Rhythm and Bluegrass (11 page)

“You’re the devil,” I told him.

He grinned at me. “But a handsome devil.”

I smiled sweetly and said, in a voice loud enough that the people in the next booth could hear, “I think you should know that I will do everything I can to work with you and create the best possible solution to this situation.” I leaned in close enough to whisper, so that only he could hear, “But I am going to get you for this. You won’t know when it’s coming, but one day soon, you will be in the kind of pain that only a professional therapist can help you recover from. And you will know that we’re even.”

“Gosh, you’re cute when you’re mad. Yeow!” he yelped when I pressed a fork into the back of his hand. He snatched it back, rubbing the circulation back into his skin. “Well, excuse me for interrupting your breakfast.” He turned and waved to someone sitting at the lunch counter. “I just wanted to introduce you to Gary Baker and Bess Hansen,” he said. Behind him, a tall guy around Will’s age with thick dark hair under a green hat reading
MUD CREEK MUSTANGS
stood, staring through me. Bess was a curvy redhead with an anxious expression. She glanced around the diner like she was afraid she would get in trouble for talking to me.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, glancing up at them, wary about the direction of this conversation.

Will stood and clapped Gary on the back. What the hell was with this back-clapping thing? “I went to school with Gary. He’s a great guy. Bess had a crush on him since we were kids and only worked up the nerve to tell him about it last year. Gary and Bess would love to get married, but both of them got laid off when the GloboMap factory shut down. They don’t want to start their lives together without prospects, ya know. And they would have gotten jobs at the plant, but now they’re going to have to leave town.”

I narrowed my eyes at Will and attempted to melt his face with the power of my mind, like in that last scene in
Raiders of the Lost Ark
.

“Nice to meet you,” I said awkwardly. Gary started to say something, then harrumphed and turned toward the front of the diner, taking Bess’s hand as he passed. She waved timidly over her shoulder, her expression shifting from anxious to pitying. That stung a little.

Will smiled blithely as he waved over a man in his late thirties with sandy brown hair and enormous bags under his dark eyes. This was a man who spent a lot of nights worrying instead of sleeping. I sighed, trying not to let my irritation show. It wasn’t this guy’s fault that Will was using him as an object lesson. “Bert and his wife, Cindy, and their two kids lost their house last year. They’re livin’ in a guest room in his parents’ house. They were hopin’ to move out next year when they got jobs at the new factory. Now . . . who knows?”

He waved over another guy, stubby and jowled, with a baleful glitter to his gaze as he approached the table. “Clint here used to manage the GloboMap plant. He got exactly jack squat for a severance because he spent so much time tryin’ to make sure his employees were taken care of that he pissed off the corporate bigwigs. Still, he got a good enough reference from his immediate supervisor that he was supposed to be fast-tracked for management at the ComfyCheeks plant. Clint is the proud father of four, two of whom started college this year.”

“Six,” Clint said, his eyes never leaving mine as Will spoke.

Will raised his brows, turning to Clint. “Sorry?”

“Father of six,” Clint said gruffly. “Melissa’s pregnant again. Just found out we’re having twins.”

“Congratulations,” Will said, patting his shoulder with a sympathetic air.

The corner of Clint’s mouth lifted, as if he was pleased about the development but was too cautious to show it. He snapped out of his reverie to give me a pointed look. “Well, it will be interesting figurin’ out how to feed them, that’s for sure.”

“Give Melissa my best,” Will said, shaking Clint’s hand. He turned toward the counter and lifted his hand to wave someone else over. I grabbed his hand and pressed it against the table. A pleasant little hum of electricity zipped up my arm and spread across my chest. He locked eyes with me, a confused grimace twisting his mouth just before I snatched my hand back.

“Stop,” I growled. “Stop the parade of people who want to bury me in an abandoned outhouse somewhere. What’s next? Are you going to gather all of the children of the people whose lives I’ve ‘ruined’ together to sing ‘We Are the World’?
I get it. You’re upset with me.”

Will pursed his lips. “Somehow, that just doesn’t cut it. The thing is that you think of yourself as outside of this problem, like it doesn’t affect you. And I will guarantee that it does. I want you to see these aren’t nameless, faceless numbers. These are people with families and homes they’re going to lose. When towns fail like this, it’s just a matter of dominos falling. One business closes. And then another and another, until all you’re left with are empty storefronts and crumbling houses. And this is a hell of a domino you just kicked over.”

“I understand that. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I don’t want to cause problems. But there are good reasons to consider restoration instead of demolition. Diversifying your employment pool, bringing outside money into the economy, preserving a little piece of local culture. I am willing to work with you on this,” I said in a low voice. “You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”

He scoffed, grinning as if my calling him a jerk was hilarious. And I couldn’t help but be a little dazzled by that smile, even through the anger. It was like dark clouds parting to make way for . . .

“Let there be light!” I exclaimed, my whole body jerking as I had an actual lightbulb moment.

“Oh, now you’re God?” he huffed, rolling his eyes and rubbing at his leg where I’d kicked it. Several diners at the surrounding tables turned to watch our exchange, their conversations bleeding away so they could hear us better.

“Sorry,” Will told them, waving them off. “She’s nuts. Go about your business.”

I kicked him again, not so accidentally. “No!
Let there be light.
I know where that comes from.”

He scowled, moving his legs out of my range. “Yeah, it’s the Bible, hence the God joke.”

“No, there’s a carving on the front of the library, ‘Let there be light,’” I said, scrolling down the screen of my phone so I could google the Bothwell library system. The screen got stuck on a rotating hourglass screen because there was no 4G access in this area. I sighed, dropping the phone back into my purse. “It’s been bothering me every time I visit Miss Earlene, just gnawing at the corner of my brain like one of those little bugs in
Star Trek
. ‘Let there be light’ is what Jackson Bothwell had carved into a lot of the libraries he had built in the late 1880s to early 1920s. He built thousands of them, including something like thirty in Kentucky. The fact that yours is still standing is sort of remarkable. Smaller towns, where the governments can’t afford to keep them maintained, have been forced to tear them down.”

He scowled at me again. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” I assured him. “But I happen to know the Bothwell Corporation just announced a program that will assist in the restoration of dilapidated Bothwell libraries.”

“Why would they do that?”

I grinned. “Because it’s bad for the public image for the company name to be attached to a building that’s falling apart. I could help Miss Earlene find funding to fix up the library,” I said. “There are plenty of grant programs that could help Mud Creek, programs that would renew Main Street, provide before- and after-school care for the elementary school kids while their parents are at work, install an employment center here in town. The grants are harder to get since the economy tanked, but they’re out there. I could help you put together the proposals. Heck, I might be able to help Miss Earlene find some historical restoration funds to help rebuild town hall. You can’t operate out of a trailer forever.”

“Grant money can’t be your answer to everything!” he hissed, clearly trying to avoid being overheard. That’s when I realized this was probably not the best place to have this conversation. I’d gone too far, trying to ingratiate myself with Will’s political side by offering my help, and now his pride was smarting.

“That’s why those programs are there!” I whispered back.

“That money has to come from somewhere, ya know,” Will said, still glancing around the diner to make sure he wasn’t being overheard. “Grants don’t just appear out of thin air. Usually, they come from the taxpayers’ pocket. I’m not going to take money from some other poor sucker because I couldn’t figure out a solution on my own.”

“Government grants are funded through public funds, yes, but these are private corporate funds. If a company wants to help you, why not let it? There’s nothing wrong with asking for help,” I said quietly.

He leaned over the table and, in the most serious tone I’d ever heard him use, said, “People here, they won’t accept charity. Do you understand? We’ve got a food bank, but nobody uses it. We don’t get aid programs that most low-income counties get because a lot of those grants are based on the number of students receivin’ free school lunches through federal food programs. And the families around here refuse to fill out the forms for their kids to get the lunches because they don’t want the people in the school office knowin’ they need help. They’ll send their kids to school with oleo sandwiches rather than accept charity. Hell, Tommy couldn’t get the seniors to sign up for Meals on Wheels, and he’s related to a good number of them.”

“I’m not trying to say—”

“I know what you’re trying to say. You think you know better. You’re here to save us from ourselves, right? Heck, maybe if you try hard enough we’ll name something after you. Do-gooders love that sort of thing, right? Plaques and statues and—”

“I don’t even know why I’m trying to have a conversation with you about this,” I grumbled, closing my notebook.

“Where the hell do you come from, talkin’ like that?” he scoffed.

“I’m not from anywhere,” I told him, pushing up from the table. “And for the record, this is going to be the last word: Go to hell.”

“Well, you’re stubborn. I’ll give you that.” His lips twitched as he rose from the booth. “Tell your boss I said hello.”

Will’s parting shot didn’t make any sense until I got to the FrankenBug and my phone rang. I glanced at the screen and frowned, debating whether to answer it. Why was Sadie calling me? She rarely called when I was out of the office unless it was to get a progress report. And I hadn’t been in Mud Creek long enough to have made progress. If anything, I might have regressed a little. Or a lot.

I was so tempted to hit “Ignore.” But if I let it go to voice mail, she would know something was up, and then she’d just keep calling. And if she continued calling long enough, unanswered, she might get irritated enough to drive the four hours to Mud Creek and “visit” me. Her version of visiting sometimes involved lectures and reorganizing my supplies.

No sooner than I’d hit “Accept,” I heard Sadie’s cheerful “I’m making a public presentation” voice say, “Hey, Bonnie, how’s it going?”

I stuttered, “Uh, f-fine.”

“Great. Great. I’m glad to hear it. You know Kelsey worries about you when you’re in the field. And she says to tell you that you left your phone charger at her apartment,” Sadie gabbed, all politeness. Her voice sounded so normal, so bland and businesslike, that I relaxed. Maybe she was just calling to check in. It was possible. This was, after all, the farthest I’d worked from the Frankfort offices. And then I heard her shuffle something on her desk and clear her throat. “Oh, and would you mind telling me why I got the front page of the
Mud Creek Ledger
faxed to me this morning with the headline ‘State tourism official derails plan to save town’? Or why Ray got a call from a Mayor Will McBride demanding to know why our office sent a, quote, ‘idiot history lady who doesn’t know how to drive without setting a car on fire’ to destroy his town?”

“I can explain about the car,” I told her.

“What is going on down there?” she demanded. “Last I heard, you were submitting a rather fabulous proposal for a museum there in town. And suddenly, you’re about to be run out of said town on a rail? I thought the mayor’s name was McGlory. How could you have deposed a small-town political regime, installed a new one, and then pissed it off in just a few weeks? This isn’t like you, Bonnie.”

There went my hopes for a promotion. I would be lucky to keep my job after this. There had to be a way to spin this that didn’t lead to my immediate dismissal and deportation from the state by catapult.

Nope, Sadie was the mistress of spin. She would see through any excuses or slick stories. And she would be insulted that I even attempted. The best course of action was to fess up and hope that she would be merciful, or that her catapult was in the shop. So I gave her a quick and dirty summary of events so far, including the newspaper disaster.

“Look, sweetie, I understand you wanting to save the place. You’re one giant bleeding heart. There’s no way you could resist. And that would have been fine if you hadn’t done something sneaky and underhanded and alienated an entire town in the process. Leave the sneaky and underhanded stuff to the people who are good at it. Like Kelsey.”