“If we could call this meeting for November sixteenth to order, please,” Holly says into the small microphone on the podium. “My apologies—we’re nearing standing room only. Please find a spot wherever you can.” She looks around, nodding at the empty chairs sprinkled throughout the crowd so those standing along the walls can find seats.
Wyatt Bender stands up at the back of the room and politely holds his cowboy hat out to to Bonnie, indicating that she should have his seat. Bonnie’s face goes pink as she lifts her chin an inch or two, but she takes Wyatt’s spot anyway, giving him a sidelong glance as she does.
“We’ve got several items on the agenda today, so I’d like to get started,” Holly says, bending forward slightly to speak into the microphone. The crowd settles, and voices are lowered as people whisper to their neighbors. Finally, the room falls quiet. “Okay, first of all I’d like to thank you for coming, and to ask for a show of hands of registered voters in attendance.”
Hands go up around the dining room and Heddie takes a full head count.
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to get some of the smaller items checked off the agenda for this month before we get to the big ticket item.” A surge of chatter ripples through the room. “First off,” Holly says in a louder voice, hoping to talk over the voices and keep things moving. “Ellen Jankowitz has put forward a motion to approve the introduction of a new species to the island.”
Heads turn all around the room as people search for Ellen. She and Carrie-Anne have closed the shop to be at the meeting, and they stand up now, Carrie-Anne with a large piece of poster board in her hands and Ellen with a sheet of paper.
“Come on up and present your request, ladies.” Holly waves them to the front of the room. Carrie-Anne stands next to the podium and turns the poster board around so it faces the crowd. “Is this an actual photo of our potential new resident?” Holly prompts, widening her eyes to let Ellen and Carrie-Anne know they should start talking.
“It is,” Ellen says, clearing her throat. The women are both wearing knee-length denim skirts and blouses, and Ellen’s wild, curly mane of hair has been tamed with two clips. “This is Madonna, and she lives in Colorado.”
“Did she say ‘Madonna’?” Mrs. Agnelli asks loudly from the front row. “As in Our Lady? Is this a biblical donkey? Are we talking Abraham and Jacob and Moses here?” She squints at the picture glued to the poster board.
“I think it’s more like the Material Donkey,’” Carrie-Anne pipes up, looking at Ellen for confirmation. “As in burning crosses, pointy bras, and Sean Penn.”
Mrs. Agnelli’s frown deepens as she turns to Iris Cafferkey for clarification.
“So,” Holly hurries to move things forward, “tell us more about Madonna the donkey—or Madonkey, if you will.” The crowd titters.
“Good one, Holly,” Ellen says, laughing appreciatively at Holly’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Um, she’s from Colorado, and she currently lives in a shelter that searches for families who want to adopt displaced animals.”
“How does a donkey get displaced?” Joe Sacamano calls out from the center of the room.
“Is this a riddle?” Jimmy Cafferkey says to him, turning his upper body to face Joe. “Like ‘why did the chicken cross the road?’”
“Nah, it’s a legitimate question, but if you feel a limerick coming on, then I’m all ears, Cafferkey.” Joe scratches his whiskers and turns back to Ellen and Carrie-Anne. “Is he from a zoo?”
“She,” Ellen corrects. “Madonna is a girl donkey.”
“Of course—my mistake,” Joe says expansively, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And why does Lady Madonna need a home?”
“Lots of animals around the country suffer from abuse, abandonment, and neglect—not just cats and dogs.” Ellen consults the paper in her hand. “Donkeys are less likely to find homes than horses and even potbellied pigs, but they’re curious and smart, and they can be trained.”
“Where are we going to put Madonkey?” Buckhunter shouts from the back of the room. His arms are still folded across his chest, but he’s taken the cigar out of his mouth. From the mirth on his face, he looks to be on the verge of laughter.
“Well, most of you have correctly identified November as Poe Month at the coffee shop, and the funds from all of my crafts will go towards Madonna’s adoption costs, and to build a pen behind our cottage.”
Cap stands up from his seat in the front row, right at the center of the dining room. He’s clean and shaved, and looking as sober as a newborn. For the first time in a long time, he resembles the old Cap—the one who didn’t barge into village council meetings drunk and decide to upend the local political infrastructure on a whim.
“Question for you, ladies,” Cap says politely. His face is wiped clean of the scowl he’d worn at Mistletoe Morning Brew the last time he and Holly had confronted one another, and he’s looking at Ellen and Carrie-Anne as though he’s never been inebriated enough to offer to show them what they’ve been missing by taking men off their dating menu. “What do we do if Madonna gets here and doesn’t take to all of us? Or if we don’t take to her?” He looks at the crowd, palms turned to the ceiling. “I’d make an off-color suggestion here about the things we could do to rid ourselves of an unfriendly donkey, but that would be unseemly behavior for a man who’s about to ask for your vote.”
The women in the crowd cover their mouths and shake their heads, and some of the men look like they’ve just been offered a whiff of burning garbage.
“That won’t happen,” Ellen says firmly, visibly steeling herself to square off with Cap. “Donkeys are loyal and strong, and Carrie-Anne and I will take full responsibility for her care and well-being. I think the issue at hand is simply getting approval to bring a new animal onto the island, not whether anyone is interested in trying donkey kabobs if it doesn’t work out.”
“Ellen and Carrie-Anne have a solid plan in place for Madonkey,” Holly says, addressing the crowd again and stepping in to stop Cap from responding. “As mayor, I’m confident they’ve done their research and are prepared for the responsibility. I’ve also looked into the pros and cons of having a donkey on the island, and frankly, the fact that she’ll eat up our weeds like they’re candy far outweighs any of the negatives I could come up with.”
“Donkeys are really wonderful to have as pets,” Ellen says, pointing at the poster Carrie-Anne is still holding up. “Look at those sweet eyes. She’ll be our pet, but you’re all welcome to come and see her anytime you like.”
“Okay then.” Holly clasps her hands on top of the podium. “Let’s start with a verbal yay for those in favor of introducing a donkey to Christmas Key via the adoption of this lovely girl here.” She holds a hand in front of the poster like she’s introducing a grand prize on a game show.
The crowd gives a loud, synchronized “Yay.”
“And those who are opposed, let’s do a verbal nay.” Holly looks out into the crowd, waiting; there are no dissenters. “That was easy.” She smiles at Carrie-Anne and Ellen. “Congratulations—looks like you two are going to be donkey moms.”
Carrie-Anne and Ellen hug each other excitedly.
“So everyone swing by Mistletoe Morning Brew this month and pick up a set of coasters and a latte to support Madonkey’s adoption,” Holly says in closing.
Heddie is furiously scribbling notes in shorthand on her paper as Holly talks. “I’m not sure we got 100% verbal confirmation,” Heddie whispers up to her from her seat next to the podium. “But there were zero who spoke up as not in favor, so shall I just say it was a full consensus?”
Holly covers the microphone with one hand. “Works for me. What’s up next?”
“New business proposition,” Heddie says, scanning the agenda with the eraser of her pencil and tapping the next item on the docket.
“Right.” Holly uncovers the microphone and looks out into the crowd again. “Next up, we have a proposition for a new business here on Christmas Key, an
d I believe all of the documents and bank paperwork are in order, correct?” She looks at Heddie again.
“Everything is submitted.”
“Ray and Millie Bradford would like to open a salon on Main Street in the empty corner suite in Poinsettia Plaza. Millie, did you want to give us a brief overview?”
Millie stands in front of her chair on the right side of the room. “Good morning,” she says, taking in the crowd with an easy smile. “Ray and I would like to open a salon called Scissors & Ribbons. We’ll offer full hair services as well as manicures and pedicures, and we’re hoping to add massages to the menu at some point.” Millie’s auburn hair is cut short, and she wears small gold knots on her earlobes. Because she owned a salon in Pennsylvania for more than twenty years, she’s already the island’s go-to hairdresser when anyone needs to color their grays or get a trim. No one questions the idea of Millie running a salon, and several of the women actually break out in soft applause. “Bringing a masseuse to the island is something that will take time, but we feel like there’s definitely a call for basic services right now,” Millie says. “I’m excited to get the salon up and running.”
“Thank you, Millie.” Holly notices the crowd shifting and looking restless in front of her. It’s not as if they aren’t excited at the prospect of donkeys and professionally permed hair, but most of the islanders are eager to see the real show, and Holly knows it. “New businesses don’t need to be called to an official vote, particularly when all the paperwork is in order. If anyone has a substantial objection to the business or the idea, this is the time to speak up and carry on a productive discussion. If not, we’ll move on with the meeting and Ray and Millie will move forward with Scissors & Ribbons. Questions or objections?”
Holly looks around the room, her hands resting on both sides of the podium. Everywhere she looks, people are nodding their heads. No one objects to the business idea, and Millie sits back down next to Ray, who puts his arm around her shoulders and leaves it there.
“Okay, that brings us to the last order of business, which is the upcoming mayoral election.” The words stick in her throat, but Holly is determined to forge ahead. “As you all know, I’ve served the island as mayor for nearly three years now, and Cap Duncan has decided to challenge my seat.” Most of the faces in the crowd are blank, but Holly knows in her heart that she’ll have the majority of their votes. Her eyes seek out Buckhunter and Bonnie and Fiona for reassurance. She goes on. “It’s required that we campaign for a full thirty days after publicly declaring the race, so I’ll call for a vote at our next village council meeting, which is December twenty-first.”
Cap stands and approaches the podium. As incumbent, Holly’s going to step aside and let him speak first.
“Cap’s going to give a brief speech about his intentions now, and then it will be my turn to appeal to you all as neighbors and voters.” She hesitates, not sure she really wants to cede the floor to Cap. He’s been such a loose cannon lately, and it feels risky to give him a microphone and an audience, but Holly knows it has to happen.
“Thank you, Mayor,” Cap says, eyeing her suspiciously as she takes just a moment too long to step aside. “I’d like to talk to you all about my plans, and I can assure you that this speech will be brief, because I have no plans. Unlike our current mayor, I would prefer to see nature take its course. If someone wants to come to Christmas Key and contribute, let ‘em. But going out and trying to recruit people to come to the island is pure hogwash. I don’t believe it’s in our best interests to pursue this course of action any further, and in fact, I think it’s doing our island great harm.” Cap punctuates this thought by holding up a forefinger and staring down the front row. “Having a bunch of cameras and television people here is the fastest way to spoil the purity of this place.”
“What I want to know is when the rest of us are going to get to be on camera,” Mrs. Agnelli says, her voice laced with indignation. “When Holly told us these people were coming, we were led to believe we’d all get to be a part of this big production. But so far Jake is the only one who’s getting famous.”
The crowd erupts. There are shouted questions, loud opinions, and open conjecture volleying around like a courtroom where the judge has lost control. Holly takes it all in, wondering whether she should boot Cap out from behind the podium. Instead, she steps up next to him and bends toward the microphone again. “Okay, okay,” she says, holding up both hands. “If you’ll all quiet down for a second, I’m happy to address your individual concerns.”
“I promised my grandson he’d see me on television, and he’s already told all his friends I was going to be on this show. I can’t let him look like a liar,” comes a voice from across the room. Holly is trying to see who’s talking, but before she can respond, Cap bends forward into the microphone, nearly knocking her out of the way.
“If you’ll all remember, I was the one who spoke the truth the first time those television people came to the island. I told you all right here in this room that we were in for trouble, and you didn’t want to hear it. Now I’m here again to offer my guidance, and I think it’s high time you heed my words.” Cap grips both sides of the podium with his big hands and nearly swallows the microphone when he leans in even closer. “You’ve got another month to sit on your hands and wait for this show to turn you all into stars, or you can object to them monetizing our island and potentially destroying the very things that make us special. They’ll rip apart our island and our friendships, and it’ll be because we invited them here to do it.” Cap looks right at Holly when he says this. “So if you want to stop this freight train of progress from mowing us all down, remember to vote for Duncan—Cap’s your chap!”
Cap’s words are swallowed by the noise from the crowd, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s successfully stirred up doubt about Holly’s ability to make good choices as mayor. She looks around in a daze. Everything she’s planned to say to her neighbors is forgotten as she watches them talk animatedly. But it isn’t really necessary for her to share her plans or what she’d do as mayor, because they already know she’s in favor of progress and growth. Her follow-up speech—her only chance for a true rebuttal—circles the drain as everyone debates amongst themselves.
With a weak smile, Holly takes back the podium. “Meeting adjourned,” she says softly into the microphone. No one hears her.
Chapter 11
“I guess I didn’t think it would be like this,” Holly admits. Buckhunter is driving them to the Wild Tropics set in his beat-up golf cart the next morning. Because he’d been involved in showing the crew around when they first visited Christmas Key, and because Buckhunter and Holly own equal parts of the island, Leanna has agreed to let him visit the set today.
Holly shifts around on the cart’s ripped vinyl seat, her purse in her lap. Buckhunter’s shirt is unbuttoned, his narrow torso covered with a thin layer of tanned skin. Holly glances at the tattoo on his wrist: it’s a slightly faded eagle, and she realizes there’s still so much about her uncle that remains a mystery. Of course, she only found out they were related three or four months ago, but beyond the fact that his mother was a nurse who had an affair with her grandfather and then died of cancer when Buckhunter was in his twenties, there isn’t much about him that Holly does know.
“There was really no way for you to guess how it would be, kid,” he says, cranking the wheel with his rough hands. Holly points at a sand dune and he parks behind it abruptly, shutting off the cart’s power. “But I still believe you’ve got something great on your hands here, and I guarantee people will see that when it’s all said and done.”
“Didn’t you hear them yesterday?” she moans, putting her head into her hands. Buckhunter stays behind the wheel, laying an arm casually over the back of the seat as he listens. “They were fired up—really fired up. I haven’t seen people in that much of a tizzy at a village council meeting since Mrs. Agnelli asked if we could hold a pole-dancing class in the B&B’s dining room.”
> “Oh yeah, I forgot about that one,” Buckhunter says, smirking into the distance. “Remind me again where she came up with the idea of aging hips on stripper poles?”
“I don’t know. Some Dateline episode about middle-aged women taking pole-dancing lessons in the suburbs.” Holly waves dismissively. “But this was different—this time they turned on me.”
“Come on,” Buckhunter says. “What about that Madonkey bit—you were completely on your game there.”
Holly smiles at him. “Yeah, I was. That was off-the-cuff, too.”
“They’ll come back around. Let’s not worry until we actually have something to worry about, huh?” Buckhunter chucks her on the shoulder gently with the hand he’s been resting behind her on the seat. “Wanna go and check out this dog and pony show?”
“We probably should. Leanna wants us to blend in with the crew as much as possible so we don’t distract from their taping. Let’s find someone who looks official and hang with them.” Holly pulls her Yankees cap out of her purse and puts it on. “Ready?”
“I forgot a hat. Am I incognito enough?”
Holly gets out and stands next to the cart, looking at Buckhunter. “You will be once you put your pecs away.” She points at his open shirt. “And don’t talk too much.”
“Gee, okay, Mom. Can I have a cookie if I behave?” Buckhunter buttons his shirt.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”
There’s a massive metal tower on the beach, and a man sits at the top of it on a chair, a huge camera in front of his face. He’s talking into a walkie-talkie, and farther down the beach, Wayne is holding his own walkie-talkie to his ear. The tent flaps are all tied shut, and a member of the crew attends to the smoldering fire pit in the distance.
Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two Page 8
