The Mountain Between Us. Cindy Myers

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      “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a magician. I can’t pull money out of thin air or make this budget stretch to cover one thing more.” Lucille Theriot, Eureka’s mayor, stood behind the front counter of Lacy’s, the junk/antique shop she owned, trying her best not to lose her temper with the older woman across from her. Cassie Wynock, town librarian and perpetual thorn in Lucille’s side, thought her family’s deep roots in the town entitled her to anything she wanted. Today, she wanted new shelves for the library, an item not in the town’s very tight budget.

      “We ought to have plenty of money,” Cassie said. “The Hard Rock Days celebration this year was the biggest it’s ever been. I know for a fact the Founders’ Pageant sold out.” She patted her hair, preening. The play devoted to telling the story of the town’s origins had been written and directed by Cassie, who’d also taken a starring role.

      “The extra money we took in from Hard Rock Days doesn’t begin to make up for the money we aren’t getting from the state and federal governments this year. We’ve had to really tighten our belts. I’ve already warned people not to expect plowing of side streets this winter.”

      “People around here can do without plowing. They can’t do without the library.”

      Lucille was trying to think of a suitable response to this bit of skewed logic, perhaps by pointing out that if the streets weren’t plowed people couldn’t get to the library, when the cow bells attached to the back of her front door jangled. She looked up, hopeful of a customer who would necessitate cutting her conversation with Cassie short. Instead, Bob Prescott shuffled in.

      “Afternoon, ladies,” he said, touching the bill of his Miller Mining ball cap.

      Cassie wrinkled up her nose. “You smell like a brewery.”

      Bob did have a faint odor of beer about him, but this was nothing new. He spent most afternoons propping up the bar at the Dirty Sally. “Stop by the saloon any afternoon, Cassie, and I’ll buy you a drink,” Bob said. “I predict it’ll do wonders for your disposition.”

      Considering Cassie’s disposition was almost always bad, Lucille doubted alcohol would help. “What can I do for you, Bob?” she asked.

      “You’re interrupting a private conversation,” Cassie said before Bob could reply.

      “I was explaining to Cassie how the town budget is so tight this year we’ve decided to forgo plowing side streets for the winter,” Lucille said.

      “I say we set up snowmobile-only lanes and forget about plowing altogether,” Bob said. “ ’Course, you won’t have to worry about that at all if we don’t get snow.”

      “And I say new library shelves are a matter of liability,” Cassie said. “The old ones are falling apart. If we don’t replace them, someone could get hurt.”

      Lucille met Cassie’s defiant look with a skeptical one of her own. Were the shelves in such bad shape? Or would Cassie see to it that they did start falling apart, even if she had to remove a few bolts to do so? She looked like a prim old maid, but Lucille knew she had nerves of steel. Coupled with her outsized sense of self-importance, it could be a recipe for trouble.

      “I’ll have someone come down and examine the existing shelves for safety concerns,” Lucille said. “Maybe we can reinforce them somehow.” She turned to Bob. “Can I help you, Bob? I just got a nearly complete set of 1970s-era National Geographics and two solid brass spittoons in stock if you’re interested.”

      “Nah, I’m here on official business, Madam Mayor.” He propped one elbow on the counter and leaned against it, his customary posture at the Dirty Sally.

      “Official business?”

      “You might say it relates to your conversation with Cassie. I’ve got an idea for a fund-raiser for the town. Something to liven up the quiet weeks after the summer tourists have left and before the ski crowd shows up.”

      “We don’t get a ski crowd, Bob,” Lucille said. “That’s over in Telluride. The best we can hope for is a few folks who stop on their way to and from the slopes.”

      “They’re all tourists to me,” he said dismissively. “What I’m talking about is entertainment for the locals and a way to bring in a little extra cash for the town coffers.”

      Lucille leaned back, arms folded. “Let’s hear it.” Bob’s past ideas—all of them voted down by the town council—had included boxcar derby races down the steep main road leading into town, hiring a burlesque troupe to “liven up” the Independence Day celebrations, and letting tourists pay to be a miner for the day and work Bob’s claims with a pickax and shovel.

      “Let’s start a pool on when the first snow will fall,” he said. “Charge five dollars a guess and the person who gets closest to the date and time wins half the money. The town keeps the other half.”

      “I’m certain city-sponsored gambling like that is illegal,” Cassie sniffed.

      “She’s right, Bob,” Lucille said. “We can’t do something like that. It was a good idea, though.”

      “Humph. Nothing to stop me from doing it, is there?”

      “You can’t run a gambling operation of any kind without a license,” Lucille said.

      “Tell that to the weekly poker games in the back room of the barber shop.”

      Lucille covered her hands with her ears. “I didn’t hear that,” СКАЧАТЬ