Читать книгу A Man Of Influence - Melinda Curtis - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU WANT ME to ask Leona if that travel writer can spend the night with her?” In the barber shop, Phil Lambridge was beside himself with jealousy. He paced. He paused. He sounded as if he might cry. “Alone? Unchaperoned?”

Mildred clenched her remaining molars together so she wouldn’t shout. Phil was a traditional man. He was still in love with his ex-wife twenty years after she’d divorced him. Mildred wanted to tell Phil to get over it and take one for the Harmony Valley team, to man up and do the right thing. But what good would it do? Phil would still be jealous and still walk on egg shells around Leona.

Rose flitted about the narrow shop. “We need a hotel room for that travel writer. Your granddaughters are going to open a bed & breakfast in Leona’s house anyway come spring.”

Agnes sat in one red barbershop chair, nodding in agreement. Larry sat in the other red chair, nodding in agreement. Mildred sat on her walker just inside the front window watching Phil angst and pace. Phil was a tall, gangly man with limbs that moved with marionette uncertainty. He was just so...so...ridiculously endearing.

“You know how Leona is,” Phil said. Given her vision challenges, Mildred could only see his sharp nose and chin. Both stuck out stubbornly. “Until those girls sign on the dotted line, that home is Leona’s castle.”

Everyone knew how Leona was. Bitter. Caustic. Penny-pinching. She gave no charity and expected none in return. But she lived in what had once been a mansion in Harmony Valley. She kept up the hundred-year-old Victorian like a showplace. It was their only chance to impress upon the travel writer that Harmony Valley was a good tourist destination.

“You ask her, Agnes.” Phil was a cream puff. It was why Leona had kicked him out two decades ago. She needed a strong man to stand up to her.

Mildred didn’t need a man. But she wanted one. And for some unknown reason, her heart was set on wanting Phil. For the life of her, Mildred couldn’t figure it out. She’d been a race car driver back when men would do anything to keep women off the track. She’d been independent forever. Why did Phil and his gentle ways make her feel as if she was forty again?

“It’s settled then. The town council will make the request.” Mayor Larry could also be filed under “Non-Confrontational Man.” He wouldn’t risk alienating Leona, because she still voted. “Do what you have to, ladies. Phil and I will go back to the bakery and entertain our guest until you come up with a workable solution.”

Phil moaned.

A few minutes later, Agnes parked her late model, faded green Buick in front of Leona’s home.

Mildred got out using the door for support, waiting for Agnes to bring her walker from the trunk. “This is going to be a waste of time.”

“Not necessarily,” Agnes said. “It’s a beautiful home and she doesn’t get to show it off very often.”

“It’s not as pretty as mine.” Rose had a much smaller painted lady, and a history of arguing with anyone who’d listen that hers was superior.

Even with her glasses, Mildred couldn’t see the details on the Victorian, so she couldn’t judge. In her eyes, Leona’s home was a green hulk with white trim that towered over the back fence of Mildred’s small Craftsman-style home. In forty years of being neighbors, she’d heard Leona’s caustic laugh over that fence. She’d heard her sing off-key as she gardened. She’d also heard some searing arguments between Leona and Phil before their official break-up. She’d always be Team Phil.

“How many steps are there?” Mildred’s annoyance increased. Growing old was a pain in the tuckus. Back in the day, Mildred would have skipped up the steps the same as Rose was doing now.

Of course, Rose had sundowning syndrome, which meant when she got tired, she got loopy. Mildred had all her marbles. The macular degeneration was stealing her vision and a car crash decades ago had weakened her knees. But Mildred would take her marbles any day of the week.

Agnes carried Mildred’s walker up the steps in one hand, holding on to Mildred’s arm with the other.

Leona opened the front door and stared them down. “Well, if it isn’t the town council.”

Mildred didn’t need to see details to recognize Leona’s salt-and-pepper hair in its usual tight beehive. She wore a blue dress—and heels, from the sound of her feet on hardwood—and probably had her mother’s pearl choker around her neck. There was no way Mildred was wearing a skirt and heels just to hang around the house. Did the woman never let her hair down?

“Leona.” Agnes had the unique talent of putting both sweetness and authority into her tone. “We’ve come to ask a favor.”

“I will not contribute to the Harvest Festival bake sale.”

It was hard to imagine soft-hearted Phil being in love with this dragon. She hadn’t even invited them in. And Mildred was standing in the brisk morning air with her walker!

“That’s not the favor.” Agnes should have been mayor. There was both respect and determination in her words. Of course, she wasn’t in love with Phil, so she probably had more patience for Leona than Mildred did. “May we come in?”

“If you must, but wipe your feet. I just did the floors.”

Mildred navigated carefully over the threshold, wishing it’d been raining and she’d rolled her walker through the mud. Leona brought out the most uncharitable thoughts in Mildred. Her mother wouldn’t have approved. Of course, her mother hadn’t approved of Mildred racing either.

Leona’s house smelled of furniture polish and disinfectant, sterile and off-putting, like the owner herself.

While Mildred sat in her walker, Rose perched on a black leather wingback chair nearby, unhappiness radiating from them both, like sulky children banished to the basement.

“There’s a travel writer in town.” Agnes shared the antique pink velvet loveseat across the room with Leona. What she didn’t share was Leona’s sour attitude. “You know how important getting the word out about Harmony Valley is.” If they didn’t attract young people to town, Harmony Valley would die with its aging citizens.

“It’s important to some.” Snooty. Leona was snooty. If they’d been in a car race together back in the day, Mildred would have given her a bump and sent her into the wall. “As soon as my granddaughters make me an acceptable formal offer and turn this into a bed & breakfast, I’m retiring to the city.”

Good riddance.

“The thing is, Leona...” Once again, Agnes’ calm voice filled the room. “We need a bed & breakfast for this man now. Today.”

“Until after the Harvest Festival,” Rose clarified, sounding glum.

“You expect me to take in a strange man?”

Mildred nodded. She couldn’t tell if anyone else did.

“You expect me to cook breakfast and clean up after a man who isn’t my husband?” Leona sounded horrified.

Mildred nodded again, trying hard not to smile. Was it wrong to hope the travel writer was a serial killer? A grin escaped, because she knew it was wrong and highly unlikely. Mildred revised her hopes from serial killer to him being someone who talked loudly all the time on his cell phone. She hated that.

“We also expect you to charge him for his stay,” Agnes pointed out.

“Nine nights, I figure,” Rose said gloomily.

It was the first time Mildred could remember Leona being speechless.

* * *

THINGS HAD SETTLED down since the baby test.

Jessica had taken Gregory into the kitchen alcove for his mid-morning feeding. Eunice was sewing in the window seat. The checkers match was still going on. And Chad was busy tapping away on his phone, no longer interested in Tracy’s existence.

Tracy condensed inventory in the bakery case, content with the silence and the lack of male attention. She was becoming good at being invisible.

The mayor and Phil returned.

Phil looked pale and more unsteady on his feet than usual. “You didn’t wait for me, Felix?” He pulled up a chair to the checkers match.

“Checkers wait for no man,” Felix said, absently brushing cat hair off his black T-shirt. He rescued cats and never showed up anywhere without a sprinkling of hair on his shirt.

Mayor Larry claimed a seat at Chad’s table and introduced himself again. “Who do you write for, Chad?”

“I’m launching my own online travel magazine.” There was a hard note to Chad’s voice that contradicted his easy smile. “Until recently, I was editor-in-chief for a national magazine and sometimes I wrote for a couple of national papers.”

Several heads swiveled in Chad’s direction. If Felix’s sage nodding was any indication, the mention of a couple of national newspapers had earned Chad some of the points he’d lost by not picking up Gregory.

Meanwhile, Tracy’s stomach did a barrel roll. Chad was handsome. He was successful. He had a shiny red sports car parked out front. She bet he’d never been phased out of a job. She bet everything he’d ever wanted had been within his reach. She bet that’s what she used to look like to the world—attractive, successful, on top of the corporate food chain. And now...

She gripped the hem of her canvas apron. She’d been back home since spring and had only made halfhearted attempts to land jobs in her field, most of which had ended with stilted telephone screening interviews and form rejection letters. Was she ready to get back out there and be rejected?

No. The bakery case glass needed cleaning.

Soon “out there” might be here in Harmony Valley, which would be fantastic for the town and her brother, Will, who’d risked a lot of money investing in the winery.

Mayor Larry straightened his tie-dyed T-shirt, nearly beside himself with the excitement of a national newspaper contributor in their midst. “Once you get settled, we’ll take you on a long tour of the town and the surrounding sights, and give you some local history.” He embellished the upcoming experience. There wasn’t enough to see or hear about Harmony Valley for it to be a long tour. “We’ll also arrange for some time at the winery and a private wine tasting.”

Tracy tugged her cell phone out of her back pocket and searched for Chad Healy. Results came up right away—not as Chad Healy, but as Chad Healy Bostwick, the Happy Bachelor On the Road. He’d authored a long list of columns. He’d worked his way up the ranks at the spoof magazine his father had started to become editor-in-chief and acting CEO, parting ways after his father’s death.

She skimmed some of his articles. His posts were well-crafted. Chad had a gift for a clever turn of phrase. A theme emerged. Sarcasm, satire, ridicule. Not surprising, given the title of his column and that he’d written for the Bostwick Lampoon. No place seemed safe from Chad’s scathing commentary. Harmony Valley was a sitting duck.

Chad. Handsome, witty, nationally syndicated newspaper–worthy Chad. He hadn’t come to rescue them. He could incinerate the town’s revitalization efforts with a few strokes on his keyboard, ruining Will’s winery in the process.

Who could she tell? Will was on his honeymoon.

“Larry?” Tracy forced a smile. “Can I talk to you?” She gestured toward the kitchen. “Alone?” Before you invite Benedict Arnold into our midst?

“Not now, Tracy.” The mayor waved her off, and then thought better of it. “Tracy, can you call the winery and make arrangements for Chad to have a private tasting?” Mayor Larry used his politician’s voice—equal parts self-importance and condescendence. “Tracy’s brother owns Harmony Valley Vineyards.”

“Part-owner.” Along with his friends Flynn and Slade. But Tracy wasn’t calling anyone until she sent out the SOS to the mayor. She tried again, adding a hand wave. “Larry...”

“I’ll have another coffee, Tracy,” Larry said firmly. “Bring Chad another...latte, was it?”

Chad nodded.

Tracy shouldn’t care that Mayor Larry was digging a hole for himself. She shouldn’t care that Chad would take whatever the innocent folk in Harmony Valley said and twist it around to make him look clever. She shouldn’t care that he’d make fun of her hometown traditions, like pumpkin bowling for the harvest queen crown. They were silly traditions.

But she did care.

Harmony Valley may be off the beaten trail, old-school and homey, but it was Tracy’s trail. Her old-school. Her home.

She planted her sneakers firmly behind the counter and glared at the enemy as she made his latte, because she knew Mayor Larry wouldn’t listen to her. Not when convincing required quick, smoothly spoken words.

A coffee and a latte later, Agnes, Rose and Mildred entered the bakery.

“Good news.” Agnes was all smiles. “We’ve secured our visitor a room at the Lambridge Bed & Breakfast. Welcome to Harmony Valley.”

Who said Harmony Valley wasn’t progressive? Just this morning there’d been no B&B in town.

Wait a minute. Lambridge? Tracy glanced at Phil. That meant...

Eunice’s penciled-in eyebrows rose, as if she was just catching on, too. “But—”

“Leona Lambridge is the proprietor,” Agnes cut Eunice off, looking as calm as if she lied through her teeth every day of the week.

Leona Lambridge was also the town killjoy. She’d never bowled for the pumpkin queen crown. She didn’t even hand out candy on Halloween!

Maybe not such a good idea to book Mr. Sarcastic there. “Hey...uh... Agnes...”

Agnes paid no heed to Tracy either. “She’s expecting you,” Agnes said to Chad. She proceeded to introduce Chad to everyone in the bakery.

“Are there other hotel choices in town?” That tone of voice. It said Chad was suspicious. It said he’d love for something hinkie to be going on.

Was it wrong to think Chad’s intelligence was hot when he was the villain here? Probably about as wrong as Tracy thinking she might actually help save the town.

Save it? Who was she kidding? The only people the older town residents listened to were their doctors, and that was only half the time.

To her credit, Agnes’ smile never wavered as she answered Chad. “At the moment, the Lambridge B&B is our only offering.”

Rose was doing a slow grapevine in front of the pastry case, eyeing the scones that she’d passed on earlier. “You’ll find a great many painted ladies in town, not just the Lambridge place.”

Phil made a hacking noise, as if he was coughing up a hairball.

Mildred had planted her walker seat by Phil’s table and seemed lost in thought as she stared at the back of Phil’s head, perhaps pondering the need for a slap to dislodge that hairball of Phil’s.

Rose held a pose at the end of the bakery case, an aging ballerina poised to leap in cargo pants and hiking boots. “You’ll be here ten days, correct?”

Ten days? They were doomed.

The mayor jumped back in the fray. “Plenty of time to experience everything that makes Harmony Valley special.”

True that. Special and weird and wonderful.

However, chances were slim the villainous Chad would recognize wonderful if it sashayed up to him and kissed his cheek.

The reputation-ruiner cast a glance Tracy’s way. Could Chad tell Tracy knew who he was?

Would it matter if he did?