means, don’t bother to get up. I know you really don’t want to.”
Alone among the three, Councilman Sparks stood and executed a hurried little bow.
As she made her way down the hall, memories of library science school at LSU suddenly flashed into Maura Beth’s head. There had been no course titled “Dealing with Politicians 101,” nor even something along the lines of “Elementary Schmoozing.” There should have been, though. Some wise professor should have stood before her and the other innocent young library students taking lecture notes and warned them that the political aspects of librarianship were going to be the most difficult to maneuver. That libraries and their scant mill-ages would usually find themselves first to be cut and last to be restored. It always seemed to be easier for politicians to favor the sound of bulldozers in motion over the static silence of the printed word.
Maura Beth walked down the steps of Cherico City Hall and out onto Commerce Street as if she had just been handed a prison sentence. Five months to get cracking. Her shoulders were slumped, and the blazing June sun glinting off the asphalt made them slump even more. It was just past three in the afternoon, and even though she had skipped lunch, she had no appetite at all. What she needed was a big helping of solace, not sustenance. So she made her way deliberately past the familiar lineup of one-story brick and wooden storefronts: Audra Neely’s Antiques; Cherico Ace Hardware; Vernon Dotrice Insurance Agency; and Curtis L. Trickett, Attorney at Law, among others. Finally, she reached the shade of the big blue-and-white awning dotted with silver stars belonging to The Twinkle, Twinkle Café. Inside, she knew she would find its owner and the woman who had become her sounding board since her move to Cherico half a dozen years ago—Periwinkle Lattimore.
“Maura Beth, you get your cute little redheaded self in here before you wilt like my famous warm spinach salad!” Periwinkle called out the second she spotted her friend sighing at the delicious blast of air-conditioned relief that greeted her just inside the door. The place was empty, being right in the middle of the no-man’s land between the lunch and dinner crowds, but the welcoming fragrance of spices and herbs lingered over the dozen or so tables with their blue-and-white tablecloths and delicate votive candles. Periwinkle quickly pointed to a corner two-seater beneath a mobile sporting an elaborate array of gold and silver metallic stars. “Right over there, honey! I’ll wait on ya myself!”
“Oh, I didn’t come to eat,” Maura Beth said. “Just some much-needed talking and listening.”
Periwinkle laughed brightly and headed over to the table with a complimentary glass of sweet tea. “Aha! Deep-fried talking and braised listening—my house specials!”
“And I’ve come for my fix. Sit with me until someone comes in.”
Maura Beth had long ago concluded that the key to the success of The Twinkle, as many locals affectionately now called it, was Periwinkle’s willingness to stop at nothing to keep it going. Not just ordering the food and supplies, but doing a major share of the cooking and even helping her waitress serve when the place got overwhelmed. The woman remained lean and indefatigable but somehow never seemed to break a sweat. Her blond hair with its stubborn dark roots was always styled attractively, never disheveled, even if she was seldom without the unsophisticated touch of a wad of Juicy Fruit gum in her mouth.
“So what’s on your mind?” Periwinkle said, settling into her chair. “I can tell you’re upset about something.”
Maura Beth took a sip of her tea, breathed deeply, and then unloaded, covering every detail of the ordeal she had just endured at the hands of Cherico’s three heavy-handed councilmen.
“Those . . . so-and-sos!” Periwinkle exclaimed, managing to restrain herself. “You mean you might lose your job? After all this time?”
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
Periwinkle put her elbows on the table, resting her fists under her chin as she contemplated. “Tell me true—do you think they would be taking you more seriously if you were a man?”
Maura Beth managed an ironic little chuckle. “Maybe, maybe not. In this case, I just think they’re all about shuffling the budget around to suit themselves.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I wonder if they’d be as willing to bulldoze you—using your words here, honey—if you had a pair. Listen, we women have to fight for everything we get. Do you think I would have gotten the seed money to start