RaeAnne Thayne - Redemption Bay

She waved back, then nodded to Luis Robles, locking up his insurance agency across the street.

A soft, warm feeling of contentment seeped through her. This was her town. These were her people. She was part of it, just like the Redemption Mountains across the lake. She had fought to earn that sense of belonging since the day she showed up, a lost, grieving, bewildered girl.

She had worked hard to earn the respect of her friends and neighbors. The chance to serve as the mayor had never been something she sought but she had accepted the challenge willingly. It wasn’t about power or influence—not that one could find much of either in a small town like Haven Point. She simply wanted to do anything she could to make a difference in her community. She wanted to think she was serving with honor and dignity, but she was fully aware there were plenty in town who might disagree.

Her stomach growled, louder this time. That steak smelled as if it was charred to perfection. Too bad she didn’t know who was grilling it or she might just stop by to say hello. McKenzie was briefly tempted to stop in at Serrano’s or even grab a gelato of her own at Carmela’s—stracciatella, her particular favorite—but she decided she would be better off taking Rika home.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go.”

The dog jumped to her feet, all eager, lanky grace, and McKenzie gripped the leash and headed off.

She lived not quite a mile from her shop downtown and she and Rika both looked forward all day to this evening walk along the trail that circled the lake.

As she walked, she waved at people walking, biking, driving, even boating past when the shoreline came into view. It was quite a workout for her arm but she didn’t mind. Each wave was another reminder that this was her town and she loved it.

“Let’s grill some chicken when we get home,” she said aloud to Rika, whose tongue lolled out with appropriate enthusiasm.

Talking to her dog again. Not a good sign but she decided it was too beautiful an evening to worry about her decided lack of any social life to speak of. Town council meetings absolutely didn’t count.

Her warm mood lasted until a few houses from her own, when an older gentleman out clipping the tall hedge in front of his trim brick home whirled to face her, almost as if he had been lying in wait for her—probably exactly what he had been doing.

“I need a word with you, missy.”

Her stomach dropped. Darwin Twitchell—the bane of her existence and the three previous mayors before her.

“Mr. Twitchell. How are you this lovely evening?”

“Terrible,” he growled. He wore a perpetual frown, much like his English bulldog, Petunia, who adored him. Of the two, Petunia clearly had the more appealing personality.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she answered, trying to be polite.

“Oh, I doubt that. I really do.”

She tried so hard to be nice to Darwin. It was almost a point of honor with her, but he was one of those perpetually unhappy people who twisted everything around and made it so difficult to be kind.

As both a natural-born and determined optimist, she struggled every time she had dealings with the man—which was at least two or three times a week when he came to her with some kind of beef about the city.

A Korean War combat vet, Darwin had recently become a widower. In the months since, he had become even more sour, if possible. Though arthritis gnarled his fingers and he relied on a cane for balance and support, he still somehow managed to keep his yard and house exquisite, without a stray leaf or overgrown branch.

She considered it one of life’s great mysteries that a man who seemed to be a festering pile of frustration could expend so much effort and energy into making his property into a restful oasis of blooms and trailing vines and sturdy, beautifully placed trees.

A mystery she would try to puzzle out another day, she told herself. She had a chicken breast to grill—after she dealt with whatever stick he had up his hindquarters today. Dealing with irate citizens was part of her description as mayor, like it or not.

“How can I make things better for you this evening?” she asked politely.

“How long have you had your name on the door at the mayor’s office in city hall?” he demanded.

“Six months, Mr. Twitchell.” Six difficult, stress-filled months. Why, again, had she ever thought this whole mayoral gig was a good idea? Oh, yes. Because she loved this town. Perhaps not every single inhabitant, though.

“Six months.” Darwin scowled. Or maybe he was beaming with happiness and glee. It was hard to tell, since all his facial expressions looked the same. “And how long have I been warning you about that bridge over the Hell’s Fury?”

The expression was a scowl, then. Not really a surprise.

She forced a smile. “Just about every week for the past six months, Mr. Twitchell.”

“I don’t know why I waste my breath. You obviously don’t care, since you haven’t done a damn thing about it since you’ve been in office.”

She tried not to let that sting, especially considering all the things she had accomplished in six short months. He was a lifelong resident of this town, one of her constituents, and she owed it to him to try to address his concern. As much as she wanted to hug his adorably grumpy-faced dog and walk away.

“The public works director is aware of the problem. We’ve talked to the state about it. It’s on the list. We’re waiting on a couple of grants and appropriations to come through. When that happens, it will be at the top of our list, I promise you.”

“When will that be?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you exactly. As I’m sure you’re aware, it costs a great deal of money for that kind of project. Right now the city cupboard is a little bare for a major infrastructure repair.”

“If this were Shelter Springs, we would have had a dozen new bridges by now. My nephew, the mayor, would never let things go this long.”

She had heard the same argument plenty of times over the past six months. According to Darwin, Mayor Martin of Shelter Springs could walk the entire length of Lake Haven without getting the cuffs of his tailored slacks damp.

“Now, Mr. Twitchell, we have our challenges, yes. But the people of Shelter Springs have their own.”

She would like at least one of their problems—more tax revenue than they knew what to do with.

Instead, her downtown was dead and most of the available property had been tied up for years by one man.

Ben Kilpatrick.

Just the thought of him made her grind her back teeth and grip Rika’s leash a little more tightly.

“You’d better do something about that bridge or there’s going to be trouble, mark my words,” Darwin grunted.

“I appreciate the advice, Mr. Twitchell,” she lied.

“And another thing. Garbage collection. That darn truck knocked over my can again for the third week in a row! Does that fool driver even know how to operate the thing?”

Apparently the mayor, by virtue of the office, was responsible for every single thing that went on within the city limits. Garbage collection was run by the county, as Mr. Twitchell fully knew.

“It might have something to do with the slope at the end of your driveway. It’s a little tricky to set the can down just so.”

“I don’t know why we ever had to switch over to those stupid automated trucks. Who can even pull those big cans out to the street, unless they’re a superhero or something? More trouble than it’s worth, you ask me.”

Who would ever be dim enough to ask Darwin Twitchell anything , unless he or she wanted to spend the rest of the day listening to his lengthy litany of complaints?