“The TikTok? It’s going viral.”
I wasn’t following, but others in the crowd were murmuring as if they understood.
Gabe strode up in his Captain America costume, gritting his teeth. “Everyone’s seen it,” he said.
“According to this. Millions of people have,” Evie added.
“It’s just some influencer,” he argued.
“She’s WanderBetch,” Evie explained. “She travels to small towns and highlights local traditions and businesses.”
Okay. None of this sounded terrible to me. But I was still lost.
Gabe growled. “She shit all over the town.”
“She called us Murderville, USA,” Evie said. “Showed footage of the Harvest Festival that made this place look like a crime scene.”
“None of it’s true,” Jasper said easily. “It will blow over.”
“Tell that to the mafia,” Gabe snapped. “They’re trying to declare a state of emergency.”
With a sigh, I looked over at Celine and vowed not to get sucked into the latest Maplewood drama.
This town had been through a lot, and I was finally beginning to feel like I could be a part of it again.
“We’ll get through it,” I said. “We always do.”
Chapter 36
Josh
By the number of cars parked along the street, it was obvious this wasn’t going to be a normal town meeting.
Inside, voices were raised, hands waved, clusters of people formed and reformed, and there were lot of secretive glances.
There was no bake sale. There were no programs. No one lingering in the entryway, making small talk. Just urgency.
Celine walked the kids down to the basement where high school students had set up activities so that parents could attend the meeting, and when she returned, I followed her into the meeting room.
She scanned the room subtly, stretching her neck and adjusting her coat. Her eyes clocking the exits, her shoulders tightening. Most people wouldn’t have caught the signs, but I noticed everything about her.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah. Can we sit on the end?” she said, gesturing to the chairs closest to the doors.
“Course.” I shuffled to the second seat, letting her take the one on the end.
This morning, we’d all gotten the alert about an emergency town meeting. Immediately, I was on edge. We hadn’t had one of those since the river had flooded when I was a kid, causing massive damage.
Gabe stood at the front, in his usual immaculate dark suit, running his hands though his hair. My cousin never looked ruffled. He was always calm and smiling when he was Mr. Mayor. But tonight he looked one step away from a nervous breakdown.
The air was thick and stale, and the folding chairs scraped loudly against the floor as people shuffled around for space and exchanged tense greetings. A long table had been set up in the front, with pitchers of water that no one touched. The harsh fluorescent lights hummed overhead, making the room feel even smaller.
Over the decades, this room had seen bake sales, retirement parties, festival planning, and preschool graduations.
Tonight it felt like a courtroom.
Phones were everywhere, screens glowing in hands and laps.