One Perfect Year. Melinda Curtis

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      A BRISK FALL breeze ruffled Shelby’s bangs as she turned down Main Street. The stuccoed buildings, brick sidewalks and classic gas streetlights were postcard perfect. There were still plenty of vacant, cobweb-draped windows to be worrisome—the ice cream parlor where kids hung out after school, the fabric store where she’d worked part-time, the beauty salon where her grandmother received her monthly pin-curl perm. But there were signs of life, too. A couple of coming-soon signs posted in windows. She’d heard a small pizza restaurant was almost ready to open its doors, and some of the elderly ladies were planning a gift boutique with handmade quilts, crocheted baby things and the like.

      Christine stood in the sunshine outside the barbershop with three local residents, who were or had been business owners. They weren’t exactly the traditional butcher, baker and candlestick maker.

      The youngest of the three, Mayor Larry, was rumored to own most of the commercially zoned property in town. He wore a purple and green tie-dyed T-shirt beneath a worn jean jacket. He smoothed his long gray ponytail as Shelby approached.

      Phil Lambridge, the town’s barber, was a scarecrow’s collection of gangly limbs and ill-fitting clothing. Two years ago, Shelby’d accompanied her grandfather to have his haircut and nearly had a heart attack. Phil’s hands undulated like a hula dancer’s hips. She’d feared Grandpa would lose an ear. But miracles did happen. He’d come out unscathed.

      The final member of the trio was Mae Gardner, who leaned heavily on a cane. The former bridal shop owner had sold Shelby her prom and wedding dresses. You wouldn’t know it from looking at her red hair, layers of wrinkle-sunken makeup, and the flowery polyester blouse that hung loosely from shoulder pads on her too-thin shoulders, but the woman was a savant when it came to matching a girl with the right dress.

      Christine greeted Shelby, then turned to the three locals. “Thanks for meeting us today. As you know, the winery needs to build a wine cellar. We’d like a property downtown and we’re willing to pay cash.”

      “Actually—” Phil gestured with a shaky hand toward his shop “—my property isn’t available. I have a good business. Real popular.”

      Shelby tugged her knit cap more firmly over her ears.

      Mayor Larry patted the barber on the back. “If you’re taking yourself out of the running, Phil, you can play for me in the weekly bridge tournament at Yolande’s. They start in ten minutes and then there’ll be dessert.”

      Phil grinned. “An unclaimed slice of Yolande’s key lime pie? How can I turn that down?” Waving, the old man walked off with deliberately measured steps.

      “Let’s get down to business.” The mayor may not have been as old as Mae, but his smile creased his face in wrinkles as webbed as his tie-dyed designs. “You need a good bit of square footage. The largest space is where the grocery store used to be.”

      Mae tsked, then said in her sultry smoker’s voice, “If we’re trying to rebuild the town, shouldn’t we save that space for a new grocery store?”

      “Now, Mae.” Mayor Larry’s smile wavered almost imperceptibly. “It might be better for a grocery to build a new facility out by the highway.”

      “You own that land, too, I suppose.” Mae pounded her cane against the sidewalk and arched a penciled brow. “You always were an opportunist.”

      “Actually,” Christine said diplomatically, “I’d like to avoid any space on Main. We hope the winery’s success will eventually draw the tourist trade. Best reserve locations on Main for that. What about something on Harrison or Polk?” The streets flanking Main.

      “My store is on Harrison,” Mae said. “You remember Dream Day Bridal, don’t you, Shelby? You bought your wedding gown there. Nick was so sweet when I told him no grooms allowed.”

      Shelby’s breath hitched. The brisk breeze sent dead leaves dancing around her ankles. She’d forgotten Nick had wanted to vote for the dress. He’d laughed when Mae shooed him out the door, promising he’d get his vote in somehow. That was Nick, always breaking the rules.

      “I had the most marvelous shop,” Mae continued, moving in careful, mincing steps toward the corner. Larry offered her his arm, which she graciously accepted. “Four dressing rooms. A lighted dais surrounded by mirrors. Prom creations. Quinceanera dresses. Wedding gowns.” She sighed. “I do so miss it.”

      Despite escorting his rival, the mayor wasn’t giving up that easily. “There’s the Brown Jug Bar around the corner.”

      “That dump,” Mae scoffed. “It’s only as big as my storage room. You said they wanted a large space.”

      Christine glanced in amused amazement at Shelby, who wished she could share in the unexpected sparring match, but the closer they came to Dream Day Bridal, the more apprehensive she became about another first to soldier through. Shelby’s steps became sluggish. Suddenly, she didn’t care where Christine put the wine cellar, as long as it wasn’t in Mae’s building.

      Mayor Larry cleared his throat. “The butcher shop has—”

      “A stench that permeates the walls to this day.” Mae had the upper hand and wasn’t giving in.

      “And then there’s the real estate office.” The mayor quickly rebounded.

      “That might work.” Mae’s kohl-lined eyes narrowed. “If you don’t mind low ceilings. That’s the only one story building on the block. Flat asphalt roof. Didn’t you have a problem with leaks?”

      The mayor frowned.

      “We’ll start with the real estate office and then look at the bridal shop.” Christine continued being the diplomat.

      Shelby continued to feel off-kilter. If only she could have a moment alone.

      The real estate office had nearly enough square footage on the floor, but the low ceilings were a deal breaker. By Shelby’s calculations, they’d need to move at least four large, upright casks from the winery to this location. Eight-foot ceilings were far too low. Besides, Christine wanted to age smaller amounts of wine in barrels and bottles for years. “Too much work,” Shelby said when Christine asked her opinion, trying to keep from sounding СКАЧАТЬ