Vicki Essex - Matinees With Miriam

“I’m upset because Shane Patel won’t get the hint.” She started taking the harness off. “I can’t sell the Crown. This place is my home. It’s all I have left of Grandpa.”

“That’s all well and good, honey, but it doesn’t explain what happened to you out there.”

Her shoulders sagged. “It was nothing. You know I don’t like it when people pressure me. Or stare.”

Yeah, he knew. Miriam’s parents had been a couple of deadbeats from the start, and when they did pay attention to her between drunken binges, they either berated her ruthlessly or expected her to perform like some kind of circus monkey. Jack had pulled her out of that hellhole away from his no-good son when he’d discovered they’d been leaving her alone for days at a time. That rough beginning had made her an easy target for gossip and bullying in school, too.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” Arty said.

“I didn’t, either. But I had to make myself clear to Mr. Patel.”

Arty studied the flush in her cheeks when she said his name. He knew Janice had brought that orchid to her from a nonexistent secret admirer. It seemed Mira had fallen for the ruse. “He’s not a bad guy. Used to spend his summers in Everville. He’s practically one of us.”

“He isn’t.” She said it so sharply, Arty wondered at her hostility. He decided to push the matter.

“I don’t know. He’s easygoing, knows the terrain, the people. For a kid who only spent two months a year here, he’s got a better memory for folks’ names and occupations than most.”

She made a dismissive “Pfft” sound, but didn’t say anything to contradict his claim.

“Y’know, I don’t think he’s going to stop trying to convince you to sell.”

She paused. “I know.”

“So...what? You gonna call Sheriff McKinnon to kick him off your property every time he comes around?”

“Ralph has better things to do.” She turned, a shrewd look in her eye. “No, I’ve got better ways to stop him in his tracks.”

“They don’t involve more weapons, do they?”

“Give me some credit. There’s more than one way to crack a nut.”

* * *

“MS. WELKS.” SHANE greeted Everville’s mayor. She looked up from her paperwork, smile lines radiating around her face. Her dark red hair was the color of a banked ember. He was put in mind of a lioness watching her cubs from a hot, flat rock.

“Mr. Patel, thank you for coming.” She gestured at the visitor’s chair across from her cluttered desk. “Can I offer you some tea? Coffee?”

“Nothing for me, thank you.” He wasn’t sure the tiny “mayor’s office” even had room for an electric kettle. There wasn’t much in the way of a town hall in Everville. The main administrative building housed a bevy of municipal functions, but Ms. Welks’s office was barely the size of his living room in his Brooklyn condo. Filing cabinets stacked with bulging folders and yellowing binders surrounded the perimeter. An overgrown mother-of-millions plant by the window spilled out of its cracked pot, its progeny scattered over the water-stained credenza and linoleum floor.

“Sorry about the mess,” she said, noticing his silent assessment. “Life of a municipal bureaucrat.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he said, though the paperwork was usually spread over offices ten times this size in other cities he’d worked in. And there were usually assistants to help with this kind of thing. The mayor of Everville didn’t even have a secretary. “You wanted to talk?”

She nodded. “I heard you made quite an impression with your condo presentation at the high school.”

“I sure hope so. The people who attended certainly made a good impression on the food tables.” He studied her surreptitiously, trying to gauge her feelings. Certainly there were some who’d voiced their concerns to her over the past two days.

Mayor Welks chuckled. “Sorry I couldn’t make it myself, but I have to appear somewhat impartial. I’ve been hearing talk around town. You’ve got people buzzing, which is always good. Well, usually.”

“You heard about Bob Fordingham?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s a man of his own convictions, even when he’s contradicting himself.” She sniffed. “I won’t be coy about it. He hates me for winning the election. He’ll do anything to undermine my administration.”

“I’ve dealt with guys like that before. He’s just one man, though. It’s really a matter of who he’ll sway to his way of thinking.”

“He has the ear of some more conservative thinkers. Older folks who haven’t appreciated the way the town’s changed over the past few years.”

“I’ve dealt with folks like that, too.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Patel.”

“Shane is fine.”

She nodded. “Unfortunately, Bob Fordingham isn’t the only one I wanted to talk to you about.” She slid a folder toward him. “Miriam Bateman’s lodged a formal protest to Everville’s town council against the rezoning of her property.”

The pit of his stomach swooped at the mention of Miriam. “But the zoning board hasn’t even voted on this yet.”

“Seems she’s getting a jump on it. She’s really not keen on selling the theater.”

“Do you have any insight into her reason?”

“I don’t know her personally, and I never knew Jack Bateman. From what I hear, he was a good man.”

He hesitated. “Do you know how he died?”

“You’re referring to the suicide rumors.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if they’re true. Stories get conflated around here. All I do know is that he left everything to his only grandchild, Miriam.”

He added that to his mental file on Miriam. He’d ask Arty or someone else about Jack Bateman. Getting to the root of Miriam’s attachment to the Crown was key to taking it off her hands.

“You understand that you’ll probably have to defend your project at the next town meeting. Miriam’s protest will likely be followed by others.”

“You’ve had success changing people’s minds before,” he noted.

“I don’t change minds, Mr. Patel. I support projects that will ensure Everville endures and grows.” She dropped her pen on the notepad in front of her. “It’s not my job to convince people what’s good for them. All these infrastructure projects I’ve supported are about shoring up the foundations of this town, prepping it for growth. Your condo is one of the first major private investment opportunities the town has seen in years. But no matter how good it looks on paper, I serve my constituents.”

“And does the project still look good to you?” he asked carefully. He’d heard from Laura that former mayor Fordingham hadn’t been coy about seeking a bribe from Sagmar in exchange for his support. The company had already offered other cosmetic and peripheral infrastructure incentives—a splash pad and playground, a new park, all kinds of beautification—but Big Bob had wanted his fat palms greased.

“I think affordable modern housing is what this town needs. The jobs and new blood it’ll bring in will benefit the whole community. Nothing is worse for the economy than stagnation. Nonetheless, my job is to serve the people.” She paused, gazing out the window. “The zoning meeting is about a month away. I’ll listen to any and all concerns the townspeople have, as will the other members of the board. You’ll understand if I tell you now that we should limit our private meetings until the zoning board vote is over.”

“Of course.” After all, optics were important. Everyone in town would know by the end of the day that he’d been by to see the mayor. She rightfully wouldn’t want anyone thinking those visits had affected her decision.

“I’ll ask that you conduct yourself professionally while you’re in town. It’s hard not to trip over elected officials here.”