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Peppermint Twisted Page 2
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I shook my head. “I haven’t practiced law since I came home, and I was never licensed to practice in Colorado.
We’ll have to hire someone if it comes to that.”
Kirby raked me over with that penetrating stare of his.
“Fair enough, I guess. But what if Jeb leaves Felicity in charge? What are you going to do about the censorship?”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we have to.”
Shellee Marshall pushed to the front of the crowd and turned to face the others. “Going to court will cost money.
Who’s going to pay for it?”
Good question. “We’ll all have to stand together,” I said. “Just like we always do.”
“We’ve already paid enough,” someone else protested.
“I’m not paying another dime. I want my money back.”
Shouts of approval rose to the rafters. I held up both hands, hoping to quiet the mob, and raised my voice to make myself heard. “I’m on your side,” I assured them.
“This affects all of us. But if we start pulling out of the festival, we won’t hurt Felicity. We’ll only hurt ourselves and the rest of the town.”
Garrett Roth, a photographer whose nature shots had won an impressive array of awards, leaned into the conversation. “Waiting for courts and attorneys and all that takes time. Time we don’t have. I think somebody ought to just go to the mayor and Felicity and lay the cards on the table. Tell them we want her gone or we’re gone.”
“I’d rather talk to Meena first,” I began.
“Meena’s not here,” Kirby snarled. “I’m not waiting for her to finish nursing her tender feelings and get back to work.”
I’d never thought of Meena as the type to pout before, but I couldn’t deny that it looked like she’d abandoned ship after the first volley. “Look, I know you’re upset that she left this afternoon, but she has been in charge of the festival since we started working last year. She may already be on top of the situation.”
Shellee laughed through her nose. “Yeah. I’ll just bet she is.”
Rachel scrambled off the table and came to stand beside me, the exhaustion on her face so heavy I could feel it dragging at me. “I’ve tried calling Meena’s cell phone at least a hundred times,” she said, her voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I really think we’re on our own here.”
I shook my head firmly. “Meena wouldn’t do that. She’s too responsible.”
“And if she’s not?”
I refused to even consider the possibility that Meena might have bailed out and left me to deal with the mayor and Felicity. “Maybe the battery on her phone is dead,” I suggested. “Or maybe she left the phone somewhere and doesn’t have it with her. There could be half a dozen explanations for why she isn’t answering.”
Rachel glanced at the crowd around us, and I knew she was seeing the same mixture of anger, frustration, curiosity, and expectations that I saw. “I hope you’re right,” she said under her breath.
So did I. So did I.
Chapter 2
It was after five when I finally left the guild. My head hurt, my eyes burned, and my throat ached from trying to make myself heard over the crowd of angry artists. Rachel and I had managed to ward off the immediate threat of a walkout, and I was feeling pretty good about what we’d accomplished … until I took my first full breath of fresh air.
That’s when reason returned, and the enormity of the challenge I’d taken on finally hit me. I’d left Karen alone at Divinity for hours already. I just hoped she’d be okay if I left her a little while longer.
The city offices closed at five, but I drove over there on the remote chance that I’d be able to catch Jeb before he left work for the day. By the time I arrived, however, the office building was deserted and locked up tight.
Paradise is a small town, and I’d known Jeb since we were in school together. I considered calling him at home to ask what he was thinking, but I didn’t want to approach this problem the wrong way and create more animosity. I’d just have to try to catch him early in the morning.
As I drove along Prospector Street toward home, I ran through a list of questions I wanted answered. First, why had Meena walked out on the committee? Quitting was completely out of character for her. No matter what the others said, I couldn’t believe she’d walked away from a fight. Jeb must have presented her with a compelling reason to leave, and I’ll admit to more than a little curiosity about what that reason might be.
Even more puzzling, why had Felicity agreed to take over the committee? She’d always considered herself a patron of the arts, but her involvement in the local artists’ community was limited. Her tastes were very particular, and she snubbed local artists more often than she supported them. So why was she suddenly all gung ho about the festival and determined to be involved? It didn’t make sense.
Since I couldn’t see the mayor until morning, I decided to talk with Meena before I did anything else. If Meena wasn’t answering her phone for Rachel, she probably wouldn’t answer for me, either. Besides, I wanted to talk to her face-to-face. Some conversations are just better that way.
With a silent apology to Karen, I drove past the shop and turned south on Ski Jump. I didn’t want to take advantage of my cousin, but I couldn’t go back to work as if nothing had happened while festival preparations spiraled out of control.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of Meena’s modest post–World War II home in the foothills known as the “east bench.” Her car was parked in front of the garage, and the car’s hood felt cool to the touch as I passed by. Apparently, she’d been home for a while, so why wasn’t she answering her phone?
She didn’t answer the door right away either. I rang the bell twice and knocked once before she finally dragged the door open and peered at me through the opening. Meena’s a small woman with a no-nonsense face and a cap of short brown hair, and she didn’t look happy to see me. “Abby?
What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk. Can I come in?”
Meena shook her head. “This isn’t a good time.”
“I just came from the guild. It’s a madhouse over there.
Why did you leave?”
“I thought you would have heard by now. I’ve been replaced.”
“I heard. I’m here to ask why.”
Meena’s gaze drifted to her hands. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
With obvious reluctance, she met my gaze. Her dark eyes were dull and lifeless on the surface, but there was something lurking behind them, too. Something I couldn’t quite identify. “I had to leave,” she said. “Believe me, it was the best thing for everyone.”
“I find that hard to believe. What happened? Did the mayor threaten you with something?”
Meena cut a sharp glance at me. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because I know how you feel about the festival, and I don’t think you’d leave without a very good reason. So what happened when Jeb and Felicity showed up today?”
“I don’t want to get into it.”
“Are you kidding? The guild is in chaos. Half of the artists are convinced you’re not coming back, and they’re demanding refunds of their booth fees. We need you there, Meena. If you’ll just tell me what’s going on, maybe I can help.”
Meena shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, but it’s not something I want to talk about. Not now, not ever.”
My head throbbed with frustration, but there wasn’t much more I could say, so I decided to stop pushing — at least for now. “Well, whatever’s going on, we need to stop it before Felicity really stirs up trouble.”
A bitter smile tugged at the corners of Meena’s mouth.
“Have you ever tried to stop Felicity Asbury when she makes her mind up to do something? She’s impossible, Abby. Nobody tells her no.”
My mother had, but the fallout had been horrendous. “I know Felicity
’s a big deal in Paradise, but we can’t just sit back and let her take over the festival. Not after all the work you’ve done to pull it together.”
Meena gave a listless shrug. “It doesn’t really matter.
The artists will complain for a day or two, but they’ll accept the change eventually.”
I looked deep into her eyes and tried to read what was going on inside them, but all I could see was a lethergy that overshadowed everything else. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m feeling fine. Why?”
“Why? Because this isn’t you, Meena. Why are you letting Felicity take over like this?”
She lifted her chin stubbornly. “I don’t have a choice, do I? This is what the mayor wants, so this is what the mayor will get. He thinks Felicity can do a better job with the festival than I can, and now she gets her chance to prove it.”
“And you’re just going to sit back and let her do it?”
“Would it do me any good to fight her?”
“You won’t know the answer to that unless you try.”
Meena shook her head and backed a step away from the door. “In some towns you can’t fight city hall. In Paradise you can’t fight Felicity Asbury. You might as well just accept it. You’ll save yourself a lot of trouble.” And before I could work up a response to that, she shut the door in my face.
The conversation with Meena left me with a splitting headache. The last thing I wanted to do was talk with Felicity, but I was afraid that if I put off the conversation, I’d lose the support of the artists.
I drove back to Divinity so I could check on Max, the Doberman pinscher I’d inherited a few months earlier. I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, exchanged the flat black shoes I’d worn to work for sneakers, and clipped Max to his leash.
I wasn’t sure whether I was taking Max to the Asbury house because he loves riding in the car or because having him nearby would give me confidence. Either way, listening to Max playing “wind tunnel” as he leaned out the open window and let air rush through his mouth made the drive a lot more pleasant.
The sun was low on the horizon when I pulled up in front of the gate that protected Felicity and her family from the common folk. Fully expecting someone inside to give me the third degree, I buzzed for entry. To my surprise, nobody challenged me, and the gate swung slowly open on mechanical arms.
From the road, I could see part of the rooftop at the crest of the hill. The rest of the house was hidden from view by thick stands of aspen, pine, and spruce. Where the sun could get through the trees, the undergrowth was thick and lush. In other places, only dry needles and dead branches covered the soil. Wondering what Felicity would do when she found out I’d been granted access, I put the Jetta in gear and drove along the deeply shaded drive.
The Drake Mansion, originally the home of Felicity’s father, Andrew Drake, had been built of stone cut from local quarries. Though I’d never been close to it before, I’d heard stories about it all my life. But even with all the rumors I’d heard, I wasn’t prepared for my first full view of the rambling multistory building that Felicity Asbury called home. The house crowned the top of the hill like a castle. I counted at least four chimneys, a handful of turrets, and twice as many balconies. Huge windows looked out on the scenery from every angle, and I suspected that the view included most of Paradise in the valley below.
A few cars — all newer and more expensive than my Jetta — lined the circular drive in front of the house. A few others had been parked in front of a fence at the bottom of a short hill. I knew Felicity would think it presumptuous of me to park in the drive, but I didn’t want to approach the conversation feeling inferior. I pulled in behind a Mercedes, rolled the windows down partway to give Max some air, and set the brake.
Andrew Drake had been a land developer who saw potential in Paradise long before anyone else did. He’d burst on the scene in the early sixties, offering cash for property nobody else considered valuable. He’d made a killing.
Four decades ago this hillside had belonged to Clyde Nixon, a good old boy who’d been smart enough at what he did but naive when it came to the ways of the world.
Clyde had believed that the hills around Paradise weren’t good for much besides grazing cattle, hunting, and mining.
Since he was getting too old to do any of those, he sold out to Felicity’s father just two short weeks after Andrew came to town.
Turns out, Clyde’s lack of foresight cost his family a fortune. For almost five years, Clyde held on to the belief that he’d taken Andrew Drake for one helluva ride, and he’d said as much to anyone who would listen to him. But eventually, reality caught up with him. From the minute he realized that Andrew had seen what he couldn’t, Clyde’s attitude toward life had grown more bitter by the day.
Every dollar Andrew added to his bank account had been like a knife in old Clyde’s heart.
Clyde passed on a few years ago, but his son Lloyd lives on the floor of the valley in a tiny house deep in the shadow of the Drake Mansion. I could see Lloyd’s rooftop from where I stood. In the way of small towns everywhere, folks around Paradise stood behind Clyde. Instead of considering him a shortsighted fool, people said he was simply too trusting. Instead of acknowledging that Andrew was farsighted, they blamed him for being greedy and taking advantage of Clyde’s trusting nature.
That might explain something about the way Felicity felt toward the people of Paradise, and how we all felt toward her. The truth is, most of us would probably have sold a prime piece of real estate dirt cheap under the same circumstances, and we all knew that we could have too easily ended up in Clyde’s shoes. No one liked that one bit.
As I turned away from the view and took a deep breath to prepare for the fight ahead, the roar of an engine cut the silence. A second later, a gray Ford pickup with one blue door shot out from behind the garage, its tires spitting gravel as they battled for traction. When the tires finally caught, I heard the grinding of gears, and the truck raced past, leaving me in a cloud of dust as it disappeared into the trees. The truck looked vaguely familiar, but Paradise is full of old pickups, and since Felicity’s second husband, Oliver Birch, was up to his neck in construction of a new restaurant, I didn’t give it another thought. Instead, I wondered why Felicity continued to use her first husband’s name now that she was married to Oliver. It probably had something to do with business. After all, she’d been an Asbury for a long time and most of her business contacts knew her by that name. Still, I couldn’t help wondering if Oliver minded.
I climbed the steps, punched the doorbell, and listened to it echoing inside the massive house. After a while, the door opened, and I found myself looking into the disapproving face of Ursula Drake, Felicity’s younger sister.
I hadn’t seen Ursula since I left Paradise more than twenty years ago, and the changes in her shocked me. Her once-dark hair was now more salt than pepper, and the years had etched wrinkles into her narrow face. Thanks to a few bad decisions when she was younger, Ursula’s share of her father’s money had disappeared a long time ago. Now she earned her keep by working as Felicity’s assistant.
Her build was sturdier than Felicity’s, and each of her features somehow harder, less refined. She kept her hair short, and I swore her face would crack if she ever smiled.
It’s understandable, though. She’d spent the past thirty years living on her sister’s charity. Frankly, living with Felicity under any circumstances would make me ornery.
Ursula gave me a once-over dripping with distaste. If she didn’t curl her lip when she spoke, it wasn’t because she didn’t want to. “Yes?”
I’d spent too many years married to a man who looked down on my family, so Ursula’s attitude didn’t sit well with me. Money and social class aren’t everything.
They’re not even close to everything.
“Abby Shaw,” I said, meeting Ursula’s glare head-on.
“I’m here to see Felicity.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Since she’s the one I would have made the appointment with, she knew damn well I didn’t have one. “No, but it’s concerning the arts festival, and it’s important that I see her right away.”
Ursula’s spine was already rigid, but somehow she managed to stiffen it a bit more. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. If you need to discuss something with her, call and schedule time on her calendar.” As if that was that, Ursula stepped back so she could shut the door.
I’d already had one door shut in my face that day, and I wasn’t interested in repeating the experience. I planted myself in the open doorway a split second before the door hit. Pain shot up my thigh, but I tried not to let it show.
“Why don’t you let Felicity know I’m here before you shut the door?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Ursula snarled. “I know her schedule, and I know she doesn’t have time to see you.”
Maybe I should have walked away, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to be here at all, but since I was, I was going to see this through to the end. “Look,” I said, refusing to budge,
“maybe Felicity doesn’t realize it, but she’s about to have a mutiny on her hands. If she doesn’t talk to me right now, there won’t be an arts festival.”
“I’m sure Felicity can handle whatever it is without you.”
“And I’m sure you’d be wrong. You can either tell her that I’m here, or you can refuse, and I’ll go away, but if I leave here without a solution, what happens next will be on your hands, not mine.”
She had the good sense to back down, but her lips pursed so tightly I knew it must have hurt to do it. “You can wait in the library,” she said, yanking open the door so that I nearly fell into the flagstone foyer. Waving one hand toward a large, open doorway on the left, she turned away.
“I’ll let Felicity know you’re here.”
With her pointed chin held high, she marched up an ornately carved staircase that looked as if it had been crafted in another century, then stopped on the landing and looked back at me to make sure I was obeying instructions.