“I don’t see why ya think we need this,” Sara Lee complained loudly from the front row of seats. Jimmy Greenway sat to her right, his arms crossed over his LSES Staff polo shirt. “There is such a thing as overpreparing, ya know.”
Jimmy smirked. “We’ve never had to have one of these special meetin’s before. Unless you don’t think us small-town folks are smart enough to follow your instructions.”
Margot’s fingernails bit into her palms, the pain keeping her focused. Her expression was so much like Frankie’s maniacal “before nine a.m.” face, Marianne whispered, “Oh, shit” from the second row.
“Is there something you would like to say, Sara Lee?”
“Only that there’s really no reason for you to be here.” Sara Lee stood up and shrugged innocently. “You’ve laid everything out so clearly, in small sentences, so even we can understand it. Why don’t you just let us handle our own from here? How about you go back to the funeral home and wait for your daddy to fall off the wagon? Or maybe I’m supposed to say, fall off the hearse?”
If ever there was a moment in Margot’s life when she heard a record scratch and all time seemed to stop, this was it. Her cheeks flushed hot as every person in a twenty-foot radius seemed to gasp and clutch their metaphorical pearls.
Under normal circumstances, Margot would simply give Sara Lee a smile as warm as lake-effect snow and make some stinging observation that would leave the woman wondering for hours.
But not today.
Sara Lee had just insulted Margot’s father, insulted him in a way that tarnished the sobriety he’d worked so hard for, and Margot found that she took that very, very personally.
A smile so acidic that it burned her lips spread across Margot’s face. Several parents stood up and backed away from that smile, clearly unsure of what was to come. Even Sara Lee looked a little unsteady, but she didn’t move out of Margot’s sights. Marianne only grinned and rubbed her hands together. Because Marianne still remembered what happened when she was ousted from the PTA leadership, and she sensed McCready vengeance on the wind.
“You think we should go back to your way of planning things?” Margot asked.
Sara Lee nodded, looking to Jimmy for support. Jimmy merely stared at Margot, leaning back in his chair. “We didn’t seem to have so many meetings and steps. I just got things done.”
“Oh, I’m sure your small dictatorship over the PTA made it much easier to run. I mean, your experience in the ladies’ auxiliary certainly trained you for your time as president, didn’t it?”
Sara Lee cooed, “It sure did.”
“Is that where you learned to change the plans so often that no one knew how much you were spending, how much had been refunded from canceled vendors? Was that something you learned at the feet of Margene Moffat? Because I couldn’t help but notice that you served as treasurer of the ladies’ auxiliary while she was in charge. You know, all of those years when she was embezzling enough money to go to prison?”
Sara Lee turned a shade of chalky white found only in kabuki theater, and then flushed bright purple. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just crazy big-city trash. You see crime everywhere. You think everybody’s out to get you. I hear drunks get real paranoid like that when they’re on a bender.”
“Oh, so I’m the drunk now and not my father? Sure, I’m just being silly.” She sighed. “I mean, all those canceled checks from the festival account that I found from the last couple of years, written out to ‘cash’? That could have gone toward anything. There’s really no way of proving where that money went. Surely Mr. Greenway would have said something if he saw checks being written for prizes that were never bought and vendors that didn’t exist.”
Next to Sara Lee, Jimmy’s eyes bugged out. “Hey now, don’t drag me into this.”
“She’s crazy!” Sara Lee screeched. “Everybody sees that she’s crazy, right?”
“You’re right, my crazy allegations would be impossible to prove. Except that when I reconciled the books, there’s about twelve thousand dollars missing that can’t be accounted for through the receipts. And according to Sweet Johnnie, you did just put in an in-ground pool, despite the fact that your husband’s been out of work for a year.”
For a second, Margot thought Sara Lee was going to punch her. The blonde stood there, clenching and unclenching her fist while giving Margot a face-melting glare. And taking a page from Tootie’s book, Margot said, “Sara Lee, honey, bless your heart.”
Sara Lee seethed, stomping within striking distance, her arms tensed. Behind her, Marianne stood up and stepped around the chairs, prepared to tag in if necessary. But Margot shoved her hand against Sara Lee’s advancing shoulder and leaned in close enough that she could whisper.
“Don’t ever talk about my daddy again, Sara Lee,” she said, surprising herself with her own Southern pronunciation, much less the use of daddy. “And don’t go screwing around with my aunt or any other member of my family. I know where the bodies are buried. And for once, I am not talking about grave sites.”
Sweet Johnnie stood to her full five feet, four inches and looked Sara Lee in the eye. “I think it’s time for you to go, Sara Lee. I think we can get along just fine without your kind of help. But I’m gonna be calling an emergency meeting of the PTA on Monday. You should probably be there, ready to answer some questions.”
Sara Lee sniffed, trying her hardest to look dismissive, but she seemed rattled and pale.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about. And I won’t stand here and be accused of something I didn’t do.”
With her nose in the air, she swanned out of the auditorium. The screech of tires from the parking lot followed. Jimmy stood up and quickly, silently made for the fire exit. Kyle’s face was alight with barely contained schadenfreude, so barely contained that he held his meeting agenda in front of his face to keep people from seeing it. A cacophony of chatter filled the auditorium as Marianne and Sweet Johnnie rushed to Margot’s side.
“Did Sara Lee really steal from the PTA?” Sweet Johnnie asked.
Margot nodded. “It took me a while to unjumble the books and figure it out. I’m not an accountant. I’m just compulsive about receipts.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I already turned it all over to the sheriff’s department,” Margot said. “They’ve hired a forensic accountant to go through and track the money and determine whether Principal Greenway was involved. I wanted to wait until after the festival before I accused her and caused even more complications.”
“But instead you chose now?”
“Well, the accountant texted me this morning to say that he’d confirmed everything I found, so the investigation is progressing now, no matter what,” Margot said. “Besides, she took a jab at my dad. She had it coming.”
“We expected the McCready to come out of you at some point,” Marianne said. “We just expected it to involve booze and farm equipment.”
“Farm equipment?” Margot asked, glancing over her shoulder to Kyle’s seat. The sight of the empty chair brought a frown to her face.
Marianne nodded solemnly. “It would be the last thing we’d see comin’.”
FOR THE FIRST time since Margot arrived in Lake Sackett, a cool breeze drifted through town. October had finally fought back the humidity and heat to create some semblance of reasonable weather. That wind carried the smell of smoked meat and frying dough, making Margot’s mouth water.
Opening day for the Founders’ Festival dawned bright and cool (with cupcakes gently wrangled out of Bud Sr. before his retirement). Main Street looked downright Rockwellian with each building coated in new paint and the signs refreshed. Every stationary object was festooned with patriotic bunting and informational posters. The Ask Me Anything volunteers had already started to man their posts.
The food vendors had arrived hours before dawn to start their prep work. The smell of the Holy Smokes pork shoulder was enough to make a vegan beg for mercy
. Aunt Leslie had opened a tiny-house version of the Snack Shack, with Bob and Marianne running the counter. She was offering some of her newer recipes, trying to determine which would be best to take to the state fair. Margot had no idea how you deep-fried s’mores, but she was eager to see how it turned out. She’d promised herself a big plate of them if she survived this first day with dignity—or at least without punching Sara Lee in the cleavage.
Margot had her clipboard. She had her walkie-talkie. She also had butterflies moving like unmanned drones through her belly. She rubbed at her stomach. She realized that for the first time ever, she was worried about how an event would turn out, not because her job or some bonus was at stake but because she would be personally disappointed if it didn’t go well. She wanted to see her neighbors having a good time. She wanted to see the town make some money and get some interest from potential tourists. And if that didn’t happen, she would be very put out.
“It’s gonna be just fine.”
Margot turned to see her father standing behind her with his hands in his pockets. His bright green MCCREADY FAMILY FUNERAL HOME AND BAIT SHOP T-shirt was a cheerful contrast to the somewhat sheepish discomfort on his face.
“Hi!” she exclaimed. “You look great!”
“I feel like an idjit,” Stan grumbled, pulling at his collar.
“Well, I for one am happy to see you out of your usual black-and-white ensemble. Next thing you know, I’ll get you into pastels.”
“Don’t push it,” he told her while she grinned.
Across the street, the carousel played a tinny version of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” Margot hoped that the operator switched it up a bit throughout the day, because that song was going to drive her nuts. She made a mental note to check the operator’s maintenance records one more time before the official kickoff, because Tootie’s talk of untrustworthy carnie folk was making her nervous.
“This all looks real nice, honey,” Stan said, his tone careful. “I think this whole thing is gonna turn out just right. Everybody’s real proud of how you pitched in . . . I’m proud of how you pitched in. You worked hard. And it shows. I like to think you got the bullheaded work ethic from me, but Lord knows your mama had plenty of that, too.”
“She did,” Margot conceded. “But I believe I got some of my better traits from you.”
“Aw, thank you.”
“Mostly the bullheadedness,” she added.
“Smartass,” Stan grumbled.
“I got that from you, too,” she told him.
“That you did.” He sighed, slapping his McCready’s ball cap on his head. He slowly leaned over and pecked her cheek. “I’m gonna go help E.J.J. on the corner of Beecham Street.”
“Make sure he drinks plenty of water and gets some time off of his feet,” she said, returning his cheek buss. “I know he’s tough as nails, but Tootie will worry. And that goes for you, too. Hydrate.”
“The bossiness is not a McCready trait!” he called over his shoulder.
“Yes, it is!”
Over the course of the morning, Main Street grew crowded with people. The mayor’s official cutting of the burlap ribbon to open the festivities was met with thunderous applause. The band shell’s constant rotation of bluegrass and country acts kept the atmosphere lively. The candy shop’s Win Your Weight in Fudge contest had cleaned out their supply in less than an hour. The boats and hayrides kept up a steady traffic, and Margot had to refill the brochure stand twice. Aunt Donna and Fred Dodge had stopped arguing long enough to try to beat each other at spraying water into a bear’s mouth for prizes. All around her, children clamored for sweets and toys. Adults were laughing and stuffing their faces. If there was any better sign of a successful venture, she didn’t know it.
She would miss this, she realized. Lake Sackett wasn’t exactly home, but it felt far less alien than it had when she rolled into town all those weeks ago. She would miss the slower pace, and the view from her porch, and being able to go to a restaurant and be fussed over by Ike for not eating enough. She would miss Arlo.
“So, everything turned out just as you said it would.”
Margot turned to find Kyle standing behind her. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he looked almost as awkward and miserable as Margot felt. That only made her day a little bit better.
“How are things going over at the school?” she asked.
“Fine, we’ve done two skits and a choir concert without incident. The kids and their parents have been very well behaved. And Jimmy Greenway is losing his mind, he’s so upset that he had nothing to do with it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, her lips quirking up into a hesitant smile. “I hope that this display of power helps with your perceived authority.”
“I know it sounds sad, but it just might,” he said.
Silence hung heavy between them, a little island of unhappiness in a swirling ocean of squeals and excitement. She couldn’t tell him she would stay for him. She couldn’t bear to hear him tell her that her apologies weren’t enough or that he was still disappointed in her. She couldn’t send him away, because she didn’t know when she might have the chance to talk to him again. And he wasn’t making this any easier by filling in the blank space with words.
“So, uh, how are the hotel numbers?” he asked. “Are they good?”
Margot was wrong. Maybe she should end this conversation. It was getting painful.
“Margot!”
Margot startled as Juniper bounded up to her, her little round face painted with an elaborate butterfly design, the glittering wings stretched from cheekbone to cheekbone. “I got my face painted!”
“You did!” Margot said, catching June before she managed to bowl her over. Her voice rang with false cheer but her smile was sincere as she took in June’s elaborate face decor. “And it’s absolutely gorgeous. You look like a rainbow and a unicorn made a baby on your face.”
Kyle blanched and shook his head as Hazel scoped out the prizes at a nearby ring toss booth.
“I’m still working on my child-friendly patter, okay?” Margot whispered.
“It was a little weird,” June told her.
Hazel inched closer, catching Margot’s eye. “And what about you, Hazel? Are you a . . . wolf? A cat?”
“I’m a fox,” Hazel whispered.
“Ah, sneaky and mysterious, without being so gauche as to wear a mask like the raccoons. I like it.”
Hazel grinned at her. “So no rainbows and unicorns?”
“Can we go back to when you were shy and didn’t tease me?”
Hazel giggled.
“Good call on the face-painting lady,” Margot told Kyle. “She’s not cheap, but her line is wrapped around the funnel cake stand.”
“If I’ve learned anything from our trips to the zoo, it’s that you should never underestimate children’s overwhelming desire to have glitter paint slapped on their faces,” he said.
“And, by the way, all of the local hotels are booked solid for the next three days. We’re running at near maximum capacity on just about everything. We’re estimating a crowd in the ten thousand range. So I’m going to consider this a success.”
“That’s a huge increase over last year!” Kyle raised his hands in triumph and yelled. “Suck it, Jimmy Greenway!”
Several people turned around to stare at Kyle’s display. He shooed them away. “As you were, people. Move along.”
“Congratulations,” Margot said, smiling as she handed June over to Kyle’s waiting arms.
“I better get going,” she continued. “I’m sure there’s an emergency involving the petting zoo or porta-potties that I should be dealing with.”
Kyle frowned. “That sounds . . .”
“Smelly,” Hazel supplied.
“I’m sure it will be,” Margot said. “I’ll see you around.”
Margot turned away from him and took a deep breath. “See? You got through it just fine, Margot. Just fine.”
She had to
find a new word to define herself or she was going to go insane.
THAT EVENING, STAN found a sunburned, tired Margot on the porch of his old cabin, sweeping the dead leaves aside with Tootie’s push broom.
“Tootie said you wanted to talk to me? Is it about the festival?”
Margot grinned at him and swept the last of the leaves off the porch.
“We’re never going to get those years back, and trying to pretend otherwise is hurtful for both of us. But we can build something new.” With a flourish, Margot opened the door to show him what she’d been working on in secret ever since their conversation at the mantel. With Duffy’s help, she’d gotten rid of the faded floral couch and the tacky oak table. She’d replaced them with comfortable, more current pieces from a liquidation sale at a furniture store outside Atlanta. She’d also replaced the dishes and glasses, the coffeemaker, the bed linens and dish towels. She’d stocked the fridge and pantry with heart-healthy foods. And she’d framed photos from her teen years, her college graduation, and a few candid shots with her cousins and left them around the living room.
“I’d like you to stay here,” she said. “Close to your family. You shouldn’t be living your life at a funeral home. That’s a place for the dead, not for living.”
“This is really nice,” he said, nodding. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”
“I like to think I took away some of the bad memories that kept you from staying here before and replaced them with new ones.” She nodded toward the mantel, where her childhood photos were spread. “Also, the carpet, because that was outdated and infested with mold.”
“Thank you, Sweet Tea,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I was gettin’ kinda tired of sleepin’ at the funeral home.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Margot said, eyes wide.
Stan dropped to sit on the new nubby brown couch and put his Coke on one of the Trout of the World coasters Margot had purchased.
“I’m not actually decided one way or the other, whether I’m going. I thought it would be easy to make that decision once I finally got an offer, but I can’t seem to make myself pick up the phone and call Rae.”