Clenching the mic, Gail turns to the audience. “Good evening,” she says, a tight smile on her face. “Five years ago, I married a wonderful man—”
“Gail—ma’am, please?” Colton says. “Just the point ofthismeeting.”
“Oh right, okay. Well, this person,” she says, pointing her finger at me, “is trying to rob Emerald Creek from what’s rightfully yours.”
The room stays silent. “Hand me the pecan pie,” someone mumbles in the back.
“Maybe backtrack a bit, sweetheart,” Cassandra intervenes. “Give us some context.”
Owen clears his throat. “I think what Mrs. Callaway is getting at, is that the Callaway estate is governed by rules that are currently being bent to the detriment of the town. You see,”he says, addressing the audience, “it was the intention of the founders that the store and other assets be managed only if the executor was married, because of the burden of such an endeavor.”
“By founders, you mean Noah Callaway The First,” Noah interrupts him.
Owen nods quickly.
“My ancestor,” Noah adds.
Owen ignores him. “The founders expressly stipulated that if that condition wasn’t met, if the successor wasn’t married by age thirty-two, then the store should go to the town. Because ultimately the store is essential to the town, and it can’t be run by just one individual.”
“That’s boloney!” someone in the back shouts.
“What do you care, Owen?”
“Is it true you’re working with a chain to take over the store?” someone else asks.
“Who are these people with the missus?”
Colton drops his gavel. “Guys, please. Let’s do this in order. Gail, now would be a good time to bring up your particular point. I believe there’s a presentation planned?”
“Thank you,” Gail says and turns her face to a rectangle of light that materialized on the wall, above the select board.
“Someone please kill the lights,” Colton says. “Alright, the room is yours.”
Grabbing a clicker, Gail starts. The first slide shows Noah on the left, frowning slightly behind his glasses, his arms folded, standing in front of the general store, wearing a freshly pressed white button-down shirt, the creases of his khakis clearly visible. The image is split in half by a torn paper effect, and the right side of it is a picture of…
Is that me?Thatisme. Yup. I’m at karaoke at Lazy’s, holding the mic right against my wide-open mouth like I’m about to givehead, my eyes droopy by too many beers, runny mascara giving me the racoon look, big hair like I just got electrocuted, short skirt looking even shorter because of the angle of the picture. Pretty sure if Gail zoomed in you could see my panties.
“These two individuals would like you to believe that they are married, and we’re here to prove that just because an Elvis impersonator signed a piece of paper doesn’t mean they can take away what should be yours.”
“There’s a lot to unpack there,” Kiara whispers my way.
Someone right behind me taps my shoulder. “Did you actually have an Elvis impersonator?”
“Ya forgot to say ya get a big piece of the cake if the marriage’s not real!” the same person from before shouts in the back.
“That’s right!” someone else bellows.
Gail ignores them and continues. “I have testimonials that neither Noah Callaway Junior—”
“You mean The Seventh,” Noah interrupts her.
She looks at him, seeming at a loss.
“NotJunior. Noah Callaway The Seventh. My ancestor founded this town. He made the rules for the managing of our estate. And I’d like to think he would have approved of my wife.” He leans into the mic and whispers into it as if he’s speaking just to Gail. “Would love to have that picture of her, by the way.” Then he adds in a normal voice, “But please, continue.”
“I have testimonials that their relationship is totally fake.” She clicks, but nothing happens. “It’s uh… it’s a recording of someone who wants to remain anonymous.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, then the screen crackles and the picture is replaced by a black rectangle for a beat before shapes appear. A door opens, and… puppies bark. That sounds like our puppies, and... That’s Lilyvale’s front door, captured from the inside. From the staircase?
