The Prince Charming List (18 page)

“Just a sec.” I clipped one of Mrs. Christy’s snow-white curls in place and bounded over to the counter. I’d scheduled Mrs. Christy as my last appointment, just to end the day on a good note.

“This is Heather.”

“PAC meeting tonight. Seven o’clock.”

Was this a recorded message? “Mayor Lane?”

“We’re meeting at the community building. You don’t have to give the vice president’s report tonight—”

That was a relief. I wouldn’t have a clue what to put in it.

“—we’ll wait until next month.”

“Okaaay.” The last time I’d been the vice president of anything was when I was in fifth grade. I’d run for president, assuming the entire class would
want
full-length mirrors in the bathrooms. Instead, Kenny Ikeman’s promise of ten new red rubber playground balls cost me the election. Solid evidence that way too much emphasis is put on sports.

“Kaylie, please hold my calls for the rest of the day.” I handed her the phone.

“Yes, Miss Lowell.”

We giggled.

I finished up with Mrs. Christy and she paid in one-dollar bills so new they crackled like autumn leaves when she counted them out. Then she dug around in her purse for my tip. This time it was a doily as fine as a spiderweb. And a pat on the cheek.

“I have something for you, too.” Mrs. Christy dug deeper and presented Kaylie with a huge caramel wrapped in wax paper. It looked homemade. I knew the difference and I could almost smell the butter and brown sugar.

When the door closed behind Mrs. Christy, I was ready.

“I’ll trade you.”

“Not a chance.”

“Then you’re fired. Pack up your personal belongings but leave the caramel.”

“I’ll share.”

“It’s a deal.”

I hadn’t known how much fun it would be to have Kaylie working with me during the day. When she answered the phone, her voice was cheerful and confident, but she was painfully withdrawn when there were people around. If she had to talk to someone, she’d position her head so they were looking at her profile. Which meant she wasn’t looking the person in the eye—she was staring at the floor. It was like watching someone with a split personality. Which one was the real Kaylie Darnell?

I put the Closed sign in the window and we collapsed in the chairs under the dryers. Kaylie twisted the caramel into two pieces.

“You did great today. I can’t believe how much I get done when I don’t have to answer the phone every five minutes.”

“Can I come in every day?”

We hadn’t formally discussed her hours. Which a responsible employer would have done. But not me. Nooo. I’d hired her without Bernice’s permission and now I had to set up a work schedule. One that wouldn’t cut Bernice’s salary in half.

“I’m busiest in the mornings. Why don’t we say eight until one. Three days a week? You probably want your weekends off.”

“I don’t need weekends off.” Kaylie looked away, but I’d seen the expression on her face. And kicked myself.

“You don’t want to work Monday through Friday, do you?”

“I’ll work as much as you want me to. I need the money.”

“To save for college—”

“Surgery.”

“Surgery?” The first thing that raced through my mind was that she had some sort of rare disease. Maybe there was some way to sign her up for major medical…

“On my face.” Her next words came out in a rush. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? I haven’t even told my mom yet.”

Red flags began to pop up in my head, waving frantically to get my attention. “She knows you’re working here, right?”

“She doesn’t want me to get a job. Everyone around here knows that—that’s why no one would hire me.”

Everyone except the clueless girl from Minneapolis. Who had.

“D
on’t cut those brownies.” Candy strode in with a box balanced on one shoulder.

I dropped the knife and it clattered down the table. “Why not?”

“Denise gets kind of persnickety if someone tries to take over her duties.”

Cutting brownies was a
duty?
What was her job title? I wanted it.

“Pass these agendas out. There are seven of us. Eight if Jim Briggs talked Marissa into making an appearance.”

“I really don’t know what I can contribute. I don’t know anything about Prichett. Or its advancement.”

Candy rubbed her chin. “How’s international night going at Sally’s?”

“I don’t think the lamb kebabs were a big hit. They switched to Mexican Monday. All-you-can-eat tacos. Sally was right when she said everyone goes back to beef—the café looked pretty busy yesterday.”

“How’s Amanda doing with the book club?”

“They’re starting
The Call of the Wild
next week.”

“Really.” Candy arched an unplucked eyebrow at me.

I’d fallen right into her trap. So maybe I knew
a little bit
of what was happening on Main Street. It was hard not to. All the businesses stood shoulder to shoulder like a chorus line. Which made me uneasy. How long would it take for word to get out that Kaylie Darnell was working at the Cut and Curl? According to Bernice’s conspiracy theory, news traveled so fast she suspected there was surveillance equipment wired into the streetlights. For my own peace of mind, I’d have to sneak a look at the town budget for any suspicious electrical bills.

“Half an hour. That’s all I have time for.” Marissa swished into the conference room, wearing a multicolored sundress with a handkerchief skirt. She’d wound a bandanna around her head like a turban but some of her curls had escaped, giving her a stylish, Gypsy look. Right behind her was a man about my dad’s age, with sun-streaked brown hair and an appealing smile. Jim Briggs. I’d seen him at the wedding reception.

Candy muttered something under her breath about tortured artists.

Over the next few minutes, the rest of the PAC drifted in.

Denise from the variety store. Mr. Bender from Bender’s Hardware. Sally and Amanda. There were a few more people whose names I forgot as soon as I heard them. What I didn’t expect was that everyone knew who
I
was. They sat down and greeted me like a long-lost cousin, and peppered me with questions about Bernice and Alex.

“We’re going to get started.” Candy’s voice cut through the hum of conversation like a chain saw. “Old business?”

Old business dragged on for close to an hour. Hadn’t old business been new business last month? Which meant it had already been talked about. I was beginning to understand Bernice’s frustration. Robert’s Rules didn’t apply at PAC meetings. They’d been replaced by Candy’s Rules, which she seemed to make up as she went along.

“New business.” Candy used her stapler like a gavel, shutting down a lively conversation about weekly garbage pickup.

Denise raised her hand. “I have new business to discuss.”

A low moan took a lap around the table.

“Not again,” Sally muttered. “This is like a prerecorded message.”

Denise ignored her. “I know it’s only July, but we have to plan ahead. The Main Street Christmas decorations need to be replaced.”

“
Like I’ve said before,
there isn’t money in the budget for new decorations.” Candy scowled at Denise. “And the decorations are in perfect condition. Aren’t they, Jim?”

Everyone looked at Jim, who slipped two inches lower in his chair. “I wouldn’t say…perfect.”

“See.” Denise looked smug. “If a
man
notices they aren’t in good condition—no offense Jim—it means they need to be replaced. With snowmen. Snowmen are very popular.”

“Snowmen are expensive. Bells are free. Because we already
have
bells.”

“You’re the mayor—there must be money available somewhere.” Denise must have sensed she was losing ground because she sounded a little desperate now.

“The street department has been whining about the potholes at the corner of West and Jackson for two years. How am I supposed to explain that I came up with money to buy snowmen we use one month out of the year instead of fixing a road people use every day?” She answered the question by banging the stapler against the table. “Next.”

Denise looked dejected. I raised my hand before I realized what I was doing. Wait a second. What
was
I doing?

“Heather. You have new business?”

“No…I just wanted to comment on the Christmas decorations.”

“That’s old business now. You have to wait until next month.”

“But—”

“Candy, let Heather say something.” Marissa, who’d been as motionless as one of her handmade pots for the past hour, came to my rescue.

Candy crossed her arms. I took that as my signal to continue. “The money for the decorations doesn’t have to come from the city budget, right? The PAC committee could
raise
the money.”

Denise straightened in her chair like a neglected houseplant injected with fertilizer. “That’s a good idea.”

“It is?” Candy’s eyebrow spoke a language all its own. And right now it was speaking to me. “Raise the money
how?
By selling cookies door-to-door?”

A not-so-subtle hint that I was young and had no idea what I was talking about. Now I had to at least pretend I did. “We could host a community celebration. Have food. Music. And use the proceeds for the decorations.”

“There’s the Fourth of July celebration in the park this weekend.” Amanda spoke up.

Candy shook her head. “This is Tuesday. We don’t have enough time to plan and we’d be competing with the organizations who count on the Fourth of July weekend to get them out of the red.”

Denise looked at me. In her eyes was a clear message.
You’re onto something—keep it going, girl.

“Something else then.” I glanced at Marissa and had a burst of inspiration. “What about a community celebration to unveil the statue of Junebug? Sally and Amanda could cater the food—”

“Junebug?”

“And we could have a parade.” Jim winked at me over Marissa’s head.

Candy’s expression changed. “A parade?”

Amanda and Sally put their heads together, whispering, and then Amanda raised her hand. “It would be a great opportunity to get everyone in town together.”

Go, Amanda!

Mr. Bender cleared his throat and his arthritic fingers tapped against the table like a drumroll. “If we had it at the end of August before school starts, more people would come. We’d probably have a better turnout than we do for the Fourth.”

“Fine. We’ll do it.” Candy nodded at the woman sitting next to her who was taking notes. “Heather’s in charge of the August event.”

The words
Heather’s in charge
momentarily cut off my air supply. “I can’t be in charge, I don’t know anything about organizing something like this.”

“It’s the way we run things, Heather. If you come up with an idea, it’s your baby. You’re automatically in charge.” She smiled. The enjoy-your-biscotti smile.

“But this was Denise’s idea!” I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to be the head of the committee. I wanted to be the girl who smiled and poured lemonade. For a few hours. And then went home.

“It was my idea to get new Christmas decorations. It was
your
idea to raise money to buy them.” Denise smiled at me, too. The traitor.

“This is a committee, right?” Marissa’s eyes touched each person at the table but skipped right over Jim Briggs’s head. “That means we all work together on a project.”

Jim was smiling at her. I noticed that even though Marissa wasn’t looking at
him,
her cheeks were pink, like she knew he was looking at
her
. Very interesting.

“
All
of us?” he asked.

Now Marissa looked at him. “I can help with this
one
thing.”

The stapler whacked against the table again. “Next
new
business item on the agenda.”

“It’s going to be raising money for a new conference table if she doesn’t quit abusing the poor thing,” Amanda muttered.

Denise inched the brownies closer. I hoped that meant they were the next item on the agenda. They weren’t. The meeting dragged on until almost nine, when Candy combined the last few items on the agenda so she’d make it home in time for her favorite television show. Thank goodness for the Agriculture Channel.

I caught up to Marissa as she made a beeline for the door after the meeting. “Thanks for offering to help me.”

“I owe you one for the haircut. I’d been looking for a way to lose five pounds without having to wear spandex.”

A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Do you think Jared will be done with the statue by the end of August?”

“He should be finished by then but it depends on how fast the foundry can cast it.”

“Does that usually take a while?” When I’d come up with the idea for Junebug’s unveiling, I hadn’t thought about possible complications. Now I was swamped with them. What had I gotten myself into? What had I gotten
Jared
into? And would he forgive me? He didn’t exactly hide his disdain for Prichett. Which made me question why he’d taken the job in the first place.

“It can take a few months.” Marissa must have walked to the meeting, too, because she didn’t veer toward the parking lot when we reached the end of the sidewalk.

“Months?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll check into it tomorrow.”

Great. “I better warn Jared.”

Marissa’s steps slowed as we reached the corner across the street from the Cut and Curl. “Are you two dating?”

Dating was such an old-fashioned word now. I wasn’t quite sure how to label it. “We’ve been spending time together.”

“So you like him.” She sounded surprised.

“He’s different from the guys I know. It’s hard to explain, but he isn’t afraid to talk about important things.”

Like life. Even though I didn’t always agree with Jared’s perspective, I could appreciate that he
had
one. He had a sense that there was a bigger picture. I felt the same way—and I was anxious to be part of it. To find my place in God’s plan.

“Do you have time to stop over and have a cup of tea with me? We never did figure out what I should donate to the auction.” Marissa changed the topic and I was relieved. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to her about Jared. Not when I sensed disapproval. But maybe it was sharing her studio for the entire summer that she had a problem with, not Jared.

“Sure.” After my impromptu pottery demonstration with Dex—and then Jared—that afternoon, I’d totally forgotten to help her.

We walked in silence to her studio. There were no lights on, which meant Jared was done for the day.

“He finished up before I left for the meeting.”

She’d read my mind.

I tried not to look as disappointed as I felt. Jared had gone out to Lester Lee’s the night before so we hadn’t seen each other. He’d called me during lunch, but when I mentioned I was going to the PAC meeting, he hadn’t had much of a response. I was falling more in love with Prichett every day, but I could tell that Jared could barely tolerate small-town life. He said it was as exciting as watching grass grow, but I had to disagree. The messages my customers left on the answering machine were proof that life in Prichett wasn’t as dull as he thought it was. He just had to look beyond the surface.

Marissa turned the lights on and we went upstairs to her studio. “I’m finally catching up. Sally ordered another dozen coffee mugs and Alex told me that he wanted eight more place settings of the dishes I gave them as a wedding gift. Here, take a look at these.”

Behind an Oriental painted screen was a table filled with colorful vases. Some were short and chunky but the one that drew my attention was vibrant red and looked like a tangle of plant roots. “I love this one.”

“So do I.”

I ran my fingers over the glossy surface. “Aren’t you tempted to keep it?”

“Imagining someone else enjoying my work gives me a better feeling than hoarding it. Not to mention I don’t have the cupboard space to keep everything I like.”

We picked out three more vases to donate to the auction and while Marissa made a pot of tea on a tiny two-burner camp stove by the window, I decided to explore.

It wasn’t my fault the studio brought out my inner Indiana Jones. It was like a rabbit warren—small but full of interesting nooks and crannies that Marissa had created with shelves and painted screens. I rounded one of those screens and the toe of my sandal kicked something. Fortunately, I regained my balance without taking out any of Marissa’s pottery. There were times when I could look back on ballet class with fondness and this was one of them—Miss Holt had disciplined the klutziness right out of me and half a dozen other six-year-olds. Whether I liked it or not, I was destined to be graceful.