“This town is being overrun by hooligans.” Mayor Montgomery blew through the shop’s door, a whirl of leaves entering with her. “It’s that Beau Arson character. Word is getting around that he’s here, and they’re all congregating like those zombies on that TV show. I swear if it weren’t for all of the publicity and money he’s bringing in I’d …”
“What?” Harley asked.
“Well, I don’t know what I’d do. But I’d do something. Anyway, I’m not here to discuss Mr. Arson or his minions, I’m here to speak with you about the festival.”
“I’m listening.”
“I need to know your plans, Miss Henrickson. You never submitted your proposal to the Chamber of Commerce as you were supposed to, and Alveda didn’t want to deal with you. She begged me to meet with you instead.”
“Well, it’s pretty simple. Uncle Tater will host a moonshine demonstration out on the sidewalk.”
“Not offering samples, I hope.”
“No. We couldn’t offer samples even if we wanted to. The moonshine wouldn’t have had time to age. It would taste terrible.”
Ruby heaved a sigh of relief.
“Then,” Harley said, “Wilma will be inside the shop, greeting customers and serving cocktail samples.”
Ruby held up her index finger. “I’m not sure Wilma True is the best person to represent this business or this festival. Her grammar is atrocious and her fashion sense leaves much to be desired.”
Harley Henrickson rarely grew defensive with Ruby Montgomery or with anyone else for that matter, but this time she did. “Aunt Wilma may not have mastered the finer points of English grammar or of fashion, but she has mastered one thing: The art of conviviality. She is pleasant and warm and genuine and kind, traits that are far more endearing and difficult to hone than the superficial ones you mentioned. She will represent this business in the way I intend for it to be represented, in the way my grandfather intended it to be represented. Without pretense and with a sense of welcoming. When people enter this shop, I want them to feel like they can be themselves, be comfortable, and be treated like family.”
A stunned Ruby Montgomery stared at Harley, speechless. She had never raised the young woman’s ire to this degree before, and she seemed to flounder in her response to it. After a few moments, she cleared her throat and lowered herself to one of the bar stools. “I apologize.” She rested her hand to her forehead. “I’ve just been so stressed out with this festival. So much is weighing on it.”
“Your reputation as mayor being the first.”
She glanced up at Harley, an injured expression on her face. “Yes, that is one of the reasons, but you don’t have to put it that way.”
Realizing her defense of Aunt Wilma had bordered on unkindness to Ruby, Harley reeled in her emotions and adopted a friendly tone. “Everyone is stressed out about the festival,” she said. “It’s okay. Everything will work out.”
And Ruby would just love Aunt Wilma’s new hairdo.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Ruby shook her head. “Sometimes I just get so focused on proving myself I forget—I forget the important things. And then with Patrick’s death, without his help and his leadership, I don’t …”
“But I didn’t think you liked Patrick.” Harley took a seat beside Ruby. “I mean you were always arguing about your different visions for the community’s projects.”
“I didn’t like him. It’s true. I even hated him some days, but he—”
“Kept you sharp?”
“Yes.” She raised her brows. “Yes, he did keep me sharp, as you put it. I never did agree with him on anything, of course, and this latest venture, this ridiculous living history museum in Briarwood Park, well, it was the worst yet. Not only for environmental reasons, but because of the loss of community green space.”
“But it’s more than just green space to you, isn’t it?” Harley asked. “It’s something far more personal.”
She nodded, seeming to crumble atop the bar stool. “You see … my father … he planted those trees. When he came home from Europe, he and his fellow GIs planted them as a memorial in Briarwood Park, the section that belonged to Patrick Middleton. My father loved nature his entire life, you see, and those trees were so important to him, and even though he worked seven days a week, he took the time to care for each and every one personally. And they’re still there today, and would remain there if Patrick would’ve forgone that silly historical complex.”
“Is that why you went to Patrick’s house last night? To voice your concerns over the history museum?”
“How did you know I was at his house last night?”
“Someone mentioned it.”
“Who?”
Harley gave her a look suggesting her question had reached a dead end, and Ruby conceded.
“Okay.” She smacked her manicured hand on the bar. “I did go to his house last night. And I did go to voice my concerns about the history museum.”
“And?”
“Someone was already there.”
“Inside?”
“No, at the door.”
“Could you tell who it was?”
“No. It was dark. Then I realized how ridiculous and inappropriate it looked for me to be there too at that hour, so I left.” She deflated once again on the bar stool. “Although now I almost wish that silly history museum was going forward.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Patrick left no provisions for it in his will, so now it will be auctioned off to the highest bidder. And we know who that will be.”
“Arthur Johnson?”
“Correct again, Miss Henrickson. I see you’re still the sharpest knife in the drawer.” She drummed her burgundy fingernails against the bar top. “He’s always been a shrewd one, Arthur has. He’s always gotten his way. Now he’ll have his multi-million-dollar shopping center too.”
Harley turned to her with concern. “What do you mean by saying Arthur’s always been a shrewd one, that he’s always gotten his way?”
Ruby angled her body on the bar stool toward Harley. “You know Arthur’s contracting business was built on Sutcliffe Real Estate, don’t you? That when he started out, he was just a day laborer, working on one of their hotels.”
“No,” Harley said, surprised. “No, I never knew that.”
“Yes. He somehow ingratiated himself to the Sutcliffe’s only son, James—he was Michael’s father. They became very good friends, and not surprisingly, over time, Arthur was promoted from one level of management to the next. When James Sutcliffe took over his father’s business, he made Arthur his second in command. And then when James died so tragically, and I will not voice my suspicions of Arthur in that regard though I do have them … Arthur received James’s shares of the company.”
“So James had willed them to him then?”
“So the story goes. James was a recent widower, you see, and Michael was just a baby at the time. Arthur was his best friend. It made sense. Then the remainder of the Sutcliffe shares remained with Michael as part of his trust fund. So you see what I’m getting at, Miss Henrickson?”
“Yes. I see very clearly. Arthur Johnson became a very wealthy man after James Sutcliffe’s death, and is about to become even wealthier after Patrick Middleton’s.”
“Indeed.”
“But Pearl says Arthur was at home with her the night Patrick died. He has a solid alibi.”
“That’s a lie,” Ruby said. “I know because when I was leaving Patrick’s house, I saw Arthur’s Range Rover pulling into his garage next door. He hadn’t been home apparently. Not all night at least.”
“And he’d been somewhere he needed to lie about.”
“So it appears.”