No Parking

by Valentine Wheeler

  The stenographer cleared her throat. Marianne glanced over at her, surprised—she hadn’t noticed the woman there, typing away. “Mr. Leventi: That’s not true. When my father bought the property. Pause. I misspoke. When my father took possession of the property.”

  “Thank you, Tonya.” The judge turned back to Luke. “You believed he bought the property.”

  Luke sat in silence, eyes darting around the courtroom. Kevin leaned forward over the rail and whispered gleefully, loudly enough for Marianne to hear from the stand, “I bet he’s regretting self-representing now!”

  Lila shushed him, eyes intent on Luke.

  “Mr. Leventi?” Judge Petit prompted.

  He cleared his throat again. “I said I misspoke. I was confused by all the rhetoric.”

  “Ms. Windmere, you may return to your seat.” Marianne stepped down and hurried to the table, dropping into her seat beside Lila. Her heart pounded a staccato beat in her chest, her hands trembling. She’d turned the tables on him, beaten him at his own game, and she should feel thrilled, but what she felt instead was more like a terror hangover after a nighttime scare.

  The judge smiled. “I think I can rule on the adverse possession charge you’ve just brought up, Mr. Leventi. Denied. You had no idea you were illegally occupying a property that you did not own. And as for the will?” She turned to Marianne and Lila. “Ms. Windmere, this will clearly shows your father intended you to have the property, and I’m inclined to believe you’re entitled to the entire building unless Mr. Leventi can produce a record of sale? Or has my rhetoric confused you?” She turned toward Luke and waited for him to respond. He stayed silent.

  Behind Marianne, she heard both Zeke and Joe smother snorts. She took another deep breath, feeling the panic recede. She was safe here. She was safe, and she was winning.

  Judge Petit banged her gavel once. “In the case of Leventi vs. Windmere, I rule that the will in question is valid. Furthermore, I rule that due to Mr. Leventi’s inability to prove either his ownership of suite B or his hostile and open occupation of it, the deed reverts to the original owner and possessor of the original deed—or in this case, his heir.” She stood. “Adjourned.”

  There was a long moment of silence as she picked up her novel and her folder and disappeared out the back door.

  “That’s it? We won?” Marianne turned in her seat to stare at Rana, who had both hands over her mouth. “Oh my god! We won!”

  Kevin leaned forward over the rail to clap Marianne on the shoulder. “You did,” he said, shaking Lila’s hand with his free one. “Congratulations!”

  Across the courtroom, Luke Leventi sat beside his assistant, whispering fiercely. They were so wrapped up in their discussion, pointing fingers and flipping through notes, that they didn’t notice the state trooper calling someone on his radio and then nodding, hanging up, and starting toward the Leventi side of the courtroom. But Marianne did, and she and Rana exchanged a look.

  “Lucas Leventi?” said the officer, stopping in front of the table. “Come with me, please.”

  “I’m speaking with my lawyer,” said Leventi. “Can it wait?”

  “We can do this the easy way,” said the officer, a slight smile on his face, and that’s when Marianne recognized him. “Or we can do this down at the station.”

  One of the many businesses that had been a short-term tenant at what was now Rana’s shop had been a gourmet pasta shop, run by a high school classmate of Marianne’s. That had been back in the mideighties, but the girl’s older brother, Joey, looked exactly the same—just a little wider and a little less hair—as he had when he graduated in 1977, two years ahead of Marianne. He might not have been waiting forty years to arrest Leventi, specifically, but he was certainly enjoying the opportunity to take in the man who had ruined his little sister’s dreams of culinary stardom.

  Kevin leaned forward, voice low. “Tax evasion.”

  Marianne and Rana both turned. “What?” asked Marianne.

  “I got a text from Gerry over in the sheriff’s office, who heard it from his cousin at the state police. That’s what they’re getting him on.”

  “He’s getting arrested?” Rana craned her neck to see the other table. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

  “You should feel good,” said Zeke. “Definitely. I do.”

  “He hasn’t paid income taxes, at least to the state, on any of the rent anyone has paid him since he started renting 121B out,” explained Kevin. “Neither did his father. Luke has paid property tax ever since he took over the business, and I’ll bet he tries to argue that can be used to pay his debt now that he’s definitely not the owner, but I doubt they’ll buy that excuse.”

  “Why would he pay taxes on it?” asked Zeke. “He knew he didn’t own the place.”

  Marianne grinned. “I know the answer to this one.” She turned in her seat as Luke Leventi disappeared through the back door of the courtroom. “He’s been trying to take my building, all the way back then. This was part of the gamble. It was a long con.”

  “How does that work?”

  Joe answered. “If you don’t own a place, but nobody’s using it, you can live on it and pay its taxes and eventually it’s yours.” He shook his head. “That law hasn’t worked out so well for Black folks, generally, or for other people of color, let me tell you.” His lips turned up in a smile. “And it’s not working out for him much better.”

  “What’re you going to do now?” asked Kevin. “You’ve gotten your building back. What happens next?”

  Marianne smiled. “We go home. We get our sign. We run good restaurants.”

  Rana smiled, as well, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We have to talk about my lease too.”

  “Later,” Marianne assured her. “For now, we’re celebrating. And consider this month’s rent paid. We can talk later.” She stood. “I say we go out and celebrate. Drinks on me at the Lazy Dog!” She pointed to the door, and the group filed out, accepting handshakes and congratulations from the crowd in the gallery.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Rana as they stepped out. “I don’t drink, remember?”

  Marianne laughed. “I forgot, sorry. How about this? I’ll buy you a soda and a blooming onion.”

  “Come on,” said Zeke, slinging an arm around Rana’s shoulders. “I can’t drink, either, but I’m going to eat so many jalapeno poppers Marianne’s going to regret offering to pay.”

  Rana’s mouth curled into a smile that her lips fought a losing battle against. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m going to eat some of those jalapeno poppers too.”

  Zeke cheered, and the group piled out onto the street and down the road toward the Lazy Dog.

  Chapter Twenty

  Doris slapped Zeke on the shoulder, making him spray virgin piña colada all over himself and blush dark brown. “You guys did it,” she said gleefully. “You took that bastard down!”

  “I never realized you hated the man so much,” said Marianne. “I mean, he’s awful, but you seem a little more pissed off than most.”

  “Hah!” Doris took a long slug of her beer and handed Zeke a napkin. “He evicted my baby sister!”

  “What?”

  “My kid sister, Tabitha. She lived out in that new block of apartments he built on Greendale back in the late nineties. You know the ones.”

  Marianne did—they looked beautiful from the outside, but apparently were filled with hazards and shoddy workmanship. She nodded.

  “Well, her best friend broke up with her boyfriend—long story, but it was a bad situation—and she moved in with Tabby for a couple weeks until she could find her own place. Problem was, apparently her lease said she’d be the only occupant. I guess somebody said something to Luke, and next thing I knew, they were both crashing in my basement.” She shook her head. “Imagine kicking someone out because they helped a friend.”

  “I don’t have to imagine it,” said Rana. “He nearly did the same to me.”

  Doris smiled, reachi
ng out to put her hand on Rana’s wrist. “I’m glad you’re not getting kicked out,” she said. “Even if I do crave a Coolatta once in a while.”

  Zeke groaned. “Those things are disgusting. I’ll make you an iced latte that’ll blow your mind.”

  “Hey,” said Kevin, pointing at the television in the corner. “Check it out.” He leaned over the bar, asking the bartender to turn the volume up. “They’re talking about the case.”

  Jesse Laurence sat behind his desk at Channel 13, looking stern. “And in local news, get ready for another special election in the towns of Wilshire, Swanley, and Greensborough next month. Karen has the report from Wilshire Courthouse.”

  “Thanks, Jesse. Well, I’m standing outside Wilshire County Courthouse, hours after a court case against incoming Representative Lucas Leventi of the Wilshire Second District. You may recall he won the primary last month in a surprise upset after former Representative Joshua Robertson was appointed Commissioner of Public Health by the Governor. Everyone had assumed that as he was running unopposed in the general election, he’d be taking the seat by default. Now things don’t look like they’ll be that simple when Wilshire heads to the polls again in May, because as soon as the case was decided, the state police took him into custody on charges of tax evasion. Whether Ms. Hechevarria will be running again as an Independent, or whether another candidate will appear in the next few weeks, today’s events will certainly add spice to a race everyone assumed was decided. And while Representative Leventi is, of course, innocent until proven guilty, our sources confirm two things for us: one, campaigns run from behind bars don’t generally end well, and two, the evidence against Representative Leventi is very compelling. For WBSC, I’m Karen Gilcrest.”

  “May?” Zeke grinned widely. “Hey, I’ll be able to vote in that one!”

  Marianne hugged him around the shoulders, laughing. “That’s something to celebrate.”

  “Maybe I’ll run,” mused Kevin. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’d hate it,” said Marianne, frankly.

  Kevin smiled. “You’re probably right.”

  “If you’re bored, I’m sure there’re volunteers needed at the Hechevarria campaign,” said Doris. “It’d be a shame if he won just because he made it on the ballot.”

  Looking thoughtful, Kevin pulled out his phone. “You know, I’ve got Linda Tyler’s number in here somewhere. I bet she could get me in touch with them.” With that, he disappeared.

  “Nice dodge, boss,” said Zeke. “He’ll be running his whole term out of the bakery if you let him run.”

  “I don’t let that man do anything. Not my job anymore.” Marianne raised her glass and clinked it on Zeke’s soda. “To the bakery.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Doris, raising her own bottle. “Let’s celebrate.”

  *

  Things had finally settled down at the bakery, the crowds of well-wishers finally thinning into the usual regular customers and the occasional tourist. Marianne was glad of it—the extra business had been nice, as had seeing old neighbors she hadn’t spoken to in years, but she and Zeke could only handle so much. And she really didn’t want to hire anyone new. She’d never been a news story before, and she didn’t want to be one now.

  There was still the question of suite B—Rana’s restaurant was closed, for now, awaiting the official survey and the new negotiation of leasing, if she wanted to stay at all. Marianne wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. The friendship they’d built, the tentative first flutters of something more; she wasn’t sure how well they’d do once she was Rana’s landlord. But then, she didn’t want to lose her either. What would it be like to go next door and have a stranger there? Would that be worse than having to ask Rana for rent every month? Was it even legal to have a crush on your tenant? She didn’t know.

  What she did know was that Ray Bell was stopping by with what he said was a very nice surprise for her this morning, and she could hear him honking the horn of his big parks truck on the street. When she poked her head out the door, he pointed around behind the building and grinned at her from the drivers’ seat. In the back window of his truck she spotted his German Shepherd, Molly, trying to stick her head out the open sliver. She waved back at Ray, confirming she’d seen him through the open door and handed her tongs to Zeke. “Watch things a few minutes, all right?”

  Zeke nodded, without looking up from his Kindle, but Marianne knew that if someone walked in, he’d have the sense to head back to the counter. Probably. Depended how good the book was.

  She cut through the kitchen and out the back door as Ray pulled into the lot, parking his big city maintenance truck in front of four parked cars. “It’s here,” he said, pulling a drill from his toolbox and a measuring tape from his pocket. “Let me get the screws set up, and we’ll hang it.” He pointed to a large rectangle wrapped in tarp in the bed of the truck. “Take a look.”

  Marianne pulled the tarp back and gasped. She hadn’t expected the sign to look so nice. The letters were sharp, clean black capitals, at least three inches high, and it read, “Three hour parking for customers of 121 Main Street.” In smaller letters below, it continued: “All others will be towed, by order of Swanley City Council.” To get the sign that had been the reason for the whole process and the result felt anticlimactic. Now she had so much more than a parking lot. She had her family’s building, all of it, back under one name.

  Ray hefted the sign, pulling it free of the tarp and carrying it to the wall. A few steps up a ladder and six screws later, the sign hung proudly over their little lot. “It’s a good thing you found that will,” he said. “Otherwise, this wouldn’t have happened. Not ever. You’d be staring at the back of a donut shop and wondering why you had no customers.”

  “It wasn’t me who found the will,” said Marianne. “Zeke Mitchell did; you know that.”

  “It’s folks like you two who are the backbone of this town, you know,” said Ray. “Your dad and grandad and your line and his too—all the way back—have been keeping us fed and happy here. Guardian angels!”

  Marianne laughed. “Ray, you take better care of me than I ever have of you. And besides, without Rana, this wouldn’t have been possible either. You don’t have to be born in this town to love it.” She raised an eyebrow. “There are plenty of Leventis on the town charter, and you see how much good he’s done the place.”

  Ray gave the sign one last tug to make sure it hung securely and then shrugged. “Well, you might be right. Glad we got this back in the family, anyway.”

  “Oh, you know we’re all related to the Leventis somewhere down the line. Small town, white people, we’ve got to be.”

  “I’m kicking him out of the family then. He ain’t welcome any longer at the reunions.” Ray laughed. “I’ll see you around, Marianne.”

  She bid him goodbye and stood a few more minutes, looking at the building her great-grandfather had built on his father’s dream. Windmere was an institution in town, one of the few businesses nearly as old as the town itself, and she thought she might have forgotten what that meant for a while. She’d been too wrapped up in the moment-to-moment life of the bakery rather than the long view. But May Day was coming up in a few months, and looking out at the newly paved, painted parking lot and the small park beyond, she thought maybe it was time to resurrect some of her grandfather’s old traditions.

  The Cairo Grill’s back door swung open, Rana appearing in the sunlight. She smiled at Marianne, coming to stand beside her, looking up at the sign. “We did it,” she said. “We got those people out of the lot.”

  “It took a little more work than I thought it would,” admitted Marianne.

  “It was worth it,” said Rana decisively. “We did a good thing, Marianne.” She nodded, patting Marianne on the shoulder. “I’m cleaning out my oven, but if you’ll be open later, I may come by for a coffee, if that’s all right?”

  Marianne smiled. “You’re always welcome, Rana.”

  Ran
a’s smile widened, showing white teeth. “Well, thank you, neighbor.” She gave the sign one more approving look and then pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and made her way back into her restaurant. Marianne watched her go, a lightness blossoming in her chest. Could it all really work out?

  Joe was sitting with his great-grandson when Marianne got back inside, and he gave her a warm smile. “I ran into Ray Bell out there in the lot,” he said. “He said that lot’s officially all yours now, and the whole building besides. Sounds like a good reason for a celebration.”

  “He’s just angling to get you to make apple pie out of season,” said Zeke, and Joe pointed at him, shaking his head.

  “Make it an early strawberry pie, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Zeke and Joe both stared at her. “What deal?” Joe finally asked suspiciously.

  “I’m bringing back the May Day festival, if I can,” she said. “Free pie for everyone. And, hopefully, other things from our neighbors too.” She smiled. “We’ve got our town back. We need to celebrate.”

  Joe let out a cackle that startled both Marianne and Zeke. “You did well, Marianne. Your great-granddad would be proud of you.” He shook his head. “All those people thought they were the only ones Simon and Lucas were getting to. Should have gotten them to talk to each other earlier.”

  “I didn’t know,” said Marianne. “None of us did. That’s how they got us all.”

  “I hope he enjoys his cell,” said Zeke vehemently. “I hope he has one of those toilets in the middle of the room and a cellmate who says really creepy things to him in the dark.”

  Marianne and Joe both turned to Zeke, whose skin blushed a shade darker than usual. “What?”

  “That was very specific, boy,” said Joe.

  “I watch a lot of prison shows,” Zeke muttered. “Sue me. And you can’t say you wouldn’t hate that if you were in there.”

  “He’s got a point,” said Marianne after a long pause. She cleared her throat, changing the subject. “Anyway. I hope you’re both ready to cancel any May Day plans you might have had.”