Wait—investors?
My heart tears off like a dog at a hunt as Pat’s appearance in Sheet Cake suddenly clicks into place. Hopefully, Pat and Tank realized with a brief look down Main Street how useless it is. It would probably be easier to sell tickets to the town proper as a ghost town than revive the crumbling buildings. Mari’s is the only thing open down here that’s not publicly funded.
“We’ve scared off investors before,” Eula Martin says. She’s scary enough to do the job on her own. With her tight white bun, intense makeup, and pointy red nails, she channels a storybook witch to a T. Her Victorian-style cottage near town, with its scrollwork and detailed trim, even looks like a gingerbread house. To complete the terrifying persona, she has a whole room full of realistic dolls with unblinking eyes. According to gossip, they have real human hair.
As kids, we used to hold our breath when we rode our bikes past her house.
“I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” Lynn Louise says. “We’ll keep an eye out. If anyone hears anything, let us know.”
Big Mo won’t look my way, but Mari sure is. Now I’m not just bargaining with my cheeks not to blush but my armpits not to sweat. I silently wish for some topic—any topic—to get us off the subject of the mysterious non-Sheeters.
More wild boars, please! Or a traffic cycle that’s too short—that one caused a thirty-minute debate at our last meeting. I’m even happy to talk about whether or not the Daylight Donuts Shop is slowly poisoning the town. Eula Martin swears up and down they’ve been using cleaning spray on the inside of the glass case while the donuts are still inside.
But no, apparently the one topic I want to avoid is not so easy to escape.
Lynn Louise squints down at her phone again. “Oh! Looks like there’s a new post on Neighborly, identifying them.”
I consider bolting for the door but decide to sit here and accept my fate. Which is going to be the ire and wrath of my two best friends.
“The older one is Theodore Graham, better known as Think Tank. He’s retired, but he was a household name back in the day. His son, Patrick, played for Pittsburgh. They’re from Austin, apparently.” Lynn Louise sniffs. The only thing worse than being from Austin is being from new Sheet Cake.
Val’s elbow finds my ribs, and Winnie tugs at my sleeve. I feel their stares lasering into me and pretend I am impervious. Meanwhile, I study my coffee mug, where the remnants of a clearance price tag cling to the side. I pick at the sticky rectangle, hating how it just won’t go away. If I weren’t feeling so stressed out and panicked, I’m sure I’d see a metaphor there.
“Isn’t that the feller you used to date, Lindy?” Eula Martin says, and all eyes in the room swivel to me.
Before I can formulate an answer, Winnie jumps in to save me. “I think Mayor Whitehead left town!”
Thank you, Winnie.
“When’s the last time you saw him?” Lynn Louise asks.
“Four days ago.” Winnie is the mayor’s secretary.
You couldn’t pay me enough to work for the man, who is about as smarmy as the Waters family. But jobs here in Sheet Cake are scarce, and Winnie has a mountain of student loans. And until her accountant boyfriend, Dale, proposes or she sells her app, she’s pretty much stuck working for the mayor.
“He was behaving strangely. More so than usual,” Winnie adds.
“Strangely how?” Judge Judie asks.
Winnie rolls her empty shot glass between her fingers and grimaces. “He gave me a tip. The money kind, not the advice kind. Not that I wanted either one,” she adds in a low mutter that makes me and Val snort.
I’m not going to ask Winnie where the mayor left her the tip. If I had to guess, the lecherous old jerk tried to put it down her shirt. Though if he had, I think Winnie would have slugged him. Despite her petite size, she can pack a punch. During college, she played roller derby, if that says anything about the amount of fight in her.