Solomon's Decision (12 page)

Candy might have a mouth on her, but she always did what she said she'd do. And
she was kind of fun, besides.

How could Amelia have let the bills slide like that? She'd better just check them
over, to see if there were any really late ones.

Oh, no! In her panicked attempt to escape from Erik, she must have left them on
the table in the cafe. With a sigh, more of frustration than of disgust, she reached for the
phone. Surely one thing, just one little thing, could go right today.

A few minutes later, she said, "You're sure he took it, Lester? It didn't fall onto the
floor, or something?" Not even one thing.

"Nope. I saw him carry it out myself, Linnie." His voice rumbled in her ear.
"'Melia told me he's going to be your assistant, so why don't you just not worry about them
bills until Tuesday?"

Had he heard everything they'd said? She wouldn't be surprised. When she was
small, it was gospel truth that Lester Wood heard anything anyone said, anywhere in
Sunset County. And he did it all from behind the cash register in the hallway between the
Wooden Nickel and the Bon Ton Cafe, where he sat for eighteen hours a day, except when
he and Amelia snuck off on one of their supposedly secret assignations.

"I think I will. Thanks, Lester." She hung up. If Erik was determined to be her
assistant, let him worry about those bills.

Or not. She was going to finish her Friday afternoon tasks and take off for the
weekend. Between five o'clock today and Monday at eight, she wasn't going to give a
single thought to the Fourth of July Social, the problems she was having with the
consultants for the Styx Valley Mining Company, or those special reports Charlie
Bittenbusch insisted he needed "to help make an informed decision on Wounded Bear
Meadow."

As if there was anything to decide. The National Wetlands Trust would either find
the funds to purchase it or they would not. Either way, Charlie would have little to do with
the final outcome.

* * * *

The old gate protested as Madeline squeezed through its meager opening Tuesday
evening. She usually walked around the block instead of using the alley, but as late as she
was running tonight, any shortcut was worthwhile. Thank heavens Erik had called to tell
her he couldn't make their after-work meeting. She'd gotten a call from Boise at four and
had to work overtime to put together the information the state highway people wanted first
thing in the morning.

The club really ought to get a work party together and clean up this back garden. It
would be years, if ever, before the library needed to expand again and they couldn't just let
it go to weeds in the meantime. When the Wednesday Club voted to establish a County
Library in the building they'd owned since the early 1900s, they hadn't included a budget
for groundskeeping, nor had subsequent Boards of Directors. As a result, the small lawn in
the front of the building was usually at the mercy of not-too-enthusiastic volunteers and the
back yard was entirely ignored. Perhaps she ought to make that part of her platform, if she
decided to run for president next year.

She slipped through the kitchen door, hearing a cacophony of women's voices
from the assembly room. Good. The meeting hadn't started yet. It wouldn't do for the
co-chair to be late. As soon as she stepped into sight, she was the center of a noisy crowd.

"Linnie, have you got that list of donations to the auction? I can't seem to find my
copy."

"I need another five volunteers to work the ice cream booth, Linnie."

"Amelia called me. She'll be a little late."

"Wally says we're going to have to pay wages for extra security this year,
Madeline. He's not going to ask his men to volunteer their time like they always
have."

"Did we store the leftover carnival prizes at your place last year, Linnie?"

She could answer that. "No, Sandy, they're in Emaline's basement. I'll have her
drop them off here tomorrow." She shouldered her way through the mass of demanding
workers, waving her hands and smiling. Finally she was at the podium--where Amelia
ought to be.

"Okay, people, let's get started. I'll try to deal with your problems later, after we've
gone through current business, okay?"

Heads nodded, but there were a few frowns, as well. Most of the milling crowd
gradually sank into seats. Those still standing--mostly men--slowly drifted toward the back
of the room where they leaned as if it were their duty to hold the walls up.

Most of the committee chairs had things well in hand. Those who didn't offered no
surprises. She'd worked with them all before.

"Charlie, I heard your people working as I left to come over here. How are the
booths coming along?" She didn't like Charlie Bittenbusch, but she had to give him credit
for doing everything he could to make the Social a success. He saw it as one way to bring
in tourist dollars, something he was almost rabid about.

"Just fine, Linnie. Me and Erik, we'll have 'em all built well before Friday."

An older woman waved to catch her attention and Madeline groaned mentally.
There were always a few who always had to complain about something and she was the
worst. "You need to speak to the delivery people. When the driver unloaded the cartons, he
refused--absolutely refused, and in such a nasty way--to carry them down into my
basement. And you all know how careful I have to be about my back. I called that nice
Erik and he came over and took it all downstairs for me."

Madeline didn't know why she couldn't have had Erik bring the paper products
here, to the club rooms, but he could always do it later. If she gave him enough little tasks
like that, perhaps he'd stay out of her hair. "Great. Okay, Candy, I know you're on top of
everything for the parade. Can you deal with Wally about security patrols? He's being
difficult again."

"You bet your butt, honey. I'll twist his arm a little, and if that don't do it, I'll sic
Erik on him."

Madeline felt her mouth drop open for a moment. Erik seemed to be everyone's
answer to problems this year. He'd been officially her assistant only a few days, but it
sounded like he'd been doing his job.

She felt like she should resent his interference, but she couldn't. She needed all the
help she could get.

Madeline had finished with the committee reports and was starting to deal with
specific problems before Amelia arrived.

Amelia and Erik. They came through the back door, both laughing fit to be tied.
All semblance of order ended as everyone turned to share the joke.

"We've got the most wonderful news, everyone!" Amelia announced. She was
hanging on Erik's arm like a smitten adolescent. A twinge of irritation tightened Madeline's
fingers on the edge of the podium. Why couldn't Amelia act her age? "Tell 'em Erik!"

"It's your surprise, Amelia," Erik said. His voice still had the capacity to send
tingles down Madeline's spine.

Her hands clasped under her chin and her small body practically quivering in
excitement, Amelia took a deep breath. "Well!" she said, "you'll never guess!" A cascade
of giggles broke free as she beamed at Erik. "We're going to have a celebrity at our little
Social."

A chorus of "Who? Who? Who?" made it sound like a herd of owls was loose in
the hall.

"Erik was telling me," again the roguish glance at her companion, "about this
fellow he went to school with who sometimes sings with the Grand Ol' Opry. He called
him and he said he thought it was a great idea and he offered to pay his airfare but he said
no, he'd do it for nothing as long as the profits went to saving the Meadow, and he'll be
here Friday, sometime. Isn't that wonderful!" She looked around, waiting for applause.

"Amelia," Erik said into the expectant silence, "maybe you'd better tell them his
name." His grin was almost as wide as Amelia's.

"Oh. Of course. Trace Pickett. That's who. He's coming here! With his band!"
Amelia clapped her hands together like a happy child, but the sound was lost in the sudden
outburst of exclamations.

Even Madeline, who paid as little attention as possible to Country Western music,
knew who Trace Pickett was. His renditions of folk and traditional cowboy songs were
haunting and memorable; his spectacular good looks made him popular with girls who
otherwise would have been swooning over MTV stars.

Oh my. Getting Trace Pickett as the star attraction of their little Social was going
to complicate everything immensely. Madeline remembered the year Jesse's brother, who'd
built himself a fair reputation as a saloon guitarist, had come home for the Social.
Attendance had nearly tripled.

She'd better speak to the food committee about ordering more paper products. And
to the butcher about more meat for the barbecue. What if they ran out of ice cream...?

Madeline sank into the chair beside the podium, her mind working a mile a
minute. With a little over a week until the Social, she wasn't sure she had time to do all the
additional tasks she would have to do. The appearance of a famous singer would turn their
small town Social into a major event, and the Wednesday Club wasn't really equipped to
handle anything like that.

She almost wondered if Erik had done this to plague her.

Erik wanted to go to her and smooth the worry lines from her forehead. She'd
looked harried this morning when he'd passed her office, but nothing like she looked now.
According to her intern, the Styx Valley Mining consultants had been making nuisances of
themselves, wanting old records pulled from dead storage, asking questions no one had
answers to, and apparently unable to understand that the County's work couldn't come to a
complete halt just so their demands could be satisfied.

Eddie had nothing good to say about consultants. Erik wondered if he'd ever made
that kind of impression on local officials. He hoped not.

"Yessir, this oughta put Sunset County on the map," Charlie Bittenbusch said,
rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. "We need to get it in the paper first thing
tomorrow. I'll call the
Statesman,
maybe the Salt Lake paper. Spokane,
Portland...."

Erik tuned him out, although he knew he should remind Charlie that Amelia was
handling publicity. Maybe it would keep Charlie out of Madeline's hair.

"Can I help?" He leaned over the table Madeline had her papers spread out
upon.

Her sigh was heartfelt. "Can you ever! Have you any idea of what you've done?"
She laid the pen beside the stack of file folders. "Erik, we rarely get more than five
hundred people from outside Sunset County at the Social. Do you have any idea what a
draw Trace Pickett's going to be?"

"I hadn't thought about that aspect," he admitted. "How many do you usually plan
for?"

"Two thousand, tops." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "We'll probably get
twice that many people to see Pickett's show. I've got to make sure we can handle
them."

"We'll handle them. I'll help." He began stacking all the spread-out papers
together. "But not now. It's too noisy in here and everyone's too excited."

As if to confirm his words, Candy and several of her buddies broke free of the
crowd around Amelia. "Linnie, we're going to have to get Wally involved in this. We're
gonna have one hell of a parking problem. I figure we'll get five, six thousand people here
for the show."

"And we don't have anywhere near enough plates and cups to feed that many.
What'll we do?" Sandy wailed.

"I figure we can charge fifteen bucks a ticket," Charlie said, from behind Erik.
"Besides the carnival profits and the food." His lips moved as he toted up profits.

It was time to calm things down. He whistled, a loud, shrill sound that cut through
the voices. "Madeline and Amelia will want to meet with all of you again tomorrow night,
after they've had a chance to assess the impacts of having Trace as a star attraction. Can
you all be there?"

"Well, I guess I can drive back in," one woman said, sounding reluctant. Erik
didn't blame her, since she lived nearly thirty graveled and twisting miles from town.

"I'll need a baby-sitter," another said.

"Bring 'em over. My girl can keep 'em," someone else responded.

"You all come to the Conestoga House for supper," Charlie said.

"On me," he added, into the dead silence that followed his words. "Well, it's the
least I can do, if we're gonna have everything ready by next week," he said, sounding
apologetic.

Erik gathered, from the
sotto voce
comments as the crowd was departing,
that Charlie's invitation was a first for Garnet Falls.

"...wouldn't buy his own mother's supper if he didn't think he'd get something
back," was the kindest comment.

Erik and Amelia went home with Madeline. She hadn't invited them, but they
came anyhow. Before she knew it, Erik was in the kitchen, making coffee, and Amelia was
on the phone.

"Well, you just get yourself over here to Linnie's right now, Wally, and I don't
care if you are in your slippers. You don't need your fancy trooper boots to drive three
blocks."

Madeline went in to the kitchen, thinking Erik might need her help finding things.
But he didn't. Four mugs and spoons were on her fancy red lacquer tray. He was washing
her china sugar and cream set--the one she didn't use from one year to the next.

"Got any cookies?" he asked.

Since the twins weren't here, she hadn't been baking. But she'd picked up some
Oreos the other day and there should be enough left for four people. She poured the
remainder of the package on a plate, set it beside the mugs.

The coffee maker spoke its
I'm brewed
set of gurgles. As she reached for
it, Erik's hand caught hers.

"Wait," he said. "We need to talk, and now's a good time." He jerked his chin
toward the kitchen door, through which they could hear the murmur of Amelia's voice. She
was still on the telephone.

"Talk? What about?" They would probably be talking most of the night, just
making sure they had all the bases covered. Candy's five or six thousand people was
certainly an exaggeration, but they had better be prepared for twice their usual
attendance.