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Walking up to the round-arched entryway, I let my fingers drift over the century-old timber column to my left and took a deep breath. Pushing open the cheerful red door, I listened to the bell tinkling above my head and let my shoulders relax. This was the power of a beautiful space.
A woman in a pale yellow skirt suit looked up from behind the reception desk. When she spotted me, her mouth stretched into a wide smile. “Charlie! What brings you around today?”
“Hi, Gladys,” I said, walking across the wide floorboards toward her. I glanced around the empty museum. “Quiet today.”
She gave me a look as if to say, Is that a surprise to anyone? before explaining, “No school field trips until next week. You just here for some peace and quiet? Harold told me you’ve been dealing with that Anderson fella. I told him that if Mayor Greene ever stands up in court with Harold on the bench, Harold better lock him up and throw away the key. Threatening your job over some real estate development nonsense! Have you ever heard anything like it in your life?”
I smiled. “I’ll cheer him on from the gallery if he does.”
“He can toss Mr. Anderson in the clink while he’s at it.”
Laughing, I nodded. “Don’t mind the sound of that.”
“Harold and I are on your side, dear. Tearing that theater down would be a travesty.”
After Councilwoman Sheffield’s visit, it was nice to hear that at least two people cared about the history of this place. Gladys and Harold Kane had lived here all their lives and had fought to preserve as much of New Elwood as they could. If only they served on the council and could vote on the proposal, the Monticello would be safe.
“So,” Gladys continued brightly, “what can I do for you?”
“I’m working on my presentation for the gala, and I was hoping you might have some resources for me.”
Gladys’s eyes lit up. “Have I ever!”
“I was hoping to use the train station museum as an example of successful restoration. I’d like to talk about the rich history of the town, the cigarette factory closing down and what a shame it is that we lost that part of our story, and the new dawn of the town with the Wine Festival exploding in popularity. I don’t want people to think I’m not modern, or that I don’t want to stimulate the town’s economy. I want to paint a vision of this place as a multifaceted destination.”
“Which includes our historic theater.”
I grinned. “Exactly.”
“Follow me!” she said as she grabbed a gigantic set of keys from behind the desk. “We’ll see what we can rustle up in the archives.”
I didn’t see Sebastian for two days, which was fine by me. The contractors were hard at work at the theater, and they didn’t need me there to be in their way. Besides, I had a ton of work to do. I was contacting every winery in the area for bids on the advertising space, working on my presentation, and scheduling meetings with every councilmember who would make time for me.
Throughout it all, my regular duties piled up. I received half a dozen applications for new structures around town to review. A construction site on the north side of town unearthed some bones during foundation excavations, and I had to rush over with an archeologist while they stopped work long enough for us to determine that the bones belonged to long-dead sheep.
I was busy, but I had a purpose. I’d burned more than a week thinking that Sebastian was coming over to my side, but I’d learned my lesson with the councilwoman’s visit. If I was going to save my town from the grinding wheel of late-stage capitalism, I’d have to pull out all the stops.
This changed on Friday evening, when my phone dinged with an incoming email.
Dear Charlie Washington Reeves, Esq.,
I hope this email finds you well. I’d like to invite you to join me for dinner tonight. Below is the address. Hope to see you there.
Radcliffe House Apartments, Apt. #2 New Elwood, Va
—Sebastian
I stared at the words, trying to figure out his angle. Dinner at his place? For what purpose? He’d sent me a very clear reminder on Wednesday that we were on opposite sides of this war. What did he think he could achieve by inviting me over? That’s when I saw the missed call from Sebastian this afternoon. Strange. Though we’d begun to tentatively work together, he didn’t call me unless something was wrong. But if there’d been an emergency, he would’ve called more than once, and Vinnie would have got in touch directly.
My fingers flew over the screen.
Mr. Anderson:
Why?
—Charlie Washington Reeves, Esq.
I’d just set my phone down when it dinged again.
