Ten

The Town Meeting

News spread quickly through Aldermere. Between the Madeiras’ home being broken into and Mrs. Brackenbury being mugged, everyone was buzzing with gossip. Some people were sure it had to be a tourist, because it couldn’t be a local. The tourists found themselves being eyed with suspicion.

There were no more signs of the tea monster after the break-in at Mr. Madeira’s home. Part of Fin was hopeful that the creature would disappear and never return.

Aunt Myrtle came back from Eureka on Sunday, pleased that several gift shops now carried her postcards and a few wind chimes. She said nothing about counselors or appointments and merely kissed Eddie on the top of his head before going into town to buy milk from the Ack. Mom was in the cottage, having spent her Sunday cleaning. The rugs were draped over the porch railing, and when Fin had darted inside for a book she’d forgotten, the entire cottage smelled vaguely of lemons.

Mom had a tendency to clean when she was in a bad mood. Or sometimes even if there wasn’t anything else to do. It was why she’d been such a good room cleaner before she’d managed the inn. Fin knew that Mom was worried about some of the tourists leaving early. The season was almost over, and from the months of October through February, business in town would slow to a crawl.

It was the second Monday of the month, which meant a town council meeting. They were held in the only place large enough: the banquet room of the inn. On those evenings, Fin would trek to the inn at a quarter to six and help set up folding chairs. She’d done it ever since her mom started working there, just so they could spend time together. The tradition had been continued even after Mom took over as assistant manager.

Fin liked the meetings; she helped set up the chairs, then got a cup of instant hot chocolate, sat in the back of the room, and listened to her neighbors argue about everything from deer invading gardens to reminders that door labels needed to be bolted on, because no one wanted a tourist to try to use a restroom and end up in someone’s basement by accident.

She used the inn’s main entrance, striding in through the front doors. Bellhop Ben was behind the counter. He straightened when he saw Fin, as if she was a guest. “Good evening, ma’am.”

Fin laughed. “Hi, Ben.”

He flashed her an easy grin. “You here for the meeting?”

“Always.”

Ben leaned across the counter. “We got some new chairs.”

“Lighter?” she said hopefully. The inn’s folding chairs were padded with old cushions and two of them weighed nearly as much as she did. She had to carry them one at a time and her arms ached afterward.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Super flimsy, though. I feel like we should put a warning label on them or something. They look like they could snap if someone sat on them the wrong way.” He shrugged. “Budget cuts, you know how it is.”

This was one thing she liked about Ben—he talked to her like she was another adult. There wasn’t any condescension or saying she wouldn’t understand.

“You coming to the meeting?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Someone’s gotta stay at the front counter, keep the guests happy.”

The phone rang and Ben reached for it, giving Fin a nod of farewell. She walked down the hallway to the banquet room. Mom had already set up the podium and was connecting the microphone. She saw Fin and smiled. “Hey, sweetheart. Got your homework done?”

Fin nodded. “Just math. It was easy.”

“That’s my girl.” Mom dropped a kiss against the top of her head, then said, “We got some new chairs. We’ve been keeping them in the left-hand side of the closet where we store the linens.”

They worked in comfortable silence for about fifteen minutes, putting the folding chairs in rows, and then arranging a table with hot and cold water. There were packets of tea—the cheap, normal kinds from the grocery store—and coffee and hot chocolate. Fin grabbed one of the chocolate packets, stirring the brown powder into a mug with the inn’s logo printed on one side.

This was the part she liked best—the five minutes after setup that was quiet. Just her and her mom. They sat together in the front row, waiting for the townspeople to arrive.

“So how was school?” asked Mom.

Fin smiled. “It was good. Read aloud in class during English.” With the tea’s magic running through her, the prospect hadn’t been as daunting as it might have been. She’d made three mistakes during the reading. Without the tea, those mistakes would have swelled up like balloons, becoming the only things that mattered in that memory, all she could recall. But now—now they were just mistakes. And she could handle them.

“You going to stay for the whole meeting?” asked Mom. “It might be a long one. I’m sure the mayor will have plenty to say about our recent ‘crime spree.’”

Fin tried to keep her face normal. That was exactly why she wanted to stay—if there was any news about the creature that had broken into Mr. Madeira’s home, she needed to know about it. “I think Aunt Myrtle’s making cheese quesadillas,” said Fin, pulling a disgusted face. “The kind with the soy cheese. If I go home, she’ll want me to eat one.”

Mom smiled. “Well, we can’t have that.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped around her cup of coffee. “How was your weekend with Eddie?”

Fin considered her answer. “We got a lot done on our science project.”

“That’s good.” Something flickered across Mom’s face—it looked like nerves. “I know that you’ve been worried about that. And that’s why you tried to go to the tea shop a few days ago.” She inhaled through her nose. “Listen, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to talk to you about—well, your aunt knows someone up in Eureka.”

The counselor. A cold throb went through Fin at the realization. This was it. This was Mom trying to tell Fin there was something wrong with her, something that needed a counselor to fix.

Fin opened her mouth, desperate for some way to convince her mom that everything was fine, she was fine—

The tap-tap-tap of a cane made Fin look to her left.

It was Mrs. Brackenbury, come to claim a front row seat before anyone else. Mom swallowed, reached over and put her hand over Fin’s. “We’ll talk later,” she said. “You should help Mrs. Brackenbury, okay?” She rose to her feet and walked to the podium, straightening the microphone.

Relief swept through Fin. She’d never been so glad to see Mrs. Brackenbury before. The older woman’s hair was dyed a soft red-brown and her large-knuckled hands grasped a cane. She tottered to a seat and Fin went to the table and poured a cup of coffee. Regular, two sugars. Fin knew—she’d been watching Mrs. Brackenbury come to town council meetings for years now. She brought the coffee to the older woman.

“Such a good girl,” said Mrs. Brackenbury, beaming at Fin. “You helping your mother out tonight?”

Fin ducked her head, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re here.” Mrs. Brackenbury grasped her cane a little more tightly with her left hand. “The streets aren’t safe, not anymore. Not when there are muggers around who think it’s all right to knock an old lady down and steal her groceries.”

“How are you doing?” asked Fin. It had been the right thing to say, because Mrs. Brackenbury looked pleased.

“I’m fine, dear, don’t you worry about it. I wish Mr. Bull had been with me—I could have used him like one of those tracker dogs.”

Fin tried to imagine Mr. Bull, with his sagging face and snorting breaths, tracking a criminal through the woods. He seemed more likely to find a patch of sunlight and fall asleep. Even so, she nodded agreeably.

The others began to trickle in. Fin took up a seat in the back. She watched as the others took their seats. Mr. Hardin sat down in the second row. Mr. Madeira helped his wife into one of the chairs nearest the exit. There were the Reyes twins, Matty and Izzy, and their moms. Then the bearded and tall Frank, who always looked like a modern-day Paul Bunyan, with combat boots and a pet ferret instead of an ox. The ferret resided in the hood of Frank’s sweatshirt, only emerging for food and play. Sure enough, Fin saw a flash of white fur when Frank settled into one of the folding chairs.

The editor of the town paper, Cassandra Catmore, took up her usual spot in the back row. She had a pen wedged into the hair knotted at the top of her head and a tiny pad of paper tapping against her thigh. Her lipstick was matte and dark, making her look like a heroine from a black-and-white film. Next inside were Mr. and Mrs. Carver from Brewed Awakening. Cedar trailed after, her hands shoved into her jeans pockets. When she caught sight of Fin, she seemed relieved.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi,” said Fin. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Cedar looked down, a little sheepish. “With all the crime stuff going on, my parents didn’t want to leave me home alone.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, as if to indicate how irritating overprotective parents could be. “Is Eddie here?”

Fin shook her head. “No, Eddie doesn’t really do town meetings—not since Aunt Myrtle and Mayor Downer got into a shouting match.”

The corners of Cedar’s mouth twitched. “Never boring around here, is it?”

“Sometimes I wish it was,” Fin said.

Cedar glanced over her shoulder. “I have to go back to my parents. But I’ll see you at school.” She gave Fin a small smile before returning to the rows of chairs. It was only as she walked away that Fin wondered if she should have invited the other girl to sit with her—but some guilty, relieved part of Fin was glad to be alone again.

The room had mostly filled up during her short conversation with Cedar.

Finally Mayor Downer walked into the room. Fin had never once seen Mayor Downer smile. Eddie said that the mayor wanted to live up to her name. In addition to being the mayor, she was also head of the tourist commission board, the neighborhood watch, and the homeowners’ association. She’d ruled the town for years, but as much as people complained about her, no one was willing to challenge Mayor Downer for her throne.

The meeting began with a call to order, agenda review, and the mayor’s prepared announcements—which consisted of a reminder to everyone that gates were not considered doors and thus labeling gates in the hope of getting a deer or an unwary tourist into the home of a person you disliked was not only considered vandalism, it was also utterly useless. Then there was the usual plea either to keep one’s garbage bins indoors or give the ravens their weekly allotment of food, because Oak Street had once again seen a spate of moldy garbage strewn across the sidewalk.

“Lastly,” said Mayor Downer, “a fallen tree is blocking the northwest hiking trail. We need someone to clear the path.”

“It’s almost the end of hiking season,” said one of the older men up front. “Do we really need to spend the town budget on unnecessary construction?”

“Almost the end of hiking season,” said Mrs. Brackenbury in her creaky voice, “isn’t the end of hiking season. We’ve got to keep the town nice for tourists.”

“Or they could go somewhere else,” the man muttered.

“I nominate Frank,” said Mr. Madeira.

“That’s not how this works,” said Mayor Downer with deliberate calm. “We’ll have to check the town budget and—”

“I second that,” said Mrs. Brackenbury.

“No,” said Mayor Downer. “I’ll speak to the committee about—”

“The planning committee consists of you,” said Mr. Madeira. “Do you need to have a meeting with yourself?”

“There are procedures,” said Mayor Downer, her eyes like hard chips of glass. The glare bounced right off Mr. Madeira. He took a sip of his tea.

“We should clear open that trail as soon as possible, so we don’t have people going home early,” said Mom. Her voice was soothing, and Fin recognized it as her “a customer is angry” voice. “We can’t afford that, not before the off-season.”

Mayor Downer looked at Mom. Then she nodded. “I suppose we can forgo procedure for the sake of town prosperity,” she said. “Frank?”

Frank was sliding what looked like a sunflower seed into his hood. A tiny ferret paw snatched it from his fingers. “I can do it on Wednesday,” he said.

“Well,” said Mayor Downer, “at least that’s taken care of.” She took a step back to drink from a glass of water while her assistant announced that they were moving on to public comments and non-agenda items—which basically meant anyone in the town could take the microphone for up to two minutes to complain.

This was the most entertaining part of the meetings, in Fin’s opinion. While she often read during things like voting on public works or allocations of funds, she deeply enjoyed listening to the gossip. She wasn’t the only one; the entire first two rows of chairs were filled with the town’s older residents, some of whom brought knitting or crossword puzzles for the more boring bits of the meetings. People still talked about when Mayor Downer tried to implement a law that would keep lawns under an inch but Aunt Myrtle fought back by sneaking into Downer’s yard at ten in the evening and measuring her grass with an ancient wooden ruler. Or when someone said they should try to relocate the creature that lived in Bower’s Creek and it turned into a shouting match. Or last year when someone—or something—kept stealing doorknobs and no one could figure out who to blame. That last one had never been resolved.

Of course, tonight’s public comments were all about crime.

“—to the dogs,” one of the older men was saying at the podium. Fin couldn’t remember his name; he lived on the street behind the grocery store. “This place used to be family-oriented, but with all these newcomers . . .” He glared in the direction of the Reyes family. The twins were sandwiched between their two moms—Matty was playing on a tiny videogame device, but Izzy was listening. Both of the twins had black hair; Izzy’s hair was tied off in a ponytail, while Matty’s swung in front of his eyes as he leaned forward. Fin had wanted to talk to Izzy a few times, but her courage had always faltered.

Izzy made a rude gesture toward Podium Man; Matty grabbed his sibling’s arm and yanked it down before the elderly first rowers could turn around and see it.

“Yeah, it’s us that’s the problem,” said Mrs. Reyes—the one sitting beside Izzy. “Not you and your seventeen-year-old nephew who tried to lure the Bower’s Creek creature by kidnapping your neighbor’s cat and pushing it out into the creek.”

“Is that why the Winterborn cat looked so wet last week?” muttered someone in the back row.

“Don’t worry, Tobin drew more blood than any monster,” someone else answered.

“That’s—that’s nothing to do with this,” sputtered Podium Man.

Mayor Downer tried to regain order of the meeting by waving her gavel about.

Fin used the distraction to rise to her feet; she needed to use the bathroom. At least no one had mentioned seeing a tea monster yet. That was something to be grateful for.

“Point is,” Podium Man continued, “that’s two occurrences in one week. If it wasn’t a tourist, and we can’t be sure it was, then we need to root out who would do such a thing as break into a man’s house and mug an old lady to steal her purse.”

“Grocery shopping,” said Mrs. Brackenbury in her creaky voice. “They took my shopping.”

Fin slipped out of the conference room, letting the door swing silently shut behind her. The staff bathroom was down the hallway, near the front desk.

As Fin walked past the desk, the phone rang. She jumped, startled by the abrupt sound. She glanced around, but Ben was gone. And Mom was in the meeting. On any other day, she would have hesitated. But with the tea still singing through her, she simply reached down and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Oh, good.” Fin recognized the voice at once: Aunt Myrtle. “Hi, Fin. I thought everyone would still be in that terrible meeting. I was trying to get ahold of your mom, to tell her that the roofer is going to come out tomorrow and check the cottage for winter.”

“Oh,” said Fin. “You want me to tell her?”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Aunt Myrtle hesitated for a moment. “Did you go to the meeting? To see your mom?”

Fin blinked at the wall, confused. “I always come to the town council meetings, Aunt Myrtle.”

“I know.” Aunt Myrtle sounded bewildered. “I just could have sworn I saw someone moving around in the cottage a minute ago. Angie left the light on—must’ve been a shadow.” Her voice lightened. “Well, you have a good time. And if Downer tries to implement her lawn agenda again, you tell her that she can shove it.”

“I’ll do that,” said Fin, knowing she would never do any such thing. “Bye.”

Fin set the phone back into its cradle. Her mind was racing.

A light on in the cottage. But neither Mom nor Fin ever left lights on. They couldn’t afford to. And it wasn’t like someone could wander inside—Mom was one of the few people who kept their house locked when no one was home.

But even if someone got into the cottage, it wasn’t like they had anything of value to steal—

Except a key.

The spare key to the tea shop. She’d left it on the windowsill of her loft.

Aunt Myrtle’s voice came back to her. “I just could have sworn I saw someone moving around in the cottage a minute ago.”

Someone was in the cottage. Or perhaps . . . something.

Fin turned, heart hammering against her ribs and, as quietly as she could, hastened to the door.