18.
“Of course JoyceBlakely is here,” Maggie grumbles. “Don’t make eye contact. Don’t tell her you’re a Kirkwood.”
And the annoying thing about having a telepathic-dead-grandma cockatoo is that I can hear her, but I can’t get clarification without looking like a lunatic who converses with birds. I also can’t remind her that it’s kind of hard to hide that I’m a Kirkwood when I’m the spitting image of my mother and grandmother.
The woman at the head of the table looks—well, exactly like how I thought my grandmotherwouldlook, and not just because she’s currently human and decidedly not a pink parrot. Joyce is soft and round, sweet and harmless, with a smooth white bob and laugh lines and that exact shade of pink lipstick that appears on every seventy-year-old woman at church. She’s wearing a barn coat and stretchy jeans, smiling warmly and benevolently as she looks around the table.
“Welcome, y’all,” she says. “It looks like we have a new prospective member. Wanna introduce yourself, honey?”
Everyone smiles at me and claps, and Shelby elbows me in the side. I smile brightly and give a little wave.
“She’s got something up her sleeve,” Maggie hisses. “That snake!”
“Hi! I’m Rhea Wolfe. I’m hoping to start a new business downtown.”
Joyce smiles, and her whole face crinkles up in a friendly way. “Can’t wait to hear more about that. We’re always happy for new blood. I hope you like what you hear tonight.”
“Shut up, you lying bitch!” my grandmother yells, which feels so unnecessary. Joyce seems nice, and the way everyone else is smiling at her suggests that sheisnice.
“So now that we’ve all got a plate of goodies, let’s settle down to business. Lindy, you’re taking notes? Thank you so much, sweetheart. I guess I’ll turn it over to our president, Nick Harris.”
Nick stands and calls the meeting to order, and everyone quietly eats as he runs through housekeeping items and the treasury reports, none of which mean much to me. Whenever he closes a topic, he snappily bangs a little gavel on a coaster, and he looks so pleased that I figure it’s his favorite part of this duty. I spend my time looking around the room at the other members—and trying not to steal too many obvious glances at Hunter Blakely, who’s posted up in a corner, standing with his arms crossed. A pretty blond girl around my age, maybe a little younger, sits in the chair closest to him. I haven’t met her yet, but he’s standing closer to her than he has to, which makes me want to bare my teeth even though I have no business doing so.
“And that brings us to new business,” Nick says. “We have several members discussing a memorial for Maggie Kirkwood and Diana McGowan. So far, a bench has been mentioned, ashas a piece of artwork or a small garden. Does anyone have strong feelings?”
“Maybe a bench?” Shelby says.
“Absolutely not!” Maggie mutters. “We’ve got enough damn benches, and every time we build a garden, folks let their dogs pee in it. I don’t want folks peeing all over my memorial. You tell her no. Say it should be art.”
“But—” I murmur, hoping to keep a low profile.
“All for a bench?” Nick holds up his gavel.
“No!” Maggie barks.
“A piece of public art might be nice,” I say, feeling awkward as hell. “Maybe a—”
Maggie flaps her wings. “Mural. Sculptures are too expensive. And heavy.”
“A mural. On the side of the video store, since it’s on the corner?”
An appreciative murmur goes up, and I’m glad that Maggie gets a say in her own memorial, even if she’s not actually dead, in the usual way. Joyce is studying me, squinting like she’s trying to get a better look, and I am very aware that I wasn’t supposed to let on that I am Maggie’s granddaughter. Not that I can help the way I look. Then again, I only spoke up because it seemed like Maggie wanted me to, and—
God, it’s hard to keep up with the secret life of a reincarnated cockatoo-whispering witch.
“All in favor of commissioning an artist to paint a memorial mural for Maggie and Diana, sayaye?”
Everyone in the room says, “Aye!” as Maggie preens a little in her backpack.
“Lindy, can you collect some possible artists and have somequotes for our next meeting? Yes? Thanks. Now, Rhea, if you join the Chamber, can we convince you to volunteer? With our recent, uh, losses, we’ve got openings on several committees. If you’re not interested, that’s totally fine, but we need to know on behalf of the Chamber how you plan to move forward.”
Nick’s grin is so friendly and hopeful, and all around me, these people look like dogs desperate for a treat.
“Come on, girl,” Shelby says quietly. “You got this!”
“You’ve got to commit to something,” Maggie warns me.
And, sure, I decided that I was going to see this through, but it’s a lot easier to decide that while holding a lucky dictionary and talking to a bossy cockatoo than it is to have twenty people waiting breathlessly to hear what you’re going to do. I begin to wonder if it’s silly, dreaming of a little bookstore, and a life here, and…
