Caught Bread Handed (3 page)

The clock dinged, signaling that it was five. Usually at five, I'd be on my way home, but I'd made a promise to Rosalind. I would have preferred to call it an early night with a glass of wine and the latest issue of
Baker and Spice
magazine, but duty called. It was off to a town meeting for me.

 

Chapter Two

I figured I could make a quick appearance at the meeting, and then head back to my apartment for a long, hot shower and early bedtime. The warm breeze felt refreshing as I stepped outside. Diners were eating at bistro tables on the sidewalk and a crowd had gathered by the bubblers to watch a magician perform. I smiled to myself and walked toward Lithia Park.

The park is one of my favorite places in town. Since I'd been home I had gotten into a routine of walking the park's wooded pathways in the mornings. My routine had been off for the past couple of weeks and I needed to get back into it. As soon as Carlos leaves, I said to myself as three teenage boys in hockey gear sprinted past me.

In the winter the city erects a temporary ice-skating rink across the street from the park. It's open for skating lessons, hockey games, and for families to play around on the ice. With the warm weather it must be costing a fortune to keep the ice cool.

I walked in the opposite direction of the rink to the Shakespeare stairs. The Black Swan Theater is one of the original buildings on the OSF complex. It's mainly used for workshopping small productions and for lectures and community gatherings these days. I passed the outdoor Elizabethan theater and crossed the street to the Black Swan.

It looked like the entire town was inside. The theater had been set up with rows of chairs facing the stage. Rosalind had done a good job of recruiting business owners. Almost every chair was taken. I found a seat near the back. Hopefully, that way I could duck out early without anyone noticing.

“Juliet, darling, I thought that was you. Not trying to hide, are we?” I heard a voice behind me. It was Lance. Lance is the artistic director for OSF. He and I had become friends since I'd returned to Ashland.

He strolled toward me. Everyone took notice of his catlike walk and signature fashion of a three-piece ivory suit with a scarlet ascot. No one else in Ashland wears an ascot.

Kissing me on both cheeks, he slunk into the empty seat next to me. “Darling, you look terrible. Bags under the eyes. A frazzled ponytail. Do tell, was it a ghastly day at the bakeshop?”

“Thanks a lot, Lance. You sure know how to make a girl feel good.” I glanced at my jeans, which were dusted with flour and splattered with chocolate.

He tapped my chin. “Chin up, darling. I know what you need—a stiff drink.”

“Right. At the town meeting?”

Lance gave me a devilish grin. He patted his breast pocket. “I always bring a little something to these events. It's better than community theater.” He reached in and pulled out a silver flask. “Shall we imbibe?”

I declined. “No, thanks.”

He shrugged and drank from the flask. “Suit yourself.”

“What's in there?” I asked. The smell was so strong it burned my nostrils.

“Gin, darling. What else?”

“It smells like grain alcohol.”

He sniffed it and waved his hand over the flask. “Maybe it is. Oh, dear.”

“Lance, you're terrible.”

“I am, aren't I?” He winked. “Is there another reason you're looking haggard? Could it be that saucy husband of yours has been keeping our pastry starlet up too late?”

I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Feisty.” He pointed to the stage. “Now, shush. The fun is starting.”

Rosalind Gates walked with a pronounced limp to the stage and positioned the microphone stand. She could have passed for one of Lance's actors. Her silvery-gray hair fell just above her shoulders. Her features were quite striking. She had enhanced her narrow cheekbones with blush and rimmed her eyes with a charcoal liner.

“She's aging well,” Lance whispered.

“How old is she?”

“A lady never reveals her age, Juliet.” Lance studied Rosalind's appearance. Then he whispered, “I would bet she's pushing eighty.”

“Really?”

Lance nodded. “Look at her hands. They are a dead giveaway.”

Rosalind's hands were marked with age spots and wrinkled.

“You should ask her where she got her shirt,” Lance said.

I returned my gaze to the stage. She wore a pair of khaki slacks, white tennis shoes, and the black long-sleeved T-shirt that read:
SOS—SAVE OUR SHAKESPEARE
. I had forgotten to ask her about it earlier.

“What do you think it's supposed to mean? A reference to saving downtown?”

Lance took another swig from the flask. “No idea, darling.”

Rosalind tapped on the mic. It cracked, sending a piercing screech through the room. She cleared her throat. “Sorry about that. I guess it's working. Thanks for coming tonight on such short notice. I appreciate your commitment and willingness to support our town during this critical time.”

The door to the theater creaked open and slammed shut. Mindy Nolan, the owner of ShakesBurgers, along with two other men, entered the room. They all wore matching eye-shattering-green T-shirts. Mindy wore hers with a simple black skirt. One of the men looked like he belonged in a biker gang. His bald head glistened under the studio lights and he glared at everyone they passed on their way to the stage.

“Who's the Brutus?” Lance said under his breath as the beefy guy stomped past us.

“I've never seen him before,” I replied.

Rosalind scowled. “Mindy, I didn't realize that you were coming.”

Mindy walked to the front of the room. The two men followed after her. She paused in front of the stage before taking a seat in the front row. “Maybe that's because I wasn't invited.”

Rosalind looked flustered, but quickly recovered. “I wasn't sure you would feel comfortable attending tonight's meeting, since we're all here to discuss your restaurant.”

Mindy didn't reply.

I craned my neck to try to get a glimpse of their exchange. “What's happening? I can't see.”

“A catfight,” Lance said. “Or maybe a cougar fight.” He clapped and turned to me. “Oh, this is going to be fun!”

Rosalind continued. “As I was saying, thank you for being here. Many of you have expressed concern with the direction that
some
businesses downtown have taken.” Her eyes lingered on the front row.

Alan Matterson, the owner of the Jester, sat three rows in front of us. I was surprised to see him here; he'd withdrawn from anything public since the restaurant closed. He jumped to his feet. “Just say it, Rosalind. Say it, man. We all know that you're talking about ShakesBurgers and that thief, Mindy. She's just in it for the bread. It bums me out.”

Lance put his fingers over his mouth and grinned like the Joker. “I couldn't script this.”

I elbowed him again. “You are terrible.”

“I know.” He smirked.

Rosalind nodded at Alan and motioned for him to sit. “Yes, Alan, I know you have firsthand experience and I want you to share that with everyone in a moment. Take a seat and let me finish, though.”

Alan remained standing. Mom was right, he wasn't wearing one of his typical jester costumes. He looked like a different person. His long, graying hair had been tied into two braids. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him in street clothes.

“Our town jester and resident hippie is all cleaned up. Did he shave his beard?” Lance asked.

“It's weird, isn't it? I don't know if I've ever seen him out of costume.”

“A tragedy.” Lance straightened his ascot and gave me a somber stare. “A depressed jester. That doesn't work at all.”

Rosalind continued. “It has been my honor to serve as the president of the Downtown Association for the past three years. As most of you know, I've lived in Ashland my entire life. There's no place I'd rather live. We have a thriving downtown business association, thanks to all of your hard work and effort, but the core of our plaza—the heart and soul of Ashland—is being threatened by businesses like ShakesBurgers that have no regard for Ashland's history or charm.”

Heads began to nod around us.

“We are known around the world for the festival. When tourists arrive in town they want to feel like they've stepped back into the time of the Tudors. They come for the charm of downtown. They come for shops that serve meat pies and our bookstores that sell worn copies of Shakespeare's works.”

Lance cleared his throat. “They come for my award-winning plays,” he muttered under his breath.

But Rosalind had found her groove. “They don't come to Ashland to feel like they're in any other American town with strip malls and disgusting fast food. They come, they shop, and they spend their hard-earned dollars in all of your businesses because when they're here with us they feel like they could be on the pages of one of Shakespeare's plays.”

She was right. Ashland has often been called the Disneyland for theater lovers.

Murmurs spread through the stuffy room.

“Our town has gone through a rough stretch,” Rosalind continued. “Many of you in this very room have lost businesses or struggled to make ends meet. We've rallied around each other and supported each other through the tough times. As the economy continues to rebound, this is a time of great opportunity for our town.” She paused for effect. “I know you all care as deeply for our downtown community as I do, and that's why I've called you here tonight. We need to preserve Ashland's charm. We cannot let businesses like ShakesBurgers come in and destroy what we've worked so hard for.”

“Destroy?” Mindy got to her feet. “Are you kidding me? How has ShakesBurgers destroyed anything?” She turned her back on Rosalind and addressed the crowd. “I've modernized the building and given it a much-needed face-lift. That old, crumbling façade was going to come crashing down and kill a pedestrian.”

Alan who was still standing, shouted, “That was façade was historic! You destroyed a piece of history, man. A piece of history.”

Mindy studied her nails. She rolled her eyes. “About as historic as your idea of a restaurant. Maybe you should have spent more time on your wacky menu. You're complaining about burgers and shakes. Should we talk about cotton candy? How authentic was that? And if you want to get into it here, let's talk about how many health codes you were violating. This town should be grateful that ShakesBurgers has cleaned up that eyesore inside and out.”

Alan lunged forward.

“This is taking an ugly turn,” I said to Lance.

“I know, isn't it divine?” He grinned and took another sip from his flask. He noticed my frown. “Kidding, of course. You know I'm on Alan's side.”

Rosalind tapped on the mic, trying to gain control of the room. “Alan, I know you're angry, but please take your seat. I'm going to open the meeting to questions and comments from business owners in a minute.”

“Too bad he doesn't own a business downtown anymore,” Mindy said, staring Alan down.

The guy sitting next to Alan put his arm around his shoulder, trying to hold him back. Alan yanked him away. “You're going to regret what you've done,” he said to Mindy. I'd never seen Alan so aggressive. He was usually one of the most laid-back people in town.

Rosalind motioned to the side of the stage. A teenager brought her a clipboard and a stack of pens. “I've made a formal petition and I'm asking for all of your signatures tonight. We need to protect our town and businesses from developers like Mindy who don't understand—or don't care—about preserving our Shakespearean old-world charm.”

Mindy shook her head. “What? Protection from a multimillion-dollar chain that is going to bring much-needed revenue to a disorganized and outdated downtown. Is this a joke?”

Rosalind ignored her. She held up the clipboard. “This petition will tighten and redefine the specific guidelines for businesses in the downtown plaza. As most of you already know, Ashland has an established set of regulations when it comes to businesses. These include design esthetics and shop names that keep in the spirit of Shakespeare. I've pulled some examples of other towns that have created similar rules for businesses in a particular corridor. One example is our neighbor to the north—Leavenworth, Washington. The town banded together in the 1970s and transformed from an old run-down mill town into a Bavarian village. They have very clear rules about what storefronts can look like. We need to make sure that our design standards reflect this same level of preservation for all things Shakespeare.” With trembling fingers she pointed to her shirt. “We must save our Shakespeare. And if businesses aren't willing to comply then they'll have to go elsewhere.”

“You can't do that,” Mindy protested. “There's no way that's legal. You can't ban a business from town. I read the design standards. We've adhered to every standard. Hell, our name is ShakesBurgers. It has the word ‘shake' in it. Like,
Shake
speare. What else do you want from me? I can throw a pair of tights on our dancing milkshake.”

“Oh snap.” Lance snapped his fingers and gave his head a little shake.

Rosalind ignored Mindy and took the petition off the clipboard. Then she addressed the crowd. “I'll send this around now. Please take the sheets I have attached, which will spell out exactly how legal this is. Assuming the city council votes to adopt this new language you'll have thirty days to remodel.” She ran her hand across her chest. “Oh, and I should mention that we have these shirts available for purchase tonight. You can all show your support by wearing them around town for the next few days.”

She handed the petition to a woman in the front row and then turned her attention back to Mindy. “Let me assure you that we're not being unwelcoming. We're always welcoming of new businesses here in Ashland. If you want ShakesBurgers to keep its…” She paused as if trying to find the right word. “Uh, look, then there are plenty of retail spaces farther up from downtown. In fact, there's a beautiful space across the street from the college that would be a perfect match for you. What we are saying is that if you want to be on the plaza then you're going to have to remodel, and change the name.” Her words might have held a welcoming sentiment, but her tone was clear. She wanted Mindy out of Ashland.