Mayor MacDonald agreed to end the cease and desist order once the refurbishments began, but insisted the bookstore had to be closed for public safety. Chief Jimbo agreed. The decision to keep the store closed disappointed Alice, but Ona pointed out that it wasn’t sensible to host a fundraiser in a building that was rumored to be unsafe. Better host it outside in the street and then, after the refurbishments, prove to all of Blithedale that the bookstore would stand for another hundred years.
Already that afternoon, they set up tables on the sidewalk outside the bookstore. Alice and Ona sold bargain books, served free lemonade, and handed out flyers for the big fundraiser party on Saturday.
While she mixed lemonade, Ona explained that Mayor MacDonald probably didn’t mind supporting an event that might cause Darrell Townsend trouble either.
“Nobody likes Darrell,” she said. “Even the mayor—whose realty business stands to benefit from some of Darrell’s plans.”
“But if no one likes Darrell, why do people tolerate him, then? At the diner, so many people seemed to hang on every word he spoke.”
“Is it any different with some of the big CEOs of billion dollar companies? People say they respect them. But deep down, they envy them. Or may even fear them. But whenever those powerful people speak out on an issue, folks pay attention.”
“But why?”
“It’s smart to stick close to the person with the most power. Some day Darrell may rule Blithedale, and when he’s king, nobody wants him to remember them as his enemy.”
“What about the people who’ve protested his projects? I saw you in that newspaper clipping—you were with Andrea and Kris at that protest.”
Ona shrugged. “I’ll worry about what King Darrell thinks when he puts on his crown. Until then, I’m going to fight him. This town is rough around the edges, but it’s got soul. I don’t want Blithedale to end up looking like a giant strip mall.”
Esther, from the Love Again consignment store, stopped by for a lemonade, and the three of them chatted for a while. When Esther left, Ona excused herself. A guest had arrived at the inn and she dashed down the street to tend to her business, leaving Alice alone at the stand.
She handed out lemonade and flyers to people, including the Oriels.
Mr. Oriel, sipping his lemonade, said, “I’m impressed by your commitment. You must love this bookstore.”
“I do,” Alice said. “I want to make sure it’s preserved.”
He sighed. “I wish we could be the ones to do it.”
“Not with that man haunting it,” Mrs. Oriel said, putting down a book by John Irving she’d been considering. She picked up one by Joanna Trollope instead.
Alice, trying to be understanding, said, “The idea of a man dying there, must be off putting…”
“Oh, if it had been any other ghost,” Mrs. Oriel said. “Or a dozen ghosts, for that matter. But the ghost of that man, Vince Malone.” She grimaced. “I’ll tell you—”
“My dear,” Mr. Oriel cut in. “Let’s not bore the young lady with our old tales of woe.”
He raised an eyebrow, staring at his wife, as if wanting to convey an unspoken message. The message must’ve hit home, because Mrs. Oriel’s eyes widened, and dropping everything about Vince Malone and ghosts, she paid for the Trollope and said, “Well, good luck with the fundraiser.”
“But what were you going to say about Vince—?”
She didn’t even have time to finish her question. The Oriels were hurrying down the street. Mr. Oriel had a hand on his wife’s back, urging her onward. He glanced back once, an apologetic smile on his face.
What in the world, Alice wondered, was that about?