Page 27 of Sugar & Shadows

“Attendance trends?” I asked, head tilted.

He blinked several times. “Yes. Over the past several years, Maplewood’s festival attendance has⁠—”

“Declined,” I cut in.

Gabe shifted beside me, no doubt grimacing. I should have walked him through my tactics, but that would have involved talking to him, and my patience was limited, so I’d chosen to save it for these meetings.

I picked up my blue folder, and without breaking eye contact with my new friend Keith, I opened it and slid a page across the table. Holding back a feline smile, I tapped it with one red nail. “Here are your official attendance numbers for the past five years.”

He looked down and paused, but eventually, he picked up the paper.

I waited, internally pumping a fist when awareness settled in. I had him standing knee-deep in his own bullshit.

“I’m not sure what you’re⁠—”

“You,” I said sharply, “cited declining attendance as the reason your office relocated the festival.” On the exterior, I was calm and collected, but my blood sang with the sheer joy of being right. “But according to your own reporting, attendance has steadily increased over the last five years.”

I sat straighter, satisfied. I could practically smell the blood in the water.

“Year over year growth,” I continued. “Eleven percent in the most recent season.”

Gabe’s shoulders dropped.

Good.

“There are other factors,” Keith argued like I knew he would. I swore all these men read from the same script.

“Of course.” I settled back in my chair to let him know who was in control of this conversation. “There always are. So let’s talk about them.”

Fingers laced in front of me, I homed in on him, waiting for him to list off his reasons.

Head lowered again, he flipped through the pages I’d offered.

When Gabe shifted beside me, I squeezed his thigh, a subtle message to stand down.

He settled quickly, taking the hint.

Damn, his thigh was thick and muscular. I never would have guessed that about a man who spent his days kissing babies and asses. Really, it was rather annoying that he didn’t have delicate bird legs. If he did, I’d add it to the list of characteristics I could mock. Instead he had the thighs of a rugby player.

Keith shifted, grimacing almost imperceptibly.

I kept my mouth shut and clutched Gabe’s thigh again, silently willing him to remain quiet.

Never fill silence. It was one of the most important lessons my mentor had taught me. During the Cold War, she’d seen shit I couldn’t even imagine, and she had trained me to use my status as the only woman in the room as a weapon rather than a handicap.

Keith exhaled slowly, pushing the pages back toward me. “There were concerns,” he finally admitted. “About stability. Safety. After the…” He frowned. “The incident last year.”

“It was a murder,” I responded plainly. “A horrific act of violence. But the perpetrator was arrested and has been charged. The town remains one of the safest in the state. I brought crime statistics,” I said, picking up my red folder.

He sighed. “I am familiar with the crime statistics.”

“Good. So let’s have the real conversation now,” I countered. “Why did you rescind a permit that was granted more than six months ago and award it to a town with poorer infrastructure, fewer resources, and, let’s face it, less charm than an I-89 truck stop?”

“We’re not here to assign blame,” Gabe said in his charming mayor voice. “We just want to understand what needs to be done to bring the festival back to Maplewood.”

I gave him a once-over. Mostly annoyed that he’d spoken but also a tiny bit grateful.

He’d softened the landing.