” Maggie assured her. “I’ll keep at it. And I’m not that old, you know.”
As they turned the corner and came out onto the square, they spotted two TV news trucks in front of Town Hall.
“What now?” Maggie asked.
“Let’s go see. We’re right here,” Susan suggested.
“Looking like this? I don’t have any makeup on. And I was sweating like a pig in there.”
“Oh, Mom. You always look gorgeous. You don’t even need makeup. And nobody’s going to be looking at you anyway.”
They climbed the steps of Town Hall and entered the large, high-ceilinged foyer. A group was gathered near a podium set off to one side. They were all waiting for someone. Susan spotted Tonya, who waved them over.
“Wheeler’s lawyers set this up,” she leaned in and told them. “We’re expecting him to resign. There will be a special election. Alex will run. We’ll start today to gather signatures to get his name on the ballot.”
Before either of them could respond, Wheeler entered the room, flanked by Russell Isaac and two of his lawyers. Wheeler stepped to the microphone and, as anticipated, resigned. He read a prepared statement avowing his innocence, thanking the citizens for their support, promising to fight the false charges brought against him, and endorsing Russell Isaac. The assembled group greeted his remarks with stony silence. He was visibly shaken by the chilly reception and stepped away from the microphone.
Bill Stetson, who had been standing at the far side of the room, now took over. “Ladies and gentlemen. The town code provides that a special election must be held within sixty days and that anyone qualified to run for the office must submit a petition signed by three thousand registered voters in order for their name to appear on the ballot. Petition forms are available in the clerk’s office. The special election will be held the third Tuesday in May. More information will be forthcoming. I believe Mr. Isaac would like to say a few words.”
“I can’t stomach any more of him,” Tonya hissed. “He’ll be announcing his candidacy. I’m outta here.”
Maggie and Susan stayed put. “I want to assess the opposing candidate,” Maggie whispered to Susan.
“Citizens of Westbury,” Russell Isaac began, “I’m honored and humbled by the opportunity to serve our town as acting mayor. I believe the charges leveled against Mayor Wheeler are false,” he said as he turned toward Wheeler. “I admire the mayor for stepping aside in the best interests of the town. We’ve got a lot of work to do, and I promise you I’m devoted to solving our pressing economic problems. I’ve decided to run for mayor in the special election. I’ll be asking for your signatures on my nominating petitions and your vote in May. Together, we can steer Westbury to a bright future. Thank you all for coming,” he concluded.
Someone has been coaching him on his public speaking, Maggie surmised. He was pompous and oily, but had powerful allies. He would be hard to beat. She picked up a petition form and headed home to get started.
***
At seven that evening, fifteen people squeezed themselves into the conference room at New Way Realty to organize Alex Scanlon’s campaign. “You people sure know how to mobilize,” Susan whispered to her mother. “I thought this town was going to be boring.”
“Yep. It’s a regular Peyton Place,” Maggie answered. “Oh, never mind,” she replied to Susan’s quizzical look. Could she really not know about Peyton Place?
Alex cleared his throat and took the floor. “Thank you all for coming. We’ve got a lot of work to do to win this election. This is a turning point for Westbury. We can’t fail. With your help, we won’t.” The group turned encouraging eyes on the speaker. “Our first priority is to gather three thousand signatures. Sam and Joan are going
to collect them from town employees. Anyone with money in the pension fund should want a change.”
“We think we’ll get half of the signatures we need from employees. We’re going to hold at least two meetings and others have volunteered to circulate petitions,” Sam interjected.
“I’ll carry a petition with me wherever I go,” Tim said. “We’ve got the regional realtors’ meeting next Friday. I’ll have it available at my open houses. I’ll be able to get two or three hundred signatures.”
“Pete told me he’ll circulate them at his restaurant. I’ll take petitions to the shopkeepers on the square and ask them to put them by their registers. And I’ll have one at my reception desk,” John promised.
“We plan to spend the day at the mall tomorrow. We’ll have time to get signatures there,” Maggie was surprised to hear Susan say. She caught John’s eye, and they smiled at each other across the room.
“Terrific. Thank you all,” Alex said. “Send me an email at the end of each day so I can keep a running total. We want to shoot for an extra five hundred signatures, in case some of the signers aren’t eligible voters. I’ve heard from a number of lawyers and accountants I know and they’re helping, too.”
“When will you announce your candidacy?”
“Today is Wednesday. Ideally, I’d like to have the necessary petitions signed by next Monday and confirm with the clerk that my name will be on the ballot. Then I can get press coverage and would like to make my announcement on live TV Tuesday morning. So that’s what we’re shooting for.”
“We should be able to make that happen,” Sam said. “What help will you need after that?”
“This will be a fast campaign season. Which is good because I don’t have much of a war chest. Maggie has offered to be my campaign manager. Would you like to address this, Maggie?”
“Sure. Fortunately, the climate in town right now favors change. We don’t want to underestimate Isaac, however. And for all we know, he’s knee-deep in this corruption. Some of the voters will see him as experienced and capable. There are also voters who won’t vote for a gay man, under any circumstances. Sad, but true.
“Here’s how we get Alex elected,” she continued. “We post campaign literature on every doorknob in town. We’ll need lots of help to do this. Ellen offered to print door hangers at cost. We arrange to have Alex speak to groups as often as possible—every night of the week and all day on Saturday and Sunday. Please ask any group you’re involved with to invite Alex to speak to them. Consider hosting a ‘meet the candidate’ event in your home. You don’t have to provide refreshments. If you do, coffee and cookies are enough. Invite your neighbors and co-workers. I’m going to have Sunday afternoon chats with the candidate at Rosemont until the election. If we have more speaking opportunities than Alex can attend, I’ll go in his place and talk up his platform. Would anyone else like to do that?” she asked. Maggie had never seen so many people shake their heads no so quickly.
“Oh, come on,” Maggie said. “It’s fun to do. You’ll be surprised at the people you’ll meet and how much you’ll learn. This campaign will be exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. Tonya plans to get the election board to sponsor a candidate’s debate. The media should cover it. Television advertising is too expensive, but we’re hoping to get Alex interviewed on local TV and radio stations. A pretty simple strategy, really,” Maggie concluded.
“I’ll bet that I speak for everyone here when I say we’re with you all the way. Whatever you need, just ask. You’re a brave man to take this on,” Tim said.
“Okay,” Alex declared. “That’s the plan. Let’s get these petitions signed. Maggie and I will be busy creating our platform. I’ve already started on my talking points. I promise you that I’ll work as hard as I possibly can. I appreciate your confidence and support. I won’t let you down.”
John collected his petition form and made his way over to Susan and Maggie. “So, ladies, you’ve got a mall day planned for tomorrow? Sounds exhausting. I’m guessing you’ll be way too tired to cook. How about I take you out to dinner?”
“That would be awesome,” Susan replied before Maggie could even open her mouth.
“I’ll pick you up at seven. And since you’re becoming an activist, I think I’d better take you to the hangout long favored by local politicians. Seafood and steaks. And cigars, if you want them. Will that be okay?”
Maggie laughed. “I’m not an activist, and yes, it sounds great. See you then.”
Chapter 26
Maggie and Susan traded a soggy day for the amped-up halogens and oxygenated air of the mall, where it’s always bright and cheerful. The stores were full of colorful, easy spring clothes. They spent the morning trying on armloads of dresses at a local boutique. Susan had no luck, but Maggie was having one of those magical shopping days where everything fits, looks great, and goes together. They finally lost track of how many things she had piled up at the register. “For heaven’s sake, Mom, you’re in the zone. Just go with it. You haven’t treated yourself to anything new for over a year. Your wardrobe is so business-y. You need some fun stuff. Get it all and take it home to think about it. You can always return stuff. I’m telling you, the shopping gods are smiling on you.”
Maggie reluctantly followed her daughter’s advice and sheepishly loaded her shopping bags into the back of her SUV. Where in the world did she think she was going to wear all of this? She locked her car and turned to Susan. “We promised, so let’s find out where we can collect signatures.”
The bored-looking young man at the information desk said he didn’t really know (and obviously didn’t care) but thought they could stand by the east entrance, near the food court. They had shopped through lunch, so they bought a snack to tide them over until dinner and solicited signatures from shoppers for the next two hours. Most people were aware that Wheeler had resigned but didn’t know that there was going to be a special election. Some were interested in details about the process and who Alex was and what he stood for, while most just wanted to sign the petition to help them and get into the mall to do their shopping. Either way, they were pleased to have collected one hundred and eight signatures by the time they headed home to change for dinner.
***
The rain had stopped and the evening was warm as a caress. Maggie decided to wear one of her new dresses. It was a shimmery coral, with a halter neckline outlined in coral and turquoise beads. Susan had insisted she buy it. She rummaged around in her closet for her dark coral pashmina to throw over her shoulders and slipped on strappy high-heeled sandals.
Maggie appraised herself in the mirror. She had to admit she looked good. Like her mother before her, she was aging well. Pretty as a young woman, her mother had really pulled away from the pack in her later years. A good trait to have inherited, she thought. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was overdressed—like she should be on a cruise ship—not going to dinner on a damp Thursday evening after Easter. She decided she would change into something less fancy when the doorbell rang, Eve started barking, and Susan yelled, “He’s here!”
Drat! It was twenty of seven. Why on earth was he so early? She had expected him to be late, what with finishing up at the clinic and all. Susan burst into her room as she was reaching for the zipper. “You look fabulous! What are you doing? Don’t take that off. It’s perfect. Come on. John’s here. And I’m starved.”
John was handsome in a charcoal suit and silver tie. Maggie let the wrap slip to her elbows and was rewarded with an appreciative glance. Being noticed by a man when you’re wearing a new dress never gets old, she thought.
“You look lovely, both of you,” he said as he gave Maggie a kiss on the cheek and extended his hand to Susan. He flushed as she took it and pulled him in for a hug. Maggie smiled at the two of them. “Did you get either of these beautiful dresses today?”
“Mom did,” Susan replied. “She scored big time. I think she can wear something new every day for the next month. That sales lady now has
a new best friend.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Maggie protested. “But luck was in my favor today, I have to admit. And we collected one hundred and eight signatures on our petition,” she said as they climbed into John’s car. “How was your day? Did you get anyone to sign?”
“Busy day. I knocked off a bit early so I could get myself cleaned up to take two beautiful women out to dinner,” he said, turning to wink at Susan. “We collected a dozen signatures. Almost everyone who came in signed. We don’t have that much traffic. I talked to Pete. He took petitions to the other businesses on the square, and they all have them at their registers. Have you talked to Alex today?”
“No. He hasn’t come home yet. It’ll be handy with him living at Rosemont during the campaign. We can have midnight staff meetings every day.”
John swung the car into an alley that ran between two old brick buildings and pulled into a parking lot behind a nondescript-looking restaurant. A small sign by the back door bore its name—Stuart’s—and declared, “You’re here. Come on in through our kitchen.”
John gave the car to the valet on duty and they entered the turbulent kitchen where a trio of cooks worked frantically. Waiters ran in and out of the swinging doors at the other end of the room, shouldering trays loaded with plates of steaks, chops, and seafood. The aromas of beef and garlic and baking bread engulfed them. They filed along a runner that led past the chaos of the grill to a quiet, dark-paneled dining room. The tuxedoed host led them to a high upholstered booth along one wall away from the kitchen.
“Good,” John said. “This is right where I asked that we be seated. You can see into the bar and the whole restaurant from here. This place is the good-ole-boy bastion in this town. Most of the town’s major business deals have been struck here. Political futures have been born. And if a man wants to escape from his wife, he comes to the bar, and if she calls, the bartender says that he hasn’t seen her husband in weeks. Not that I endorse that, mind you. Since you’re going to be a political mover and shaker in Westbury, you’ll need to be known around here.”
Coming to Rosemont Page 17