Page 20 of Sugar & Shadows

Okay, then. No bother. I’d been confronted by far worse than a confident twentysomething wearing a man’s shirt tied like a crop top and covered in tattoos.

She pointed to a chair. “You here for nails or information?”

“Both,” I said, surveying the assembled cross section of the town.

An older woman with massively teased hair was getting a pedicure, musing quietly. “If the mayor loses this recall election, it will be anarchy.”

“Or maybe it’ll be the thing we need,” a middle-aged woman nearby said. She wore Carhartts and was getting rhinestones applied to her long pink nails.

“And that woman from the meeting last night. The consultant.” The older woman spat the word, as if it tasted bad. God, if she only knew. “With the thousand-dollar shoes.”

Based on her vibe, I’d bet my life she was a small-town realtor.

Honestly, I was eager to hear what she had to say about me. But if I continued listening in on a conversation not meant for me, that wouldn’t help me make nice with the community.

So I said, “Two thousand, actually,” making my presence known.

She turned and looked at me, her face turning scarlet.

The woman working on her nails, who my source had told me was Nina Dunne, arched a brow. “Finish your thought, Lisa,” she drawled. “You know I hate a cliffhanger.”

Lisa still looked mortified. “They were beautiful boots,” she mumbled.

“Thanks,” I replied. “And I swear I’m just here to help.” I held up my hands. “Oh, and deal with my raggedy cuticles. I heard this was the best place to get a manicure in the county.”

“State,” the nail tech muttered, wearing a fake smile.

Even after I’d announced myself, the recall was the talk of the place. So I sat quietly, scrolling on my phone while listening, filing away snippets of information.

“Bitsy had three clipboards.”

“She’s out of control.”

“But things are so bad. I heard the florist may have to close now that so many weddings have been canceled.”

“We can kiss any plans of restoring the cannon goodbye. There’s no way we’ll have the funds.”

Nina, the young woman who I’d ascertained as the owner of the salon, was at the center of it, in all her pink-haired, pierced-nose glory. Controlling the conversation and filtering when necessary, her attention flicking to me occasionally. She was in total command.

By the time I sat at her table and held my hands out, I had to ask. “Do you always run meetings while doing manicures?”

She shrugged, inspecting my nail beds, her hair falling on either side of her face. “Women talk more when their hands are busy.” She tilted her head, still studying my fingers. “And men talk most when they think no one is listening.”

Damn. Now I was interested.

“Gel?” she asked, gathering supplies.

I nodded. “Bleeding Heart Red please.” It was my signature color.

The room gradually emptied as we chatted, Nina happily answering questions I asked about her business, which included nails, brows, and lashes. It was obvious she was ambitious and had built this place from the ground up.

“You know everything that happens in this town,” I remarked when I was certain the timing was right.

Focus fixed on my cuticles, she nodded. “Yeah.”

I angled a few inches closer. “I’m putting together a committee, a team of sorts, to work on getting the Maple Festival back.”

She looked straight at me. Interested. Good. “I’m not sure it’s possible, but if anyone’s gonna save this town, it will be a woman.”