I’ve never understood everyone’s obsession with the weather.
Me, I keep two umbrellas in the office, two at home and two in the car. I simply don’t think about it.
But it’s always the first thing our visitors comment on when they walk into the chamber to pick up a map or brochure. “Beautiful day today! Where can we hike?” or “Oooo, the skies are threatening. What’s there to do here in the rain?”
Apprently people think that I’m a personalized travel agent, which I guess, on some level I am. I’m supposed to know about local events and promotions and pass the information along. So, of course, I oblige and direct them to the bookstores, the Historical Society or the Courthouse. On sunny days, I’ll recommend the audio walking tour of River Road’s historic district. Sometimes, if they’re looking for food, I’ll stoop to suggesting The Riverside, though it pains me to send business Cassie’s way. There just aren’t many other options that will keep the money they’re spending in town, so I grit my teeth and do it.
People don’t realize that my job is far more than maps and brochures. It’s business development, wining and dining companies looking to move to Middle Valley, making them feel at home, promoting our safe streets and leafy-green parks.
(Of course, there have been a few snags recently on account of the loose body parts and Mick’s untimely death. But, you know, we work around that these days.)
I wield my power carefully and selectively, so you can imagine what a kick it was when Charlotte Granger, the new mayor of Middle Valley, stepped into the chamber this morning. I’d met her a few times before, but only in passing. Clearly, she remembered none of it.
“What a beautiful, sunny day!” she announced on her entrance. “Hi, Charlotte Granger. I’m the new mayor.” She extended her hand.
I nodded. “Yes, we’ve met. Wanda Moreno.”
“Oh! And … you work here? I am here to see … well, the boss, if you will. I can’t remember her name …”
As she dug through her purse, I considered my response. “Oh yes, I am the head of the Chamber of Commerce and you practically ran me over in your Corvette on Master Street a week ago” or “oh yes, we met at the fundraiser thrown by the Middle Valley Merchant’s Association three weeks ago where you neglected to thank the Chamber of Commerce, which I lead, for co-organizing the event.”
I decided to use the language with which she is most familiar: Politician.
“Oh, yes, we met a few weeks back at the fundraiser … the Middle Valley Merchant’s Association. I’m Wanda Moreno. I’m the head of the Chamber of Commerce.”
Charlotte’s face turned red. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Of course you are. Wanda, I remember now. How are you today?”
I nodded. “Fine, just fine. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Actually,” she said. “I wondered if you were free for lunch. My treat. I have a few items on my agenda and I’d like to get your input.”
My input. I was certain I had just felt hell freeze over.
“Sure thing … yes, I can close up for an hour or so. My afternoon person comes in at 1 and she has a key so she can get in. Where would you like to go?”
Charlotte collected herself, adjusting her Gucci bag on her shoulder. “You know, I’ve heard great things about The Riverside but haven’t been in there yet. Ridiculous when you think I’ve been here more than a year already, but it’s the truth.”
Sigh. Score another for Cassie. “Sure, that sounds fine. I know the proprietor, Cassie Cunningham. I’m sure she’ll give us her best table!”
—
“So you see,” Charlotte said, “we have a lot of work to do.”
Cassie had guided us to an upstairs room that I didn’t even know existed, overlooking the river and everything.
Charlotte admired the view. She had taken off her jacket and rolled up her blouse sleeves, and might I just say thank God. Her hands were deeply engaged with the burger in front of her. I had never seen a young woman, one of her small stature anyway, eat this way. The area around her mouth was covered in ketchup and mustard. When she put it to her mouth to take a bite, relish ran throughout her fingers and onto the plate.
I don’t consider myself to be the judgemental type, but … seriously. My dearly departed husband, Stu, used to make fun of me for eating everything with a fork and knife – burgers, donuts, bagels – but there is something about getting my hands in my food like that that I do NOT enjoy. Such was not the case with this woman.
“Well, if you want my input …” I let the words hang in the air before me.
Charlotte nodded enthusiastically, wiping relish from her lip. (To say I was “relishing” this opportunity would be an understatement – and one of my favorite puns ever!) Her eyes looked at me from across the table with intent.
“All I can tell you is that these murders have made my job impossible, just impossible,” I related. I saw no sense in holding back now. I leaned in for emphasis and whispered. “We need to get these things handled. … I mean, who knows who’s running around here at this point, and Sheriff Paul? He’s like a lost puppy, in way, way, way over his head! And now … NOW we’ve got teenagers, young people … they’re starting a petition to build a memorial to that Mick person here in the park since this is where he died. My nieces tell me it’s all over the Internet, gone viral or some such thing.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’ve heard about that.”
I could feel the blood rushing to my face. This was incredible. An influencer like her wanting to hear what I had to say! I went in for the kill.
“I’m not so sure Middle Valley should be known the world over as ‘the place where Mick Righteous was murdered.’ I mean, it’s bad enough he was married to Cassie. We have enough ties to him and his lot around here.”
Charlotte sat back and pointed down the steps. “That Cassie?”
I nodded. I was starting to think our fair mayor was getting the picture … finally!
Charlotte took a long sip from her iced tea. (Unsweetened, she had said, because she was trying to lose weight.)
“Well, I don’t know what to say. I mean, he is a famous person and millions loved his work.”
I placed both hands on the table and looked her directly in the eye. “I just don’t think we need young people making pilgrimmages here smoking their weed, camping in the park, filling up our room rentals all the time. This is NOT our desired target audience. I hope you understand and that we can work together on this.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, yes, I understand. OK.” She wiped her mouth again. “Can you tell me where the ladies’ room is? I’d like to wash the hamburger off my hands.”
As I directed her down the steps and toward the back of the bar, I pulled my phone from my purse and dialed.
“Susan, so glad I caught you … just letting you know that I had lunch with the mayor today discussing Middle Valley agenda items … you know, my concerns about the Mick thing and all.”
Susan’s voice crackled from the speaker. “I … okay … I have to …”
“You have to what dear? What? Are we still on for our interview about tourism initiatives here in town and, well, you know, other things? I can certainly give you an exclusive on my meeting today with the mayor!”
Susan’s line crackled again, then she whispered … “I know …. who killed Mick …” The connection went dead.
As I drove back to the chamber, back to the impossible tasks that sit before me, my thoughts went, again, to the weather. There is no accounting for it. We can’t change it, or dial-up a sunny day in the dregs of February.
Our beautiful morning sun had given way to darker clouds and, as I pulled to the curb, rain began to fall.
It’s true – we simply can’t predict with full and complete certainty when a once-sunny random Tuesday will suddenly get very, very dark.