a stylish green dress, her hair cascading down her back. “Actually, foot traffic is up, Mrs. Waterman. All over town.” She waved a piece of paper and grinned at Summers. “We’ve done studies.” Again I wondered if they were an item. They looked good together.
“Well, my foot traffic is down,” Tish complained. She must have realized that stamping her foot would have been over the top, or no doubt she would have added the physical exclamation point.
“Perhaps your business needs a makeover, Mrs. Waterman,” Rodriguez replied.
That earned a few more laughs from the crowd. Tish’s spa, A Peaceful Solution, promised a total makeover if necessary. I didn’t know what that entailed. Shock therapy following a facial?
Rodriguez tapped her watch. Summers nodded, and the two of them eased along the row and out of the meeting. I noticed their fingertips brushed, but they didn’t out-and-out hold hands.
“It’s your fault.” Tish pointed at someone in the audience.
I saw her target. My landlord, Logan Langford. Sitting beside him was my other landlord, Holly Hopewell.
Tish wagged her fist. “You allowed her to open the business at Cypress and Ivy, Logan. She believes in fairies.”
Logan bolted to his feet, his face bright red. “I have no right to deny a lease based on a person’s beliefs or line of business.”
I stifled a snort. Honestly? Hadn’t he been ready to kick Mick Watkins out because the grooming business was too loud? Hedda muttered something that sounded like poppycock.
“You’re spouting sour grapes, Tish,” Logan went on, “because I didn’t lease to you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sure it is. You were a day late and a dollar short. Paperwork has to be submitted in a timely manner. If you’d had your act together—”
“You Langfords, using your money like a sword,” Tish spat. “You think Carmel is yours to run any darned way you’d like, and—”
“That’s it. You will not take my family’s name in vain.” Logan’s voice swelled to a fevered pitch. “My family has devoted itself to enhancing Carmel and making it a beautiful place for all who visit here. We are stewards—” He scrambled across the row, excusing himself for inconveniencing people.
“Logan, stop.” Petra Pauli leaped off her chair and nudged Tish to one side. She pounded a gavel on the lectern. “Don’t move, sir.”
Logan halted. Tish’s face had turned ash white.
“No more outbursts,” Petra bellowed. “No slurs. Anyone.” She smoothed the front of her white linen suit.
Tish didn’t listen. She flailed her hands. “It’s all because of your son, Logan.”
“It is not my son’s fault,” he shouted.
“Yes, it is. He is a wayward man with the devil’s silver tongue.”
“Tish, calm down.” Petra put a hand on Tish’s shoulder. “And wrap it up. Stay on point. You’re not here to battle the Langford family. You came here to discuss the fairy garden store.” Petra stepped aside but did not resume her seat.
Tish scanned the crowd. Her gaze landed on me. “You.” She aimed a finger. “Courtney Kelly. Fairy believer.”
Fairy whisperer, I mentally corrected.
“I want you gone. I want this nonsense to stop. I—” Tish sobbed with emotion. The sobs turned into hiccups. “I want—”
“Time’s up, Tish.” Petra Pauli signaled Oriana, who deftly guided Tish away from the lectern to the far wall. Oriana remained beside Tish, standing like a sentry, as Petra moved behind the lectern. “Start a petition, Tish. That’s the proper way to handle these things.”
I shivered. If Tish gathered enough signatures, could she really oust Open Your Imagination from Carmel? No way. I’d fight her tooth and nail. I’d start my own petition and charge her with harassment.
“FYI, Tish,” the councilwoman continued, “if you open your mind to new horizons, with a modicum of business savvy I’d bet you could pick up a few clients from the fairy garden shop.”
“What do you mean?” Tish wrapped her arms around her torso. Her face was tear-stained. She looked like she’d had the stuffing knocked out of her, what little stuffing there was.
“Why don’t you solicit the fairy garden shop’s clientele?”
“Are you kidding? Solicit people who see and hear things that don’t exist?” Tish twirled her finger beside her head. “I don’t want any woo-woo clients.”
Hedda whispered to me, “That’s because her daughter is woo-woo.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her daughter joined a cult twenty years ago. Logan Langford’s eldest son introduced her to it, though he didn’t get sucked down the rabbit hole himself. Since that day, Tish has spouted realism above all else. Between you and me,” Hedda continued, “I bet Tish wishes she could rescue her daughter,