“I’ll send up the Bat-Signal.”
Dad rolls his eyes and turns toward the kitchen. “We’d better eat a sandwich and head out. Meeting’ll start in forty-five minutes.”
I look at the clock and realize I must’ve been working on my drawing upstairs for over an hour. “Right.” Jogging back up the stairs, I quickly change into a clean pair of jeans and a simple top. Looking into the mirror, I contemplate redoing my hair, but it doesn’t look terrible. Forget makeup. I’d rather eat than bother with that.
In no time, Dad and I’ve got food in hand as we slide into my truck. “I need you to start, please,” I say to my truck, with my mouth full of bologna sandwich. When I press in the clutch and turn the key, I smile when she turns right over.
“Better get the lead out. You know damn well she’ll go first even though she’s not on the agenda.”
I side-eye my dad. “She’s permanently on the agenda, Dad. She’s got complaints about something every time they meet.”
“True.” Dad makes a tsking sound. “Poor woman.”
“Poor woman?” I squeak. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“She’s lonely.”
“Because she’s killed three husbands.”
No. Not literally.
At least I don’t think so.
But she’s been married thrice, and they’ve all died sudden deaths.
Probably poisoned themselves once they realized whom they’d married.
Her last name came up in class once. We were studying Greek mythology, which was fascinating to me. Anyway, Mona means female death-spirit.
There’s no name more fitting.
I looked up her first name, and do you know what it means? Wretchedness. Also Greek. If she lived in Greece, they’d call her Wretchedness Female Death-Spirit.
I should share that with her.
Except I’m not like that. Like her. Because, believe me, if she’s got ammo on someone, no matter what it is, she’ll use it.
Case in point… she’s said things to me about my mom a million times. I’ve learned to not pay attention because I know it’s a ploy to get me riled up. Privately, it works, but my dad taught me a long time ago to let things that don’t matter roll right off my back. And believe me when I say, Desdemona Keres does not matter. Not to me.
* * *
“Hear ye,hear ye, let the Zodiac Hills city council meeting come to order.” Our mayor, one Kitty Standish, bangs her hammer onto the two-by-four that should have been a gavel and block, except someone stole those a few years back and nobody bothered to buy a replacement.
I provided the hammer and wood, because watching Kitty slap the table to no result on the usually rowdy crowds was downright painful. At one such meeting, I ran out to my truck and found the hammer and wood and presented it to her. To say she was thrilled was an understatement. Hell, she even mentioned me in her column.
Hear ye, hear ye. I’d like to thank Velma Lou Hamlin for donating a gavel and block to the city of Zodiac Hills to be used during council proceedings. Everyone, please give Velma a round of applause the next time you see her.
And do you want to know what? They did.
For weeks.
And I wanted to crawl into a hole.
Except, the thing is, they meant it. You see, most of the people of Zodiac Hills are kind, wonderful people. There are a few bad eggs, sure, but the reason I’m here, and why I stay, is because I love my town and its residents.
Dad and I find seats near the back of the room. I’d like to have been closer, but, for some reason, the room is jam-packed tonight. When Kitty slams the hammer down onto the wood, the room quiets. “I call to order the Zodiac Hills city council meeting on this year, March 17.”
Kitty goes through announcing who’s in attendance and what role they’ll play during the meeting. She asks that the minutes and information from the previous meeting be read back for all to hear, even though most everyone in the room was at the last meeting. No matter, I wasn’t there. It’s good to hear what Mona complained about last time.
