by Jacie Floyd
“I’m not sure what exclusions there are on the library,” Daniel Asher said. “I’ll look over the policy and send an adjuster over to the library this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Daniel,” Harper said. “I have a copy of the policy in my files, too. I plan to update Andrew Berkman later today. Since one of the requirements of the grant was for the building to remain in the same condition it was in at the time the grant was bestowed, he may choose to reconsider.”
Shock waves rippled through the room. By all rights, Andrew could indeed cancel the whole project. From their discussion the night before, Harper knew that wasn’t his intention. No point in letting this negligent board off the hook so easily, though.
“Although the condition of the library is less sound than we were led to believe, I’ll recommend that we follow through on the original plans and immediately request bids on the renovation from reputable construction companies.”
“It won’t be necessary for you to worry about that, Miss Simmons,” Mr. Slick piped up. “I’ve already received an acceptable bid from Built-Rite Construction, a local company often used for town projects. I’m submitting the bid to the council today for approval.”
Visions of the slimy builder from this morning flashed through her mind. “Is Build-Rite Construction owned by Hugh McMahon, Mr. Whitherford?”
“It is.” Sweat beaded his forehead in the air-conditioned room.
“Are you and Mr. McMahon related?” She asked the question on a hunch.
“He’s my cousin,” he admitted since she was probably the only one in the room who wasn’t aware of the relationship. “What does that have to do with anything? It’s still a reputable company and bid.”
“I’m sure it is.” Harper chalked up another strike against the man. “And using local companies on the project is certainly a desirable goal. But the terms of the grant indicate we must receive bids from three to five local sources recommended by the council. If three to five bids aren’t forthcoming from local companies, I can request bids from outside the county. And the ultimate decision of who to hire is mine.”
Nelson began sputtering. “You’re sure trying to throw your weight around in a hurry, aren’t you?”
“Not at all, but I have read all the fine print of the grant, and I intend to see that those terms will be followed.”
“I think we run things a little more loosely than that around here, Miss Simmons.”
“Not this time. Not with Andrew Berkman’s money.”
“Our way works just fine.” Nelson’s blustery face turned red and puffy.
“Does it, Mr. Whitherford? When did you say you received the bid?”
“Last week.”
“May I see it?”
Mick Willoughby reached for the document before Nelson could refuse. He flipped through it briefly then passed it to Harper.
She made some umhumm-ing sounds as she looked it over. “Very thorough. It includes all the major condition issues, but how did he know what all of them were, and when did he get in to prepare this estimate? Wouldn’t someone from the council have had to accompany him? If Mr. McMahon knew the condition of the building, why didn’t he alert you about it before today?”
All the council members except for Zach looked at Harper like she’d just stepped in a big pile of dog-do that stunk to high heaven. Nelson squirmed, and his face looked so red that Harper thought the top of his head might blow off. Bert Marshall coughed behind his hand, leaving Harper to wonder if he was cover a laugh or an objection. Mick, Malcolm, Daniel, and Barbara all looked like they’d just been fed rancid chicken. Zach gave her a nod of approval.
“I’ll have a discussion with Hugh this afternoon, right after my chat with the sheriff,” the Mayor stated. “We’ll get to the bottom of this immediately. Meanwhile, the town clerk will post requests for estimates from other builders and contractors. You may make a recommendation for your first choice, Miss Simmons, but the council will have the final approval.” He banged his gavel for emphasis. “I’ve read the conditions of the grant as well, you see.”
Okay, score one for the mayor. Good thing Harper had made her point about at least one member of the council playing favorites, because she had definitely lost ground in her campaign for Best-Liked Newcomer.
The rest of the meeting didn’t involve her, but this was her new home, and the concerns of the town were her concerns. So she tried to listen and take an interest in local issues. Which would have been easier to do if her eyes hadn’t been drawn to Zach every five-point-two seconds. Having him in the same room wreaked havoc with her concentration and her heart rate.
Before Mick got to the four townspeople with issues to air, he asked Zach about the boys from the car wreck.
He looked up from a text on his phone. “I’m getting an update now. Joe and Tommy are doing better. I may be able to release them in a day or two. Jason’s condition has worsened. I’ve got a call in to a specialist in St. Louis for a consultation at four.”
“Those two families are going to need some help with the hospital bills,” Mick said. “What can we do?”
“Is it too late to set up a booth at the festival?” Bert asked. “I’ll donate a car or something to raffle off. God knows nothing is selling. Might as well get a tax write off for a charitable donation.”
“That would be mighty generous.” Mick turned to his daughter. “See if we can’t get a booth put together in time. If not, maybe we can have a table outside the Sheriff’s Office or get someone to pass around a bucket.”
“Hank offered to help,” Zach said. “Once you know what you want to do, he’ll spearhead any task you propose.”
“I’ll get in touch with him this afternoon. Now, who’s first?” The Mayor perused the list of requests. “Martha, it looks like you’re up. What can we do for you?”
Martha asked the board to consider putting in a stop sign up on Slaughter’s Bend. The accident the night before wasn’t the first wreck that had happened there—all eyes turned to Zach and he straightened in his seat—and it wouldn’t be the last unless a traffic sign or flashing light was installed at the intersection.
“Teenagers like to speed and drag race, and the curve makes it exciting. If there was a stop sign or a traffic light, they’d be forced to put on the brakes.”
Mick and Malcolm nodded along with her.
“Only if Jimbo’s able to put someone in place to enforce it,” Bert said. “Kids will be kids, and they’ll do what they aren’t supposed to, no matter what we do to try to stop them.”
“True, but we need to make an effort,” Barbara said. “How many accidents have there been at that spot in the last ten or fifteen years? More than there should have been.” She paused while a look of chagrin passed over her face. “Sorry, Zach.”
He waved away the apology. “I’m in complete agreement.”
“We don’t have jurisdiction over county roads,” she continued, “but we can make a recommendation. If everyone agrees, I move that the mayor drafts a proposal this afternoon.”
“Hang on a second,” Daniel said. “This might be a good time to get one of those traffic cameras that catch speeders and people who run stop signs and traffic lights and such. With the number of fatalities that have occurred there, the state or county might agree to pay for that.”
“Good idea,” Bert agreed. “Let’s see about getting some stop signs in the area first and then propose getting traffic cameras.”
The council unanimously agreed and quickly dispatched the issues of a broken streetlight, a property dispute, and Sal Miller’s cow that kept getting loose and stopping traffic by the Presbyterian Church.
“I wouldn’t mind,” the complainer, identified as Neil Sorensen, said, “but it’s always on Sunday mornings when there’s already too dang much traffic.”
“We’ll send someone out to talk to Sal about the cow. Probably Zach. He’ll contact you after that. Any other business? Nothing new about the Fourth of July celebration?”
After the meeting, Barbara, Bert, and Daniel gathered their things and walked out with Neil Sorensen. Nelson slinked out as fast as he could. Malcolm took his time getting to his feet and steadying himself on his crutches even with Zach’s assistance.
Mick approached Harper. “I’ll lead the way to my offices. They’re just across the street, but I figure you being new in town and all...”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Simmons,” Malcolm interrupted as he maneuvered his way past. “I’m going to pass on the luncheon, Mick. It’s been more wearing than I expected to drag this cast around this morning, and I’m about wore down.”
Harper took his arm as he seemed about to topple over. “It was my pleasure to meet you, too, Mr. Newcomb. Thank you for coming out to today’s meeting even though you should probably be somewhere with your leg propped up.”
“All part of my civic duty.” He rested his weight on one crutch while running his hand through his hair. “But lunch is a little beyond me today.”
“Oh, I understand. Do you need help getting home?”
“No, I’ve got it. If Zach will help me outside, the Mrs. is picking me up out front.”
“Ready when you are.” Zach held the door for Cassie, Malcolm, Mick, and Harper.
When she passed by the doctor, he smiled down at her. Harper grinned back, so grateful he’d been there for her during the long, intense meeting.
If he hadn’t been in the room, she would have felt like David facing down a panel of Goliaths. Five physically wimpy Goliaths in ill-fitting clothes plus Bert Marshall, sure, but she would have been vastly out-numbered.
And despite his weariness, Zach smelled delicious. Always a plus. She breathed in his scent. Natural maleness, sunshine, and a hit of citrus in his aftershave. Yum.
They moved into the corridor, creeping along at Malcolm’s laborious pace. When they reached the exterior door, Cassie said, “I’ll help Malcolm from here, Zach. You and Miss Simmons can go on with Daddy to the office.”
“Is this luncheon going to be in the mayor’s office, Mr. Willoughby?” Harper asked as they cut across the courthouse lawn.
“No, not today. When I’m not the mayor, I’m an attorney,” he said. “I still keep law offices here on the town square even though business is so bad. I’ve cut my hours to almost nothing. People just don’t have the money to hire an attorney, and when they do, half the time they end up wanting to pay me in produce or poultry. The other half, I end up doling out free legal advice. Paying clients are few and far between, unfortunately.”
Harper glanced at Zach. “I’ve heard that’s a common problem in small towns.”
“My father and grandfather were attorneys before me and established this law office a long time ago.” He looked over the building with no small amount of pride before ushering them inside.
A tidy, pudgy middle-aged woman in a ruffled white blouse and dark skirt perched in a chair behind a dark oak reception desk. With a long nose and cascade of curls sprouting out of the top of her head, the woman reminded Harper of an efficient little bird overseeing her nest.
The small, well-appointed room had an oriental rug and touches of old-world elegance. A tad shabby but regal.
“It’s a little fancy for my taste and the hard economic times,” Mick admitted. “I’d give the place up, but we own the building. It’s not like there’s anybody lined up to rent it or buy it, so we continue on as we have for the last fifty years or so. My wife, daughter, and Trudy here seemed to think this luncheon was a good occasion for dusting off the conference table and putting the meeting room to good use. Zach, you know the way. Take Harper on back while I check my messages.”
“What did you think of your first council meeting?” Zach ushered Harper down the hall with a warm hand on the small of her back.
Welcoming the contact, she resisted the urge to press against him. “I felt like an intruder. But some things had to be said, so I said them.”
His lips twitched like he might be biting back a smile. “It could’ve been worse.”
“Ri-ight.” Stringing out the word, she gazed up at him quizzically. “How?”
“You could have forgotten to change your clothes.”
They both looked down at her more professional-looking outfit, remembering her exercise clothes from earlier in the day.
“This outfit’s definitely better than what I had on before.”
Tilting his head, he leaned in. “Define ‘better’.”
“More professional?”
“Depends on the profession.”
She drew herself up to object, but he added, “Librarian versus aerobics instructor.”
“The clothing of an aerobics instructor was more appropriate this morning than that of a librarian.”
“No one at the worksite disagreed.”
“But there was some ogling.”
He had been one of the chief oglers. but in a way that seemed more appreciative than sleazy. Somehow, the distinction made it more acceptable to Harper. “Bound to be, no matter what you wear.”
“Really?” In Chicago, she never drew much attention. No matter how she was dressed, there was always someone more fashionable, more attractive, more outrageous standing in the same vicinity. Definitely plenty for her to learn about life in a small town. “So maybe tomorrow something less...”
“Form-fitting?”
“Gotcha.” She never thought her form was anything to shout about it, but maybe her exact measurements were the gold standard here in Sunnyside, Illinois. The standard to which all other figures were compared.
“Besides that, the meeting still could have gone worse.”
“How so?”
“Um.” He twisted his lips, like he was trying to think of a good way to deliver bad news, but then he plunged ahead. “You could have told them you were a vegetarian.”
She scoffed, thinking he was teasing. “How would that have made things worse?”
He opened a door to the conference room then nodded toward the foil-covered containers in the center of the table. “We’re having lasagna for lunch.”
“Oh, criminy.” She was about to insult her hosts by rejecting the meal they’d arranged especially for her. “That is worse. Not spinach lasagna, I guess?”
“Catered by Lenore at The Sunnyside Up. What do you think?”
“Can I suddenly develop a food allergy to tomato or something? Will they mock me for just eating salad and bread?”
“Just bread.” He paused and delivered the punch line. “Unless you’re all right with picking the bacon bits out of the salad.”
Her stomach suddenly grumbled, signally how hungry she was. Not much for breakfast, and now, after laboring in the hot library all morning, no lunch either. But, okay, she would simply be gracious about the invitation, eat a dinner roll—with butter since that was all she was having!—and spread the rest of the food around on her plate. Then she would plead pressing issues at the library and leave as quickly as she could. She was considering ducking into a local restaurant on the way back when Zach handed her the brown paper bag she’d noticed earlier.
“I’ve got you covered, and I’ll announce the news about the vegetarian thing. They’re not going to like it, but for today anyway, they might try to be polite since you’re kind of like company.”
“Oh, my God, thank you for this.” She dipped her hand into the bag, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. “But I’ll tell them about the ‘vegetarian-thing’ myself.” His care package contained a wrapped bagel, carrot sticks, and an apple.
“Pimento cheese.” He nodded at sandwich. “I knew you’d be starving after all the heavy lifting you’ve been doing this morning. I hope you like it.”
Exhausted, emotionally drained from uprooting her life, and running into nothing but frowns, brick walls, destruction, and setbacks for the past two days, Harper felt a little silly that the sight of
a simple bagel sandwich had her blinking back tears. Unable to recall if she’d ever eaten pimento cheese before, she smiled up at him as the rest of the council joined them in the conference room.
“It’s my favorite.”
After a very awkward meal accompanied with stilted conversation and shocked glances about her vegetarian status, Harper returned to the library and changed back into work clothes.
Now, at the end of the day, she’d had to put up with Barbara Gentry’s visit and snide suggestions. The woman had finally left, and the last of the volunteers began to dwindle off.
Harper sat behind the Circulation Desk and powered up her computer, ready to update her notes and add to a few lists she’d started. Supplies needed. Names of volunteers. Ideas for renovations. Requests for jobs.
She’d tried to contact Andrew Berkman again, but he was on his way to Hong Kong. She texted him with a heads-up about a detailed email to follow. He’d probably call her when he checked into his hotel. But with the time difference, it would be much later tonight.
Her cell phone buzzed on the counter. Sending up a silent prayer that the caller wasn’t her mother, she glanced at the display. In that freaky-psychic way India had, it wouldn’t be unusual for her to intuitively know her daughter was a little down about the enormity of what she’d gotten herself into and disappointed about the lack of welcome from the town. And Harper was in no mood to go into all that and risk hearing the subtle I-told-you-sos.
Instead, she grinned. This particular caller she could talk to and be perfectly candid. “Tell me, I’m begging you, what life is like in the Windy City today.”
Chapter Nine
Nathan Quimby, her best friend and fellow librarian, laughed as she knew he would. “You’re desperate for news from the real world already? Does that mean you despise life in Smallville and want to come back?”
