An Undisclosed Vocation: The Charlotte Anthony Mysteries, #3

By Meg Wolfe

An explosion. A death. The destruction of a popular Elm Grove business. Charlotte Anthony, caught up in the ensuing chaos, wonders what the victim meant when he said he knew something "that could get us both killed."

Once again, Charlotte teams with Detective Barnes as they strive to unmask the criminal. Her efforts are complicated by her relationship with Donovan, when it seems that they both have secrets they are unwilling to share--and as important figures from her past suddenly appear in town.

As Charlotte uncovers the layers of the murderer's motivation, she also reveals the dark pasts and secret lives of those she thought she knew well, testing her faith in her fiancé, her friends, and herself.

The Charlotte Anthony novels are traditional, character-driven mysteries whose overarching theme is how the past informs the present, and how even a small town in the American Midwest can be connected to a much larger world. 

The third book in the Charlotte Anothony Mystery series. 382 pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meg Wolfe
• Release date: Dec 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781393859871

Meg Wolfe

Meg Wolfe is the author of the Charlotte Anthony Mysteries and other fiction and creative nonfiction, having finally settled down after a lifetime of varied and interesting careers in garden design, cooking, and art. She lives in Northwest Indiana with her husband, photographer and artist Steve Johnson. Email: [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

Tuesday, April 28th

He swiveled back to face her.

Okay, I’ll do it.

Charlotte was relieved. Thank you! You won’t regret it.

He shrugged, as if in doubt. Yeah, well, we’ll see. Just be careful with what I’m about to tell you, or you’ll get us both killed.

One

Monday-Tuesday, May 11th-12th

Charlotte Kleid Anthony decided it was time to say something. The circles under her eyes had darkened into bruises, and the crevices around her mouth were no longer laugh lines. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror at four in the morning. Wanting sleep, unable to get any.

Larry and Wendy were at it again. All night. They’d gone down the rabbit hole of win-at-all-costs, unable to walk away from furious conflict over absolutely nothing.

Charlotte knew this because the volume penetrated the deep walls and floors of her studio apartment above The Good Stuff gift shop. Their apartment was above hers, on the top floor. Sometimes their little girls would add their own wailing to the mix. Or just the one girl now. The older one had given up.

Then everything was quiet. It was over. No need to bang on the door or call the cops.

She shivered in the damp spring chill and scooped up Shamus from where he was hiding in the bathtub. She crawled back into bed, holding the big tuxedo cat close. He began to purr softly; Charlotte relaxed and fell asleep.

Still, she said something, catching her landlord in the shop in the hour before it opened.

What in the hell, Larry?

He didn’t look much better than she did, and apologized with a sigh. "It’s the money. Never directly about the money, but you know what Wendy’s like. I try to not worry her with all this stuff, but it’s like she knows there’s something wrong, but she doesn’t know what she knows so she thinks it’s something else, like another woman, or that I’m secretly planning to divorce her."

He finished prepping the cash register, pushing the drawer shut with his ample belly and giving her a rueful, gap-toothed smile. Just watch. She’ll come down here and see us talking and she’ll pretend to be cool with it. Then there’ll be hell to pay again tonight. She’s dragging me down with her.

You know, Larry, when she starts screaming, Shamus runs and hides in the bathtub.

It was a low blow, and Charlotte almost wished she could take it back. Shamus had been Larry’s shop cat before she rescued him from Wendy’s vitriol a few months before.

Larry’s black mustache sagged around his pout. "The meds aren’t enough. I gotta find her something to do."

What about just telling her what’s going on? Involve her?

His eyes widened in amazement. Are you nuts? She’ll have us blacklisted when she gets done running that mouth of hers to the wrong people at the wrong time!

Which was probably true. But still. You’re not going to be able to hide it from her for much longer, Larry. There’s going to be blueprints, meetings, inconvenience, and noise. And expense. But it’s all part of owning commercial property downtown.

Larry groaned, even as he nodded at the truth of what she said. I wish to god I’d never bought this building, just kept renting it—and it could have been someone else’s problem.

Charlotte wasn’t unsympathetic. Larry had told her about this problem a few weeks before: the city was going to upgrade and widen the street along the side of his building, which meant he had to tear down his loading dock and rebuild it in order to comply with the new setback requirements. It was a large and unexpected expense. He thought to mitigate it somewhat by hiring his cousin Jerry to do the work, but Jerry couldn’t get a contractor’s license in Elm Grove—he had recently served jail time, and would have to wait five years before he could even apply for one.

The sad part is that he got convicted for something he didn’t even know he did, Larry explained. It was the guy he worked for that stole the stuff. He told Jerry to take a truckload of brick and lumber to another job, so he did—and next thing he knows, he’s under arrest as an accessory and found guilty.

Fights with Wendy aside, Larry was a good landlord, so Charlotte had done some digging around. The difficulty in securing qualified, licensed, and affordable contractors in Elm Grove was a well-known problem, not unrelated to the question: why did the same people or companies win the city contracts over and over again? Her research led to writing an investigative article for The Daily Town. It was due today, in fact. Time to get back to it.

There! The place marks for all the photos, their captions, and the credits, were done. The article just needed going over one more time before emailing it to The Daily Town.  It felt good to finish it, but strange that it wasn’t going to appear with her byline. The Daily Town gave its writers the option to use their own names or not, in common with many other political blogs known for their exposés of corruption and cronyism.

On one hand, it was exciting to write undercover. She felt less censored, less sensitive about what people would think of her if she felt the need to express hard truths about the way things were done in Elm Grove. On the other hand, it was difficult to not be able to talk about her work, and to avoid revealing what she’d learned in confidence from Mayor George Liverpool himself.

Not even her fiancé, Donovan O’Dair, knew what she was working on, and she was uncertain how much longer she’d be able to get away with not telling him. At the moment he was focused on getting the bookstore ready, but once it opened—and especially once she moved in with him—he was bound to get curious.

Cross that bridge when I come to it, I guess.

Charlotte stretched her back, shoulders, and neck. Shamus did the same, cat-style, rising from his basket next to her computer. Time to take a short break, get some fresh air, see how things were going at the bookstore.

She popped into The Coffee Grove first. Donovan was sitting at a table with Jimmy Frobisher, the coffee shop’s owner, Mayor Liverpool, and a forty-something man she didn’t recognize. Donovan looked up and invited her over with a quick tilt of his head. She waved, then as she turned to get into the line to order, she bumped into a Hemingway lookalike.

Oh, excuse me, gesturing for him to go ahead. Didn’t see you there.

Not at all, miss, said the man, with a light touch of his hand on her back. I insist.

He smiled as if the fact she towered over him didn’t bother him a bit. She quickly thanked him and moved up in line.

So who was the guy sitting with Donovan, Jimmy, and the mayor? The stranger tapped his index finger firmly on the table to make his point. His Asian eyes glimmered, yet he was in control. In the mix of voices, clatter, and coffee grinding, she could only catch snatches of what they were saying.

—sitting empty for years, said the stranger. —what good is it doing—

The mayor, shaking his head, —zoning, parking—

—gallery—no one lives that way—

—Historical district—state doesn’t move fast—cannot—

The Hemingway lookalike spoke up again. It’s your turn, miss.

Charlotte quickly turned to look down at him. His eyebrow raised as he nodded toward the counter, where Kelsey the barista was standing with a hellooooo? look on her face and holding out a large Americano.

Sorry. I spaced out. Not enough sleep.

Hemingway chuckled. The coffee will help.

By the time she approached the table, it was clear there was an argument, and that the stranger was a foreigner. His accent was American, for the most part, but every so often his pronunciation or phrasing was British.

I won’t upset the larger constituency for an individual homeowner or business owner, said the mayor.

You know why you should! hissed the stranger. He strode past Charlotte to the refill line.

Wow. She took the chair Donovan pulled up for her.

The sunlight from the window behind Jimmy cast a halo around his silvery ponytail that contrasted with his mischievous expression. No strong feelings there.

Mayor Liverpool shook his head with a sigh and gestured toward the stranger. That’s Lucas Nantakarn, the fellow who bought the old Blumenthal Mansion. His wife’s an artist, and he wants to turn the place into a gallery.

Oh! Well, an art gallery isn’t a bad idea, is it?

He acknowledged it. "Not a bad idea in and of itself at all. This town could use one. But it’s the Historical District, and there’s all kinds of zoning and regulations and other hoops to jump through, not to mention neighboring homeowners who like things the way they are."

Lucas came back with his refill, and appeared to have cooled off. He placed a conciliatory hand on the mayor’s shoulder and resumed his seat.

George, I apologize for getting so hot, honest. I appreciate that pushing this through for anyone, let alone a newcomer, would put you in a bad position. He extended his hand, and George shook it and murmured an acceptance of the apology.

Jimmy performed the introductions. Lucas rose and shook Charlotte’s hand with a slight bow—and without breaking eye contact. For a disconcerting second she felt as if he could see everything there was to know about her. Then he looked away as he sat down again, and the sensation passed.

Did I just imagine that? Maybe I need this coffee more than I realize.

The usual pleasantries revealed that Lucas was an import/export businessman from Thailand. Charlotte noted the precise way he held his cup of tea, and the way he leaned back and crossed his legs. He was charming, but it was studied. After a few minutes, Lucas said he had to get to O’Hare Airport to pick up his wife, who was arriving from Bangkok. He was glad to have met everyone, and looked forward to seeing them all again soon. She watched his smooth progress past tables and chairs on his way out. Dance training? Martial arts?

The others were talking about Lucas’ proposal.

The mayor shrugged and sighed. It’s a nice idea, but I’ll be darned if I’m going to let some outsider throw his weight around just because he’s loaded. We don’t do things that way in Elm Grove.

Charlotte smiled to herself. Of course things weren’t done that way in Elm Grove. The mayor was wary of losing his clout to carpetbaggers.

Jimmy shrugged. He should have looked a little more carefully into what would be involved before he bought the place. But I don’t think it’s going to hurt him financially one way or the other.

Donovan laughed, pushing up his black-framed glasses. Spotted the watch, did you?

Jimmy grinned. "And I heard the buyer paid cash for that house."

What kind of art does his wife do? asked Charlotte.

Mixed media, said the mayor. Evidently she’s pretty well-established, but I’m not sure what that means these days.

Normally, Charlotte would stay and talk, but she couldn’t afford to get sidetracked from her work. She told Donovan she would see him for dinner, then managed to put the whole scene out of her mind by the time she got back to her place.

Dinner turned out to be a couple of Jimmy’s substantial submarine sandwiches, and dessert was two hours of helping Donovan shelve several boxes of books to get ready for his soft opening later in the week. He stayed on to work into the wee hours. She was actually glad to be alone in her apartment, savoring a spa night and zoning out with no distractions or conversation, since at the moment Donovan was all bookstore, all the time. She was also desperately short on sleep.

When she came to, she was still lying on the sofa in her bathrobe, the new Geoff Bower thriller, The Buddha’s Spy, was still spread open across her chest (and still on the second chapter), and the TV was still going. It was ten minutes before five in the morning—sunny, damp, fresh, and chirpy with happy birds. A pair of butterflies settled on the windowsill. If Larry and Wendy fought again, it didn’t wake her up.

Birds. It was the second Tuesday of the month. Mayor Liverpool would be having one of his well-known early bird meetings. Around ten people, invitation only. During her interviews with him, he suggested that she might like to attend one, just to see the extent to which his government was and was not a strictly inner-circle operation. If it seemed like the same people got the same contracts over and over, he said, she might see valid—and even ethical—reasons why.

She dressed quickly, energized by the prospect of the meeting, throwing on chinos and a sweater, then scooping up her tweedy shoulder-length hair into a loose topknot. If she kept her reading glasses perched on the end of her longish nose, it would help cover up the dark circles under her eyes—but would also be a good way to trip over her own feet. She tucked the glasses in her hair as usual, and packed a notebook and pen in a tote. She hoped to at least find the approach for the next article in the series, but the best thing was to go in with an open mind. Sometimes assumptions were proved wrong—and sometimes things undreamed of were discovered. Worked both ways.

City Hall was a few blocks past the bookstore, so she set out right away, enjoying both the exercise and a pleasurable sense of mission. Traffic was picking up on Harvey Street; dog walkers and runners went by. Mayor Liverpool was approaching, a Ralph Lauren country squire, from brown corduroys to a tan leather peaked cap.  She waved and saw that he was carrying a tall thermal coffee carafe.

Good morning, Charlotte! You’re up and about early.

That I am. She nodded to the carafe. Coffee for the early bird meeting?

Yes, yes. My secretary refuses to come in before eight o’clock, so I get the coffee from Jimmy.

I hope this isn’t too sudden, but since you invited me to one of the meetings, I was wondering if it was possible for me to attend this morning?

The mayor hesitated. I’d say yes in an instant, Charlotte, except one of the attendees has specifically requested no members of the media. How about we commit to your coming next month? Would that be alright? He fumbled around in his tweed jacket and retrieved his smart phone. I’m adding your name to next month’s list. Now it’s official.

Charlotte smiled to cover her disappointment. Mission thwarted, for the moment. That’s great! Thank you, and I look forward to it.

He beamed satisfaction. Your Donovan is opening the bookstore this week, isn’t he?

Yes, he is. Working night and day to get things ready.

The mayor was about to reply when his smile faded as he looked past her shoulder. She turned to see Lucas Nantakarn across the street, talking on a cell phone as he strode in the direction of City Hall.

A woman walking her dachshund passed him, then waved and called out, Mr. Mayor! as she crossed the street toward them.

Mayor Liverpool once again beamed at Charlotte, his public persona intact, and patted her arm. Have a lovely day, Charlotte, and tell Donovan I’ll be by for a sneak peek later on. He turned and greeted the dachshund lady.

Since she was already up and dressed, Charlotte decided to go on to the bookstore.

Sibylline Books was diagonally across from The Coffee Grove, at the intersection of Harvey and Ramble. Like the coffee shop, its entrance was formed by slicing off the corner of the building so that that the door faced the intersection. Charlotte had her own key, so she unlocked it and went in.

The bookstore was brand new, but Donovan succeeded in making it look like it had been there as long as the building itself. The walls were exposed brick, and there was a beautiful curved staircase, a remnant of the building’s original purpose as a high-end women’s clothing store. Best of all, the texture and smells of older books mixed in with the new provided a warm atmosphere that chain bookstores simply couldn’t achieve.

The main level was nearly ready. There was a large, long table in the center of the store, surrounded by a collection of secondhand wooden office chairs. An old walnut sideboard near the checkout counter would eventually have three or four carafes of different coffees from Jimmy’s shop. At the moment it just had one coffeemaker, which was nearly full, and hot. Donovan must be up early, too.

Mornin’ Charlotte. He came down the stairs, rolling up his shirtsleeves. His thick auburn hair was still damp from a shower. He looked tired, but otherwise happy.

She went over for a kiss. He held her close for a moment longer.

Thanks again for your help last night.

Did you get any sleep? she asked.

He shrugged and poured her a cup of coffee. Yeah, but not enough. I wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly remember something else I have to do, and then my mind won’t shut off and let me get back to sleep.

It’s excitement. It’s your first store.

He smiled and nodded, pushing up his glasses.

They leaned side-by-side against the checkout counter by the shop window, and watched as Mayor Liverpool finished his conversation with the dachshund lady and turned off Harvey Street onto Ramble. Charlotte was still a little bummed about not being able to attend the meeting that day.

George said he’d be by later—

A titanic blast shook her to the bone, stopped her breath.

She hit the floor, arms over head.

Donovan fell across her.

Then all was quiet. It took a long minute to realize that nothing had actually happened to them, or to the bookstore. Charlotte’s heart pounded; she felt Donovan’s hand trembling as he helped her up.

You okay? he asked.

She nodded. "What was that?"

They looked out the window.

Dust billowed from the ground-floor windows of the coffee shop.

Oh my god— Jimmy! She started for the door, but Donovan grabbed her arm so hard it hurt.

"Charlotte, no! There might be another one." He had his phone out, dialing 911, but she could hear the sirens already.

They stood in shock, watching as the dust slowly dissipated. The emergency vehicles arrived, the streets were blocked, and the area around the coffee shop cordoned off.

A window opened on the second floor, and she gasped. Jimmy!

He’s okay!

Oh, thank god. Donovan’s voice almost broke.

But the dust had also cleared enough to reveal the mass of debris strewn across Ramble Street—glass, wood, brick, bits and shards of furniture, fabric—

—and on the street, in the middle of the intersection: a tan leather peaked cap.

Two

Tuesday, May 12 th

Mayor Liverpool was dead.

Charlotte stood outside the bookstore, numb, unable to tear herself away, unable to believe what really happened.

George was dead.

Just be careful with what I’m about to tell you, or you’ll get us both killed.

Was it something she did? Something she wrote? How could that be? Her article couldn’t have gone live yet. Did he tell someone else? Was his office bugged? Calm down. The bomb went off at the coffee shop, not City Hall—

Jimmy emerged from the coffee shop. He was supporting Kelsey, his barista and manager. Donovan ran over to help them. Charlotte started to follow, but an emergency worker spotted her and waved her back. Her head throbbed from the noise of fire trucks and sirens.

A paramedic checked over Kelsey, and she was taken away in an ambulance. Jimmy, too, was checked, but shook his head when the medic gestured toward another waiting ambulance. The sun reflected off his round wire-rimmed glasses as he continued toward the bookstore with Donovan.

Was it a gas explosion? Or was it a bomb? Why on earth would anyone bomb the coffee shop? Who was the target? Jimmy? The mayor? Who knew the mayor would be there? Who would want him dead? In fact, the only time she had ever seen the popular mayor in conflict with anyone was yesterday, with Lucas Nantakarn—who was walking by just minutes before the explosion.

She felt a gentle touch on her arm. It was Detective Gordon Barnes of the Indiana State Police.

Everything okay here? he asked. They knew one another fairly well by now.

Yeah. Just shocked. She turned to hold the door open for Jimmy and Donovan, then Detective Barnes held it for her as she followed them in.

Charlotte hugged Jimmy. Felt him trembling. He let go and sank into a chair. Barnes took the chair next to him.

Donovan hugged Charlotte.

Whatever you do, he spoke quietly into her ear, don’t go over there. It’s— he didn’t finish, just shook his head quickly, a barely repressed shudder.

Bomb? she asked, looking at him.

He nodded.

Who did this?

He shrugged, and went with Charlotte to the counter to pour coffees. The bomb squad is over there right now. But I guess we won’t know for a while yet.

Poor George. Charlotte had a lump in her throat, and tried hard not to cry.

It was instantaneous, Charlotte. No pain.

Barnes confirmed that next to nothing was known at the moment. Charlotte gave an account of everything she could remember seeing on the walk from her apartment, past the coffee shop, and from the bookstore’s windows. The most pertinent information was, of course, what Mayor Liverpool was secretly afraid of, but if she told the detective, it could only be done in private. The mayor had stressed confidentiality, and, it appeared, with good reason.

Jimmy explained to Barnes about the mayor’s monthly meetings. "He originally wanted to have the meetings at the coffee shop, and I was willing to open early for him, but some of the participants didn’t want to make their attendance so public. It was no secret that’s where the real wheeling and dealing happens in town.

George wanted my coffee, though, so I provided him with his own dispenser, and a key to the side door, so Kelsey wouldn’t have to stop what she was doing to let him in. I gave him a choice—pay for the coffee to have it delivered, or free coffee if he came and got it himself. And he was happy with the arrangement.

So there would be repercussions for people who attended these meetings? asked Barnes.

I guess so, but repercussion’s a strong word. I mean, it was more like Democrats don’t want to be seen cozying up to Republicans, and vice-versa, that sort of thing.

So no blowback, nothing in particular?

Not that I know about.

Unions? Church groups? Tax protesters?

Jimmy shrugged again, then rubbed the back of his neck. Not offhand. But I’ll have to think about it. My thoughts don’t want to line up at the moment.

Charlotte leaned over and squeezed Jimmy’s hand. I’m just glad you’re okay, but what about Kelsey?

She’s pretty shook up and she can’t hear, so she went to get it checked out. She was in there, you know, when it happened. In the kitchen. Had coffee on the go, the line prep, all of that.

He explained to Barnes that, as the manager, Kelsey had a key to the main door that faced the intersection, and locked it behind her during prep. She was normally the only employee there until Jimmy came down to take over the kitchen at six and she manned the coffee machines and cash register. On days that Kelsey was off, he did the early morning prep and another employee came in to work as the barista.

So no one else comes in the side door?

Not until she unlocks it at six a.m. sharp.

Charlotte was curious about Kelsey’s lack of injuries. If she was there during the explosion, how come she’s walking when the mayor— she left it unfinished.

Blast radius, said Barnes. It appears to have missed the kitchen and a great deal of the front of the building, apart from the windows. Half the furniture is only knocked over, and otherwise fine. Some of the cups and saucers are broken, but probably from falling off the shelf. But whatever was near or in the line of the blast, that’s what shattered.

What kind of bomb was it, do you have any idea? asked Donovan.

Homemade, I’m thinking, said Barnes.

Jimmy nodded. Sounded like a grenade going off.

You were in the army? asked Barnes.

Oh, yeah, Jimmy murmured. Vietnam.

Barnes’ cell phone rang and he got up to leave a few seconds after answering. Thanks for coffee. Sticking around here? he asked Jimmy, who nodded in affirmation. It’ll be a while yet before you can get back into your apartment or the shop, so if you have some place you can stay—

I’ll let you know what my arrangements will be, Detective.

After Barnes left, Donovan invited Jimmy to stay in his apartment. Don’t have much furniture yet and the place still needs painting, but there’s doors and the bathrooms and kitchen are at least finished.

Jimmy looked grateful. I can always get a suite at the Corton Inn, but it would be good to stay close by.

Jimmy’s phone beeped just then and he took the call, which was brief, and he moved to leave. My insurance agent. Already. I’d better get out there. His expression slightly blank again. He looked old and confused. Traumatized.

It was good that Donovan went with him.

Charlotte felt restless, afraid to face the possibility of her own connection to the mayor’s death. Only the timing—that the bomb went off before her article could have been published—gave her any solace, but it was shaky. She needed something to do—get her air mattress and a blanket for Jimmy? Check The Daily Town and her emails, to see if something had gone wrong or if she was hacked? Her thoughts, as she kept her head down and maneuvered through the growing crowd on the sidewalk, were jumbled, unconnected—like Jimmy’s, they didn’t want to line up.

The tall black-painted apartment door squeaked as she closed and locked it behind her. The familiar sound of coming home made the climb up the stairs a little easier. Shamus was waiting for her on the flat-topped newel post. She scooped him up and held him close.

Three tall windows let in the north light that made everything glow on sunny days like this, from the shimmering Hannah Verhagen painting above the massive library table that was her desk, to the patina of the oxblood leather sofa and wide-planked floor. Nothing here hinted at anything wrong, unless it was the eerie lack of traffic noises—

—and unless it was Lucas Nantakarn, who was standing in front of the pizza joint across the street. As if he could sense her watching him, he looked right up at her window. She stepped back quickly. It wasn’t likely that he could see her past the glare of the glass. Then he walked on.

The man made her nervous; was he watching her? There wasn’t any reason why he should, except that when she met him, there was something in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her hand, making her feel that he knew her. It was unsettling, an inexplicable sense of connection, but one where he had the advantage over her. Lucas Nantakarn was—dangerous.

Snap out of it! Time to stay on task, just do what must be done. But Shamus hopped up on the bed and rolled over on his back, inviting her to play. She sat down at the edge of the bed, rubbed his tummy, and looked around her peaceful refuge. It became home a few months earlier when circumstances forced her to put her house in Lake Parkerton on the market. Life was simpler here, without the expenses, the excesses. She ran her hand over the white duvet, so soft and simple—

—the ringing of her phone jerked her eyes open. She was lying on the bed, Shamus curled up next to her. The phone kept ringing from where she left it by her computer. She rose, groggy, to answer it. How long had she been asleep?

Charlotte? Where are you? Are you okay? Donovan sounded worried.

I’m at my apartment, to get the air bed for Jimmy. Must have fallen asleep. Sorry about that.

Oh, no problem, just glad you’re okay. Helene is here, and Diane is bringing an extra coffee maker.

Great! I’ll be there in a few minutes.

She splashed cold water on her face to finish waking up, but the nap did do some good. She gathered the bedding and checked her emails before setting out again. The Daily Town acknowledged receipt of her article, said that it would be published in a week, and committed to the next installment. She nearly sank to the floor with relief. Her article definitely couldn’t have killed the mayor.

She was glad, too, that they wanted another article. It didn’t pay a lot, but until her house was sold she was bleeding money for the mortgage and upkeep; every dime helped.

Mayor Liverpool was one of her main sources, however, and now he was dead. Would a new mayor still have the early-bird meetings? Would George Liverpool’s twenty-year legacy—a beautiful and revitalized downtown Elm Grove—continue to thrive? Her mind’s eye couldn’t stop seeing his leather cap lying in the street. She didn’t always agree with him, but she had really liked him. She took