was a bajillion and a half years old, scientifically speaking, and had no more relatives to follow in his footsteps. They’d chosen me because over the past few years, the business owners of Trillium Bay had grown increasingly frustrated with his stodgy lack of foresight and his refusal to adapt—as evidenced by his inability to use a computer and his less-than-inspirational campaign slogan: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. And they’d chosen me because, as a homegrown girl and a teacher, they’d figured I could handle not only the work but the personalities. I knew the score. Like an expert poker player, I understood that playing the cards in my hand was only half the game. The other half was all about learning how to play the players.
Chapter 2
I’d walked down Main Street of Trillium Bay hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Today, it looked just as it always had. A thoroughfare of Victorian hotels and storefronts, fudge and taffy shoppes with ornately carved signs, and T-shirt shops designed to look like old fur-trading posts. During the summer months, the wooden sidewalks and the street would be jam-packed with tourists, but as autumn arrived, the crowds dwindled to just a few weather-resistant visitors, construction workers there for winter projects, and a handful of locals. Even so, the ever-present clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the jangling of harnesses added to the nostalgia factor. Outsiders thought this town was quaint, but to me it was just home. And although today it looked the same as yesterday, something was different. I guess I was different, because now I was the mayor.
Just two days ago Harry Blackwell had dropped those keys into my hand, and yesterday I’d stood before Judge Brian Murphy at the Trillium Bay Courthouse to be officially sworn in to my new job. My old job as teacher was being divided between my two previous coworkers until a replacement could be found. The search had begun the day after the election, and a long-term substitute was scheduled to arrive by the end of the week. Everything seemed to be happening in double time, but the pieces were falling into place, and now here I was on my way to my first official meeting.
“Good afternoon, Brooke. Where are you off to all dressed up today?” Mr. O’Doul waved a knobby-knuckled hand from the front steps of his grocery store, clutching a well-worn broom in his other fist. At eighty-nine, he looked every bit his age, and his mind was about as sharp as a crayon, but he was much loved around here, and a bit of a celebrity because his grocery store was (allegedly) the oldest of its kind in the entire United States, although I’m not sure who bothers keeping track of such things. Actually, the source of this information was old Mr. O’Doul himself, so the truth of it was anybody’s guess. “Never trust anything you hear from an old Irishman,” my grandmother Gigi always said, and she should know because she’d married and buried three of them.
I stopped in front of him. “Good afternoon, Mr. O’Doul. I’m on my way to the city council meeting.”
“Oh, are you now?” His wave turned into a not-very-threatening finger point nearly touching me on the left breast. I’d give him the benefit of the doubt for that and blame his poor eyesight.
“Hey,” he said, “when you see that Harry Blackwell, you tell him that the missus and me don’t like those striped awnings that the Tasty Pastries Bakery just put up. A real eyesore, those awnings.”
I had to wonder if old Mr. O’Doul could even see that far, as the pastry shop was a dozen storefronts away from his, but maybe he and his wife passed by them on their way to Sunday morning church, or Wednesday evening square dancing. “Harry Blackwell isn’t in charge of that anymore. He has resigned and now I’m the new mayor.”
His sudden squint of confusion added to the multitude of lines on his already craggy face. “You’re the new mayor? Aren’t you still in school?”
“I was a teacher. Now I’m the mayor.”
“Did I vote for you?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
He pondered this for a moment before his bony shoulders offered up a dismissive shrug. “Well, I probably voted for you, so please get rid of those ugly awnings. My wife doesn’t like them, and when the missus is unhappy, she stops feeling romantic, if you know what I mean.” His rheumy eyes gave off a