Meow Mayhem

by Lickel, Lisa;

  Mom and Adam and I talked about the state of the federal government and gas prices and the weather.

  When he was ready to leave, I walked him out to his car.

  He leaned against the driver’s side door, key in hand. “Thank you, Ivy, for tonight. I enjoyed talking to your mother, even if the conversation could have been about a more pleasant subject. She’s certainly methodical. You’re all right with her plan?”

  I was touched. Stanley would not have strung so many words together at one time. I took a step toward Adam. “Yes. It seems harmless. Adam—do you think you’ll stay here, now that Donald is gone?”

  Adam thrust the keys in his pocket and reached for my shoulders. I stepped willingly into his embrace. It felt like home. “Donald wasn’t the main reason I came.”

  “I am glad he introduced us,” I said into his collar. Adam gave me a little squeeze and let go. It felt like a promise, not a brush off.

  “So am I.” His smile lingered. “In a way that makes me feel responsible for you and your safety. Hopefully we’ll get some insight into who understood what Donald was trying to do here—who had his back and who had it in for him.” He let me go and opened the car door. “I’ll pick you up at quarter to seven tomorrow night.”

  6

  The next day I spent haggling with my insurance representative regarding the robbery.

  After supper, Mom told me that she would not attend the meeting.

  “I don’t want the council to think we’re ganging up on them,” she said. “And I want to pick your brains about your impressions of the council members and audience when you return.”

  I spent fifteen minutes, a record stretch of time for me, trying to decide what to wear that evening. I opted for nice gray slacks—I managed to stay size ten, even though my job required I sit a lot—and a soft peachy blouse; even a necklace.

  Mom gave me the once-over, a speculative gleam in her eyes, but refrained from commenting.

  I wondered if I would feel different, meeting Adam tonight after that hug he left me with last night. I had been awake longer than normal afterward, ready to test the romance waters again, but not sure how to go about it.

  When Adam came, I went out to him. He wore a leather vest over a white shirt and black jeans. A scarf at his neck hid much of the scarring, but I could see where the raised and mottled flesh curved along his arm under the rolled-up sleeves.

  Mom never brought up the subject of his burns. She was pretty good at deciding what was her business, and sometimes, what wasn’t. By the way she spoke to him last night, and worked on the chart with him, I could tell she trusted him.

  I trusted her. And those instincts helped me feel comfortable now in his presence. “How was the shop today? Colleen seemed like a quick learner,” I said, as we drove the few blocks to city hall.

  “She wasn’t in today,” Adam reminded me. “But you’re right, I think she’ll do fine. Have you been in touch with the insurance agent about replacing your equipment?”

  I spent a couple of hours that morning at the police station faxing copies of the report to my company. I had filed a claim after the electrical storm a few months ago. They had covered half the replacement value of my machines. I could have hit the off button on the surge protector, I knew that, so the accident was half my fault. Robbery was not my fault, and after two hours, e-mailing photographs, and having Officer Ripple speak to him at one point, the agent said he would call for a second estimate on replacement value and make sure I had a check or a store credit at the nearest electronics outlet by Monday. “We finally made a deal,” I told Adam. “I should be up and running again on Monday.”

  “In the meantime, what will happen? You’ve got open cases, I assume.”

  His thoughtfulness made me want to place my head on his shoulder and lay claim. “I’ve got my personal phone and answering machine. I can use a computer at the library to access my website and e-mail. It’s not a tragedy. The mayor’s office had been my most pressing need, but now…”

  “You’re welcome to use my office at the store,” Adam offered.

  I was grateful. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

  He whistled low at the amount of traffic when we got close to city hall. “Do you mind a walk?” He found a spot two blocks away and parked. As we closed our doors and met on the sidewalk, he asked, “All set? Do you plan to speak?”

  “No. They won’t have room for everyone. This is wild.” I followed him into the building to the council chamber on the first floor.

  Standing room only, like a rock concert or ball game, only in a 1970s-style cement block and fake paneling, plastic yellow curtain-kind of way. An inadequate few rows of tan folding chairs had been set up in front of curving tables outfitted with microphones and cups of water for the council members representing the four city wards. Other city officials were there to report, as well. Name plaques rested in front of each place. I nodded at Yolanda, who was apparently representing the newspaper. She smiled briefly, then resumed her professional, detached expression and fidgeted with a recorder and a notepad.

  Adam picked up a copy of the agenda at the door and we noted when the public would be allowed to speak. “At the end, there,” he pointed out.

  “Good. Then we’ll be able to hear the city engineer’s report first,” I whispered against the quiet murmur of the crowd.

  Council members settled in.

  I wrinkled my nose. What was that smell? Was somebody grilling burgers in the corner? I wouldn’t have been surprised. I waved at Marion, who sat next to Donald’s empty seat.

  Rupert Murphy called the meeting to order precisely at 7:00 and led the pledge of allegiance and a moment of silence in honor of our dearly departed elected official, Mayor Donald Conklin.

  Marion called the roll.

  Then the circus began.

  The overhead shine reflected in whatever goo Murphy used to slick his black hair. “I call the meeting to order. The first item on the agenda,” he said in his nasal monotone.

  “Say, Rupert, why doncha cut to the chase and tell us what in tarnation’s going on around here? Who’s the new mayor gonna be?”

  He jerked his head up at the interruption.

  I couldn’t make out the questioner.

  Murphy frowned as though he hadn’t expected that one. His mouth twitched. He held a hand over the mic as the council member next to him, Jeff Hanley, leaned over and whispered.

  “The special meeting to discuss the replacement for Mayor Conklin will be held on…”

  Marion spoke up. “July first.”

  “Why so long?”

  I still couldn’t see who spoke, but I agreed.

  So did the crowd.

  Murphy had a hard time making himself heard. “We have to go over the constitution and bylaws with the city lawyers. We’ve never had this kind of thing happen before, and we want to get our ducks in a row. Tonight’s meeting…”

  More “aws,” “boos,” “shushes,” and “gwan’s” squelched Murphy’s rehearsed speech.

  Another voice boomed above the crowd, one that I recognized.

  Yolanda in full reporter mode. “Can you answer just one question?”

  Murphy looked at her with an expression that clearly said, No, I don’t want to.

  Yolanda stood, pen poised. “Why did you sign a work order telling maintenance not to clean on the fourth floor last week?”

  Murphy paled to nearly the color of his dress shirt, a stark contrast with the nondescript, standard dark suit—public official male dress code. “No questions at this time.”

  The crowd took a collective breath before voicing its cumulative displeasure.

  Adam squeezed my arm gently and took a slightly more protective stance.

  Officer Ripple’s boss, Chief Gene Hackman, no kidding, stood up at that point. “People! This is the regular monthly meeting of the Apple Grove City Council. I understand you have questions. President Murphy told you they’d be answered in a few days. If you
cannot control yourselves, I will have to call in some of my officers to help you out of the room. Do you want that?”

  “So, you’re saying nothing about Conklin tonight?” someone asked.

  “No,” Murphy said. “Just regular business. And our deepest condolences to the family.”

  “How can you conduct business without the mayor?”

  I had wondered that myself, until Adam whispered in my ear a reminder that the mayor reports to city council.

  About a third of the crowd pushed out the door after that.

  Adam stood in front of me and took most of the jostling.

  Murphy called a recess until those people left.

  We scrambled for vacated seats just before the real meeting began.

  Chief Hackman reported on public safety. My robbery was duly noted. All eyes in the crowd were on me for that moment. I folded my arms and stared right at Murphy.

  The representative for Public Utilities reported on water flow, sewage treatment, roadways, and upcoming snowplow season projections.

  I yawned through my nose to appear polite and not breathe in any more body or spoiled grease smell, and re-crossed my legs.

  Finally, public comments were next.

  I admired Adam who sat, apparently serenely, through the whole thing, while I struggled to sit still.

  “Audience comments. Please keep it brief,” Murphy called, with an eye on the clock. “Come to the microphone in the aisle, there, state your name and address first,” he instructed. He gave the collected group a raised-brow glance, as if threatening to cut off the first person who spoke past thirty seconds.

  A heavy-set man dressed for a morning behind a deli counter, and the proud owner of the rancid oil odor I noted as he brushed past me, ambled across the industrial blue carpet to the microphone. “Tiny Alnord, one-oh-one Lombardy Lane. I wanna know what you’re doing, lettin’ in all kinds of competition for us little guys. What did I ever do to deserve this?”

  “What’re you talking about, Tiny?” Murphy asked.

  No wonder he smelled like—I blinked when Granger turned to point a beefy paw in our direction. “Him. Been taking my business left and right.”

  “Tiny, you own the buffet. Since when did you start selling books?”

  “Ain’t books. Coffee. Mister highfalutin’ over there’s been stealing my coffee customers.”

  A couple of guffaws issued from the head table. “Is that what you call it, Tiny?” Council member Jeff Hanley spoke up.

  “Time we had something we could recognize as coffee in this town,” Hanley’s neighbor, Stewart, said.

  Murphy slapped his gavel once. The remaining audience members had been recruited by Tiny, apparently, as a perturbed-sounding buzz of underlying comments about strangers and expensive coffee and a general shuffling started up.

  “How can he say that?” I heard someone whisper loudly from behind me.

  “So, what’re you gonna do?” Tiny asked. “He’s using up more water, and that’ll make the price of everything go up, or our antiquitated system break down. I can’t afford—”

  “Antiquated. Tiny, I never saw so many people downtown as I did last week, come to shop and check out a new store,” Murphy said. “I had to wait to get a seat at your diner.”

  I received the benefit of his attention next.

  “Well, then.” Tiny pointed, “Her. “Used to be a body didn’t need any fancy messenger. You just came in and pretty soon everybody knew what was going on. Who needed work, who had to shut down a day and what for, when—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Murphy rapped the gavel.

  I sat up straight.

  Adam touched my arm.

  “Next,” Murphy called.

  Tiny shuffled away, but not far enough. By sheer will I ordered my nostrils not to dilate.

  The audience rustled and muttered, but no one got up to defend Tiny.

  No free coffee tomorrow at the buffet, I’d bet.

  Yolanda had not bothered to make notes about Tiny’s complaint.

  Marion adjusted her tape recorder.

  Adam walked to the microphone.

  “Mr. Thompson, welcome,” Murphy said first.

  “Adam Truegood Thompson, one-eleven Main.” He spoke in a friendly voice. “Thank you.” He turned to Tiny. “Mr. Alnord, I certainly don’t want any bad blood between us. In fact, my question tonight deals with the aging water and sewer plant in Apple Grove.”

  Yolanda tightened the grip on her pen.

  Adam faced the council. “I understand that Mayor Conklin, God rest his soul, went to considerable effort to secure a grant to update the municipal services. The fact that the mayor was willing to go to such lengths for his city is one of the reasons I decided to branch out from the Chicago suburbs. I just wondered when the updates to the system would begin.”

  I counted four council members who stared at their microphones, including Hanley, who was the chairman of the sewage commission under the auspices of the Public Utilities Committee.

  The murmur from the crowd rose.

  Murphy pounded the gavel. “Mr. Thompson, where did you come by this privileged, confidential, and unconfirmed information?”

  “From Mayor Conklin himself. Three months ago, when we sat down to draw up a business agreement with the tax credits he offered, also by way of grant.” Adam stood at the microphone, calm.

  “I told them.” Georgine Crosby twisted in her seat to fix Murphy with a laser glare, “It would be foolish to upgrade when we need a whole new plant. And that will raise taxes. That’s why I voted no. And so did you.”

  “I understood the mayor said you were given five years to complete the work,” Adam added helpfully.

  “From when? Rupert Murphy, I demand an explanation!” Crosby’s face seemed to swell. Two bright red patches appeared on her cheeks.

  Three elderly audience members stood up.

  “What do you mean, raise my taxes? I can’t afford no more,” a white-haired gentleman called out.

  “Now wait just a minute!” Tiny was on his feet again, raging in odoriferous glory toward the council table. “Tax credits! To strangers! You gotta be kiddin’. How’d Donald get money for the sewer and not for us who live here?” He halted near Yolanda. “You better be putting this in the paper, Yolanda!”

  Marion’s eyes grew huge, her mouth gaping in surprise. Mayhem on the Apple Grove city council apparently was a rarity.

  Six people left the room, shaking their heads. The phones would be busy tonight as people passed on the news. Other audience members advanced on the head table, demanding information. Hackman got up and demanded the people keep back. The noise of the gavel grew fainter under the volume of shouting that erupted.

  Murphy yelled, “The tax credits are for the taxpayers, you idiot!”

  Adam threaded his way back and grabbed my arm. “I think we have our answer.” He hustled us out of the room as Yolanda’s camera flashed.

  We made it out to the parking lot before I started giggling. “Who knew a dozen old folks could make such a racket? It’s like an attack scene from the movies, or something,” I managed to get out. “Aren’t you glad we moved to Apple Grove?”

  He pulled me into his arms. “I sure am.” He held back to look at me, sober in an instant. “It’s hard to imagine any of those folks would have killed the mayor, no matter how much they want to keep Apple Grove the same.”

  “How did someone like Donald end up here? With his business acumen and talent, he could have settled anywhere in the world. And married to someone like Margaret…” I shuddered. “I find that the hardest thing to believe.”

  “Twelve million dollars is a lot of money. You saw as well as I did that at least four people on the council besides Murphy thought something was going on. I wonder about the city engineer,” Adam said, as he released his hold, escorted me to his truck, and opened the door.

  “Thompson!” A gruff male voice spoke from the shadow of the building not touched by the street
light.

  I stood close to Adam, who took a casual step back with me, placing us behind the car door.

  “Yes? Who’s there?”

  “Someone who’s got his eye on you and your girlfriend, there. This is just a friendly warning. Don’t get mixed up in things that don’t concern you. In fact, the both of you should pack up and leave Apple Grove. The Conklins don’t need your interference.”

  “We don’t believe you,” I shouted, foolishly brave, clutching my big, strong Adam by the shirt front. “What if we don’t want to leave?”

  Smarter than I, Adam gripped my elbow and encouraged me to duck into the passenger seat. He moved quickly to get into the driver’s side and start the engine. He pulled away from the curb.

  I held my breath, waiting for a reprimand. When none came, I stared at him.

  His mouth quirked. “The Conklins?” he said. “All of them? I think this has gone on long enough. Something about that van at their house still bothers me. Remember—when we went to visit? You recall it was backed right up against the little building Donald had for Tut?”

  I nodded, sad about Tut and poor Donald. With the mayor dead and his wife out of town, what had happened to his cat? He deserved to be cared for. But how did a van fit in? “You think Tut might be there, forgotten?”

  “Or stolen. It’s time to go back there and check it out.”

  I closed my eyes and nodded. “Maus aren’t that valuable, are they?”

  “Not just any Mau,” he said. “Donald’s Mau. You told me Margaret didn’t answer you when you asked if you could care for him, and then Letty said there was no cat there.”

  “I hope we’re not the only ones worried about him.”

  7

  The gates to the Conklin property stood ajar, casting eerie shadows on the lawn from the flickering jets at the top of the posts on either side. They weren’t inviting. Moonlight wavered as clouds passed.

  I glanced at Adam in apprehension.

  He only nodded. “I have a small flashlight,” he said, as if testing my resolve.