Gertie’s hands clapped together. “Really? Oh, that’s the best news I’ve heard in ages. Harry never let me throw anything away. And he didn’t know how to use a computer, so everything had to be printed for him. Even his emails.”
“He didn’t know how to use a computer?” We good people of Trillium Bay pride ourselves on not just clinging to bits of the past, but embracing and celebrating it, like all the old Victorian architecture and the fact that we don’t allow cars, but that was no reason for the mayor’s office to be without a computer! I mentally moved that item to the top of my political agenda. Bring modern technology into the city government. I’d successfully managed to get some decent computers for the school, so this shouldn’t be that different. Although reliable internet service was another thing entirely. The whole island suffered from spotty service and sluggish loading times. If I could fix that problem, I’d be a local hero.
Gertie’s shellacked, bobbed haircut remained solidly in place as she shook her head. “Harry didn’t trust computers. He said the interwebz were created by godless individuals to bring pornography and Amazon drones into our lives. I finally convinced him to let me have one, but there isn’t one in his office. Not that there’d be room for one. I haven’t seen the surface of that desk since Michael Jackson was at the top of the music charts.”
“That’s a very long time.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, I guess we should get started then.”
Seven hours and twenty-six garbage bags full of shredded documents later, we’d barely made a dent. I still considered the time well spent, however, because Gertie, as everyone suspected, had her finger on the pulse of just about everything happening on the island, and listening to her talk was like an immersion class in small-town government. I, of course, already knew who all the players were, since I’d known most of them my entire life, but Gertie had the inside scoop on the inside scoop. She knew all about how Sudsy Robertson had voted against the new bike-helmet ordinance because his wife loved to ride but thought helmets made her cheeks look fat. She knew that April, May, and June Mahoney were pushing for new zoning laws so they could turn their parents’ old house into a bed-and-breakfast and were bribing other members to vote in their favor by plying them with cookies and muffins and rum balls. And she knew that Vera VonMeisterburger, the village librarian, somehow managed to steer every conversation toward the island’s current fruit bat shortage, even when it wasn’t on the meeting agenda. Actually, everyone knew that, because Vera couldn’t not talk about the island’s fruit bat shortage. That little tidbit was not news. Still, the rest of it was helpful. My father, Chief of Police Harlan Callaghan, sat on the city council and must surely know all this, but being a man of few (or no) words, he hadn’t shared any of it with me.
“I think people are excited to see what you can do with this job, Brooke,” Gertie said, pulling another trash bag from the box. “But I should probably warn you: they’re not going to go easy on you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought they could push you around because you’re so young.”
That brought an unexpected smile to my face. I was thirty-six, not sixteen, and I knew how to get things done. Being the oldest of three sisters had its benefits—not to mention the fact that I’d become the de facto woman of the house after my mother died. I was just fourteen when that happened, but old enough to step up and take care of my family. My father was around, of course, but children, and girls in particular, seemed to be a mystery to him. I understood that, and it was easier for me to just handle things on my own, so I was quite accustomed to being in charge.
“I hope people are excited about me being the mayor, and I also hope to prove to everyone that they made the right choice.” My heart gave a little thump as nerves gripped me. While my victory may have been decisive, I wasn’t naive. I knew why I’d been elected. The good folks of Wenniway Island hadn’t chosen me because of my vast intellect or political brilliance. It wasn’t my witty, insightful rhetoric or fresh ideas, either. They’d chosen me because Harry Blackwell