Read Online 1 Lowcountry Boil by Susan M. Boyer - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan M. Boyer
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Blake.” People that didn’t know us well would never have known from Merry’s gracious tone that she and I were on the verge of unladylike behavior.
We all shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Merry took the seat on Blake’s other side. He squirmed.
More people filed into the room. I glanced at Colleen. Someone would soon be sitting on her lap. She must have had the same thought, because she took a seat at the table and swiveled around in her chair to face me. “They never use all of these chairs.”
I gaped at her. I knew no one else could see her, but surely others could see the chair swivel. Nobody seemed to notice. From the other side of Blake, I could hear Merry talking to David Morehead.
“Stella Maris is divided into six districts. Originally the districts reflected the parcels of land owned by the town’s founders. More recently the lines have been creatively redrawn as those families intermarried and then divided land in an estate,” she said. “But the council has always consisted of one member from each of those families. According to the town by-laws, any family member residing in District Three can fill Gram’s seat. If no family member volunteers, we’ll have a special election. Then anyone living in District Three can be elected, family or not.”
Colleen spun around in her chair. “Problem is, most of the family is already on the council.”
“Would you stop that?” I hissed at her.
“Stop what?” Blake asked.
I stared at him for a beat. “Jiggling your leg. That’s working my nerves.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I just need a few minutes of peace, okay?” I turned back to Colleen and narrowed my eyes. She smiled and swiveled back to the table. She had a point. Daddy held the District Four seat, which was made up of the Talbot family land. Michael, a family member by marriage, represented District One, the Devlin district. Gram had held the Simmons’ seat. Before her death, our extended family made up half the town council. There was likely as much speculation about who would fill her seat as Merry’s nonsense.
As police chief, Blake was ineligible. Up until the day before, I had lived in Greenville, several hours away. While Merry was a resident of District Three, she had expressed no interest in filling the vacancy, which was no doubt a relief to each and every member of the council. By Stella Maris standards, Merry was a subversive.
It didn’t take much to be labeled a subversive in Stella Maris. Rumor had it—and I could have confirmed it—Merry had attended several anti-war protests and seen every Michael Moore movie. She turned up the volume on her favorite Dixie Chicks song and rolled down the windows of her car especially for Mildred Sullivan’s benefit whenever the mayor’s wife happened to stroll by within hearing distance. Mildred had organized a public smashing of Dixie Chicks’ CDs after that unfortunate comment one of them made regarding the former president.
Colleen leaned back so far in her chair that she was nearly horizontal. Her head was in my lap. “They talked about it at lunch today. They have it all planned. There’s going to be a special election. First order of business.” She sat up before I could respond.
Mackie Sullivan entered the room and negotiated his way in our direction, eyes laser-locked on David Morehead. Blake, Merry, and I stood up, having been raised to a certain standard of manners, even when dealing with the insufferably pompous. David Morehead followed suit as Mackie sauntered to a stop, way too close.
Mackie extended his hand to David with a smile that reminded me of an eel. “Good evening, sir. I am Mac E. Sullivan, not Mackie. Mac. Short for Mackenzie. The initial ‘E’ stands for Emerson, a family name on my mother’s side. I am counsel of record of this venerated assembly, and it would be my great privilege if you would allow me to welcome you to our fair municipality.”
Mackie—we called him that just to
We all shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Merry took the seat on Blake’s other side. He squirmed.
More people filed into the room. I glanced at Colleen. Someone would soon be sitting on her lap. She must have had the same thought, because she took a seat at the table and swiveled around in her chair to face me. “They never use all of these chairs.”
I gaped at her. I knew no one else could see her, but surely others could see the chair swivel. Nobody seemed to notice. From the other side of Blake, I could hear Merry talking to David Morehead.
“Stella Maris is divided into six districts. Originally the districts reflected the parcels of land owned by the town’s founders. More recently the lines have been creatively redrawn as those families intermarried and then divided land in an estate,” she said. “But the council has always consisted of one member from each of those families. According to the town by-laws, any family member residing in District Three can fill Gram’s seat. If no family member volunteers, we’ll have a special election. Then anyone living in District Three can be elected, family or not.”
Colleen spun around in her chair. “Problem is, most of the family is already on the council.”
“Would you stop that?” I hissed at her.
“Stop what?” Blake asked.
I stared at him for a beat. “Jiggling your leg. That’s working my nerves.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I just need a few minutes of peace, okay?” I turned back to Colleen and narrowed my eyes. She smiled and swiveled back to the table. She had a point. Daddy held the District Four seat, which was made up of the Talbot family land. Michael, a family member by marriage, represented District One, the Devlin district. Gram had held the Simmons’ seat. Before her death, our extended family made up half the town council. There was likely as much speculation about who would fill her seat as Merry’s nonsense.
As police chief, Blake was ineligible. Up until the day before, I had lived in Greenville, several hours away. While Merry was a resident of District Three, she had expressed no interest in filling the vacancy, which was no doubt a relief to each and every member of the council. By Stella Maris standards, Merry was a subversive.
It didn’t take much to be labeled a subversive in Stella Maris. Rumor had it—and I could have confirmed it—Merry had attended several anti-war protests and seen every Michael Moore movie. She turned up the volume on her favorite Dixie Chicks song and rolled down the windows of her car especially for Mildred Sullivan’s benefit whenever the mayor’s wife happened to stroll by within hearing distance. Mildred had organized a public smashing of Dixie Chicks’ CDs after that unfortunate comment one of them made regarding the former president.
Colleen leaned back so far in her chair that she was nearly horizontal. Her head was in my lap. “They talked about it at lunch today. They have it all planned. There’s going to be a special election. First order of business.” She sat up before I could respond.
Mackie Sullivan entered the room and negotiated his way in our direction, eyes laser-locked on David Morehead. Blake, Merry, and I stood up, having been raised to a certain standard of manners, even when dealing with the insufferably pompous. David Morehead followed suit as Mackie sauntered to a stop, way too close.
Mackie extended his hand to David with a smile that reminded me of an eel. “Good evening, sir. I am Mac E. Sullivan, not Mackie. Mac. Short for Mackenzie. The initial ‘E’ stands for Emerson, a family name on my mother’s side. I am counsel of record of this venerated assembly, and it would be my great privilege if you would allow me to welcome you to our fair municipality.”
Mackie—we called him that just to
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