“Only Elaine in the prep room and Dean at the unloading dock,” I say while Willow looks at her with wide eyes.
Ms. Angela engages the lock.
“Coffee?” I offer.
“Sure. And let’s maybe crack a bottle of the cheap stuff and pour a splash in it.”
Willow frowns. “It’s barely eight.”
Ms. Angela nods eagerly. “Uh-huh. It’s going to be a long day.”
“You want to at least tell us what this is about?” I ask over my shoulder while I get the coffees and Willow goes to the liquor aisle.
“This requires a seat,” Ms. Angela says. “Where is she going?”
“Getting the booze and running it through our house account.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Boy oh boy. Everything’s above board now. I remember the good ol—”
Willow glances at me from across the store. “Aunt Angela,” she calls out, sharing my growing aggravation. “Not even an inkling of a direction? You’re killing us here.”
“Fine,” Ms. Angela says, taking the cup I hand her. She waits until Willow returns, twists off the cap, tops off her cup, then says, “One word.Gail.” Then she turns on her heel and marches to the office.
“She always knew how to manage suspense,” Willow says as I fill our matching cups with piping hot coffee, almond milk and a splash of maple syrup for Willow, black for me.
Willow extends her mug with a wink. “Mr. Callaway.”
Smiling, I clink with her. I don’t care what Gail has up her sleeve, just looking at the travel mug my wife got me—the same as hers, with the words Noah Callaway in Millie’s handwriting—makes me happy. Willow had her addMr.andMrs.on the other side, so the two mugs look like those bridal gifts I always thought were silly but now seem intrinsic to my happiness as a newly married man.
“Let’s do this,” Willow says with a small sigh, her chin pointing to the office.
“Sit down,” Ms. Angela gestures to us. “You ready?”
I have a shit ton of work to do.I take a sip of the steaming coffee. Had this been the only change my wife made to the store, I’d still be thanking her for the rest of my days. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Famous last words, young man.” She takes a long sip, smacks her lips, then sets the cup down. “As of yesterday, the select board is in possession of a request from Mrs. Gail Callaway to schedule a special public meeting.” The select board is our governing body. I’ve been a Selectperson for years, alongside Owen, Cassandra, Lynn, and Colton. Colton is our chairperson, and Ms. Angela our secretary. “As soon as I’m done here, I’m emailing the whole board.”
Ms. Angela’s tendency to sit on information is a little irritating, but I know better than to address this now. “Why would she do that? I expected her to take us to court.”
“The only thing I can think of is that she doesn’t want to pay lawyers.”
Right. “She’d rather have the town do it, and she’ll use the outcome to her advantage if it turns out the way she wants.”
Ms. Angela makes a face. “She always had a way with money. Specifically, how to get some without working—by using others.”
Gail is going to use the fact that the store would go to the town if the marriage was ruled as fake—whatever lawyers might call that. She’s thinking that for some reason the town will want to own the store, and that they’ll do what’s needed to establish I didn’t meet the conditions of the trust. Then she’ll piggyback on that to get her hands on the rest of the estate. She’s trying to get the town to do the heavy lifting of the lawsuit. “People will see right through it,” I state.
“Some will. Others can be jealous or downright mean. I wouldn’t take the threat too lightly,” Ms. Angela says. “For all we know, they could be meeting with people behind our backs, promising who knows what if things changed here.”
She takes a sip of her coffee, then resumes. “She made an official request, and she has a petition going. You’ll be getting a phone call from Colton at any moment.” She pulls out a manila envelope from her canvas bag and hands it to me. “I just spokewith him. I asked him to give me half an hour before he calls you.”
I set my mug on my table, rip the envelope open, and pull my phone out. “I’ll call him right now, get this over with.”
Ms. Angela tut-tuts me. “There’s more.”
What could be worse than our personal affairs aired out at town hall?
She folds her arms, her gaze going between the two of us. “Gail Callaway will be staying at Lilyvale.”
