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But there were also plenty of people here who had no dog in the fight beyond their love for this town, and that was what I hoped would save it. Like the Blums. Wyatt, who ran a small cattle ranch just outside of town. Evan Banks, the younger of the two lawyers in town—the elder lived deep in Mitchell’s pocket.
We’d been at it for long enough that the crowd had finished their seconds.
Rich, the pharmacist, was on a tear. “We’ve held the line for forty years against this kind of invasion, and I’d been hanging onto the hope Mitchell would honor that like his father did.” He shook his head. “I hate being wrong, especially about this. I just don’t know what to do about it.”
Evan caught my eye, and I nodded to give him the floor. He stood, smoothing his tie. Every unattached woman in the building turned their attention on him with interest beyond anything that had to do with the town. Even Bettie.
Evan didn’t seem to notice.
“The best thing we can do is band together and use the legislative system to fight back. What that’s going to mean is organizing. Petitioning. Protesting. We need city council and the mayor to pay attention. At the end of the day, their fate lies in your hands. We’ve just gotta make sure to remind them. If we stick together and make a stand, they’ll listen.”
“What can we do from a legal standpoint?” I asked.
“We can push against the zoning board. I’m reviewing the city codes to see if I can find any breaches or allowances there. Goody’s has already submitted a proposal to the city. We might be able to file for a development moratorium to buy us time, and I’m working on putting together a voter referendum to ban superstores—we’ll need signatures, but from the crowd this morning, that doesn’t look like it’ll be a problem—but I have more research to do before I have definitive answers. There’s a way to fight back. We’ve just got to find the weak spot and press.”
“What’s our first step?” I prompted.
“To form a coalition. We’re going to need volunteers to write letters, make and distribute signs and flyers, recruit members from every cross-section of the community from business owners, activists, citizens, religious leaders—every influential person in town we can get. And then we need to have an official meeting at the community center. I’ll work on having everything ready before that. We’ll need a slogan. A campaign schedule. Committees. And volunteers to run it all.”
“We’ll help,” Poppy said. The rest of the Blums nodded.
More voices rang out, hands finding their way into the air. Evan smiled.
“Good. Y’all come find me after this and make sure I have your emails.”
“What’s this gonna cost us?” Brian Buchanan asked.
Evan shook his head. “Nothing. The last thing I want is to see this town gutted to line Mitchell’s pockets, so consider this pro bono.”
Now the single ladies weren’t just staring. They were straight up swooning. Bettie fanned herself with a laminated margarita specials card.
“Why don’t we stop here for today and get some volunteers rounded up to get a plan together. Before you leave, do me a favor and sign this sheet with your contact information.” I held up a clipboard. “We’re gonna figure this out, but we’ll need all of you and more. So start with outreach in your circles. See who you can get to support the cause. And we’ll organize a fight Mitchell will never see coming.”
Sounds of approval rolled through the room, and with the subsequent hum of conversation, I set the clipboard down on the table and made my way toward Presley. Her hands were full of plates, so she nodded toward the big coffee machine we’d moved out onto the floor for the meeting.
“Help me to the back with this, would you?”
“You’ve got it.”
She smiled sideways at me. “Is that your waiter answer?”
“My what?” I asked as I picked up the coffee machine and we headed for the back.
“You know. Every waiter has one, the canned response when somebody asks you for something.”
“It’s been so long since I waited tables here, I don’t even know. But probably. What’s yours?”
“Absolutely. It’s just the right amount of enthusiasm, I find.” She stopped at the dish station to unload her burden. “It’s a statement. A verbal contract. A hard affirmative.”
“A hard affirmative, huh?” I shot her a wolfish look, and she laughed.
“Can’t in good conscience ignore a hard affirmative, can you? I mean, so long as both affirmatives are hard.”
I’d set the coffee machine on the counter and was in the process of making a fresh batch. Once Presley’s hands were washed, she made her way over and leaned against the counter facing me.
“The meeting was promising.”
“Thank God for Evan. I think I’m gonna pay him something whether he wants me to or not. He can use the money to hire out some of the work—there are gonna be too many man hours for him to do this for free and manage to do his job for anyone else. Wouldn’t really do to have him go bankrupt trying to keep everyone else from going bankrupt, would it?”
