Matinees With Miriam. Vicki Essex

Bob Fordingham?”

      She rolled her eyes. “He’s a man of his own convictions, even when he’s contradicting himself.” She sniffed. “I won’t be coy about it. He hates me for winning the election. He’ll do anything to undermine my administration.”

      “I’ve dealt with guys like that before. He’s just one man, though. It’s really a matter of who he’ll sway to his way of thinking.”

      “He has the ear of some more conservative thinkers. Older folks who haven’t appreciated the way the town’s changed over the past few years.”

      “I’ve dealt with folks like that, too.”

      “I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Patel.”

      “Shane is fine.”

      She nodded. “Unfortunately, Bob Fordingham isn’t the only one I wanted to talk to you about.” She slid a folder toward him. “Miriam Bateman’s lodged a formal protest to Everville’s town council against the rezoning of her property.”

      The pit of his stomach swooped at the mention of Miriam. “But the zoning board hasn’t even voted on this yet.”

      “Seems she’s getting a jump on it. She’s really not keen on selling the theater.”

      “Do you have any insight into her reason?”

      “I don’t know her personally, and I never knew Jack Bateman. From what I hear, he was a good man.”

      He hesitated. “Do you know how he died?”

      “You’re referring to the suicide rumors.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if they’re true. Stories get conflated around here. All I do know is that he left everything to his only grandchild, Miriam.”

      He added that to his mental file on Miriam. He’d ask Arty or someone else about Jack Bateman. Getting to the root of Miriam’s attachment to the Crown was key to taking it off her hands.

      “You understand that you’ll probably have to defend your project at the next town meeting. Miriam’s protest will likely be followed by others.”

      “You’ve had success changing people’s minds before,” he noted.

      “I don’t change minds, Mr. Patel. I support projects that will ensure Everville endures and grows.” She dropped her pen on the notepad in front of her. “It’s not my job to convince people what’s good for them. All these infrastructure projects I’ve supported are about shoring up the foundations of this town, prepping it for growth. Your condo is one of the first major private investment opportunities the town has seen in years. But no matter how good it looks on paper, I serve my constituents.”

      “And does the project still look good to you?” he asked carefully. He’d heard from Laura that former mayor Fordingham hadn’t been coy about seeking a bribe from Sagmar in exchange for his support. The company had already offered other cosmetic and peripheral infrastructure incentives—a splash pad and playground, a new park, all kinds of beautification—but Big Bob had wanted his fat palms greased.

      “I think affordable modern housing is what this town needs. The jobs and new blood it’ll bring in will benefit the whole community. Nothing is worse for the economy than stagnation. Nonetheless, my job is to serve the people.” She paused, gazing out the window. “The zoning meeting is about a month away. I’ll listen to any and all concerns the townspeople have, as will the other members of the board. You’ll understand if I tell you now that we should limit our private meetings until the zoning board vote is over.”

      “Of course.” After all, optics were important. Everyone in town would know by the end of the day that he’d been by to see the mayor. She rightfully wouldn’t want anyone thinking those visits had affected her decision.

      “I’ll ask that you conduct yourself professionally while you’re in town. It’s hard not to trip over elected officials here.”

      “I understand.” Plenty of council members had businesses in town—he’d have to be careful about who to patronize. He didn’t want to be seen as favoring a few shops or services over others.

      “Good. Nothing’s more important to me than the relationship between people and community, and I believe in good, democratic governance. The foundation for that is trust, transparency and truthfulness. That is something I will not jeopardize.”

      “I hear you loud and clear.”

      They parted ways soon after that. Shane headed back for the B and B, chewing over the mayor’s words.

      She was a woman of strict morals—honest, dutiful and clearly intelligent. It was no less than he’d expected, considering the thoughtful, articulate emails and phone calls they’d exchanged. There’d be no bribing her or the other council members. Not that Shane would resort to that—not ostentatiously, at any rate. Miriam Bateman was a different story, though.

      A month. He hadn’t thought he’d have to wait quite that long, though he supposed he could head back to New York in that time and return for the zoning board meeting.

      Then again, he hadn’t yet secured the Crown, and from what he could tell, he would have to work hard to pry it from Miriam Bateman’s claws.

      There were worse things than hanging out in Everville during the summer. Reacquainting himself with the town that had been like a second home to him wouldn’t be a trial.

      * * *

      MIRA FINISHED HER last blog post for the day and hit Publish. It’d been a grueling week with her deadlines. While she appreciated how much her editors liked her work, writing ten or more pieces daily was exhausting. The money was too good to turn away, though, and she needed every penny to pay the property taxes.

      She frowned at the time—almost eight. She’d thought she’d be able to water her garden, but she preferred not to climb up to the roof in the dark. She thought again about the never-ending list of repairs and improvements and where “install rooftop patio lights” fell. Too far down, unfortunately. Working locks, busted plumbing and wonky electrical were top priority. While she could do a lot herself—the internet was great at teaching her all the DIY she needed to maintain the theater—she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could take on a job that required a certified professional.

      “Don’t worry, Grandpa, I’ll get it all done, starting with the wiring,” she promised to the empty room as she got up to heat a can of soup in the little pot on the hot plate. “Or do you think the leaking urinals in the men’s room are more important?”

      A hollow whistle broke the silence as changing air pressure creaked through the cavernous building. The wind outside was picking up—she knew the sound of every groan and thump like the beat of her own heart. She sighed. “I know, I don’t need to use them, but I’m worried about the pipes cracking in the walls, leaking all over the place. You know what water damage does.” Water was the most patient and most destructive of the threats to the Crown.

      Well, except maybe for Shane Patel.

      The man was insufferable. She hadn’t seen him since that presentation at the school gymnasium. Filing that formal complaint to the mayor must have finally put him off. Thank God. She wasn’t sure she could deal with his big, stupid smile, as if he was friends with everyone in Everville...

      If the movies had taught her anything, it was to never trust handsome charmers.

      She screwed up her face. “He’s not handsome, he’s just...new and different.”

      The theater’s old ventilation shafts shuddered softly, as if with laughter, and she glared up at them. Tightening the bolts on the shaft brackets moved up the to-do list. Shane Patel was nothing more than a novelty, and an unwelcome one at that. He was like Harold Hill in The Music Man, a huckster after every red cent he could get, or in Mr. Patel’s case, her building. He would get what he wanted and be out of there as soon as the deal was done.

      Well, that deal was