Celine leaned toward me, resting her head on my shoulder. Heart thudding, I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. I appreciated the contact. The reminder that she was here with me.
Bitsy Bramble stood next, but she waved away themicrophone. We all knew she was loud enough to reach the next block.
“By next spring, we’ll be ruined. If we don’t get a handle on this, the state might be tempted to move the official Vermont Maple Festival to another town.”
The room erupted in a collective gasp.
“Birch Hollow wants it,” Tony said.
Chris, a firefighter, grunted. “Their syrup tastes like kerosene.”
“What if Birch Hollow paid her off?”
“They’re evil. They probably did. Probably hired a bot farm to amplify it and spread lies.”
Shit. This was getting out of hand. While Birch Hollow had no love for Maplewood and would certainly celebrate our demise, it was a stretch to think they could be capable of a sophisticated online smear campaign like this.
“Bitsy. Please,” Gabe said, trying to regain control of the room. “We can work through this. It’s just a bit of bad publicity.”
Rowan held up her phone. “WanderBetch has four million followers.”
“People are canceling reservations.”
Caroline from the spa stood up. “The inn has received several cancellations. Including several spring weddings.”
My stomach dropped. Okay, that was bad. The inn was usually booked up a year in advance.
“And this woman said our sheets were scratchy and gave her a rash,” Linda added.
Half the crowd roared with anger.
“We should sue for defamation,” Mavis shouted.
Gabe huffed. “That’s not a sound legal strategy.”
“Should we film some rebuttal videos?” Nina asked. “Tell the world she’s a filthy liar and those lips are fake?”
Gabe pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re not attacking anyone’s lips.”
“Why not?” she groused. “They’re 90 percent filler.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“What’s not irrelevant,” Bitsy said, her hands on her hips, “is that this town is not the safe, beautiful place it used to be.” She shuffled, turning to face Gabe. “We’ll never be the same after the murder.”
In the doorway, Nolan stood, one shoulder resting against the frame, his face blank.
“WanderBetch lit the fuse,” Opal piped in, “and now there are conspiracy theories everywhere.”
Movement to one side of the room caught my attention and that of the people around me, every one of us now watching Frankie Dunne trudge to the front of the room.
She held her hand out and with a grimace, Gabe handed her the microphone.
Despite her small stature, her presence took up a lot of space. Always had.
“Everyone,” she said sharply. “We have got to focus.”
The crowd hushed. She didn’t speak loudly, but her tone was full of certainty.