The Cherry Cola Book Club - By Ashton Lee Page 0,75

see lots of people eating and drinking already.”

“Those are all the book club members, a couple of their relatives from Nashville, and the councilmen,” Maura Beth whispered back. “Don’t get too excited yet.”

After another couple of minutes had passed, Jeremy sauntered in with his three New Gallatin Academy students and the parents who were chaperoning.

“Let me introduce these studious young men who would do any teacher proud,” he announced. “We have here just champing at the bit to express their literary insights—Mr. Graham Hartley, Mr. Vernon Garner, and Mr. Burke Williams. We also have Burke’s parents, Charles and Louise Williams, who are here to enjoy the evening.”

Maura Beth made her manners to the contingent, and Jeremy finished all the hoopla with a peck on the cheek for her. “As I told you over the phone, six is better than nothing,” he managed out of the corner of his mouth.

She pulled away slightly for her best smile. “You and I will talk later, Mr. Jeremy McShay of New Gallatin Academy.”

By five to seven, no one else had appeared, however, and the sweat began to bead across Maura Beth’s forehead. Surely the handful of people who had shown up so far were not going to be the extent of the turnout. Perhaps people were caught in traffic. She nearly laughed out loud at that one. What on earth was she thinking? There was no traffic in peaceful little Cherico. Never had been, never would be.

Seven o’clock arrived, and Maura Beth continued to grasp at straws. Maybe the rest were just going to be late. Yes, fashionably late. That had to be the answer.

Then, finally, one minute past seven, more warm bodies. In this case—the Crumpton sisters. They made a grand entrance, indeed, with Mamie leading the way as usual. They were both overdressed for the occasion in floor-length ball gowns and matching clutches—Mamie in gold and Marydell in silver— giving the unmistakable impression that they had shown up principally to preen and be admired lavishly and often.

“Why, look at all this excitement! I had no idea there’d be so many people here,” Mamie began, surveying the lobby and striking a dramatic pose just inside the front door. “I thought this would be more like our ‘Who’s Who?’ meetings. Just a few of us hardy souls with a taste for genealogy and the twists and turns of local history. But Marydell and I are pleased to alter our Sunday evening routine to lend a hand, aren’t we, sister dear?”

“Oh, yes,” came the answer, along with a predictably weak smile.

Even before Maura Beth had a chance to reply, however, Councilman Sparks stepped up to intercept the sisters by executing a pretentious little bow in front of them and then taking each of them by the arm. “May I have the honor of escorting such a delightful pair of ladies?”

“It seems you’ve assumed the honor before asking,” Mamie fired back. “But exactly where are we going?”

“To the buffet table, perhaps?”

Mamie gently pulled her arm away and looked him straight in the eye. “Durden, I believe I’d like to catch my breath first. Perhaps find a nice seat for the proceedings.”

“Then let me at least assist you with that,” he continued.

“Enjoy yourselves. Thanks so much for coming!” Maura Beth called out, watching them all move away and shaking her head. She knew quite well that Councilman Sparks was nothing if not deferential to money and social position, particularly when it lived on his street and contributed to his former campaigns.

Then, a trio of women whom Maura Beth did not recognize entered with wide eyes and a hint of confusion in their faces. One was young and slim with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, while the other two were matronly and somewhat overweight.

The slim woman spoke up immediately. “Hi, there. I’m Donna Gordon, and these are my friends, Paula Newhouse and Bettye Carter. Sorry we’re late. First, we couldn’t locate the library, and then we had trouble finding a parking space. We had to walk here from two blocks away.”

Maura Beth quickly introduced herself, maintaining a smile while her mind raced. Of course. That was probably why people were showing up late. No off-street parking. And Councilman Sparks had turned her down two years ago in no uncertain terms when she had inquired about creating a parking lot next door.

“. . . and we found out about your program because we’re all fans of The Becca Broccoli Show,” Donna Gordon was saying when Maura