Chapter 1
Ground beef, tomatoes, pinto beans, taco seasoning. What else went in taco soup? I have an onion and some corn in the freezer. I think I have ranch dressing mix, but I’m not sure, I better get some.
“Claire!” I sat up straighter and looked at my boss, Arlene.
“Yes, ma’am.” Arlene shook her head and laughed.
“I said your name three times, what were you daydreaming about?” she asked, still smiling.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I was writing a grocery list in my head. What did I miss?”
“You didn’t miss anything, I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention,” Arlene said. “I brought you along to Commissioner’s Court to learn what happens in these meetings. I won’t be here but two years, you know. I want to make sure you girls will be able to keep up with things when I’m gone no matter who the next clerk is.”
I looked around the small courtroom. Marjorie Clinger had been the first speaker in the meeting, and the reason it was easy for me to drift away to my grocery list. Marjorie is the Tax Assessor-Collector for the county. On top of the fact that she was reading out a list of forty-five tax refunds, her voice is so monotone and boring it’s hard to stay awake. It appeared even Judge Watson was glad when Marjorie was finished, because she called for a ten-minute recess before the next item on the agenda. I told Arlene I would be right back and headed down the hall to the bathroom.
My name is Claire Shannon. I work at the County Clerk’s office in Allen Creek, Overly County, Texas. It’s a small town of about 13,000 people eight miles south of Kingston Lake in North Central Texas. Arlene Durant, my boss, and I are sitting in the downstairs courtroom of the Overly County Courthouse in a boring Commissioner’s Court meeting.
Arlene had been the County Clerk for fifteen years, in fact, she’s the one that hired me to work at the County Clerk’s office. Officially, she retired two years ago. Mary Simpson, who had worked in the office for several years, ran unopposed for the position and had been the Clerk for two years until she was killed three months ago. Actually, there’s more to the story than that. Mary was murdered in our office, and I was the one that found her. After a tense and scary week, the Sheriff’s Office arrested the man who killed Mary, and at the Judge’s request, Arlene graciously agreed to come back and help us for the two years left of Mary’s term. At the end of two years, the county will hold elections and a new County Clerk will be chosen.
My cell phone dinged with a text message when I was washing my hands. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the text.
‘I’m outside the courtroom, where are you?’ I glanced in the mirror and caught myself smiling. The text was from Jack Turner, the man I’ve been dating for several months. He works for the Overly County Sheriff’s Office. We got to know each other while he was investigating Mary’s murder. Not your usual courtship, but it worked out for us. Our Friday night date plans had been put on hold when he was called out of town, but it looked like things might be back on.
There was a crowd outside the courtroom when I stepped back into the hall. It was easy to spot Jack; he was a head taller than most everyone else. It was also easy to see the woman who was standing close to him with her hand on his arm. When Jack looked past her to me and smiled, she turned and glanced over her shoulder, then blatantly slipped a piece of paper in his shirt pocket before gliding into the courtroom on four-inch heels. I’d break my neck if I tried to walk in those all day.
I sauntered up to Jack smiling. “You just make new friends everywhere you go, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s my winning personality.” He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out the piece of paper. “I think it would be best for everyone if you kept this,” he said with a grin, “you might want to call her later.” I took the slip of paper and put it in my pants pocket. More than likely I’d forget to take it out and run it through the wash. That would be a shame.
“So,” I said, “I guess since you’re in town dinner is back on?” Instead of answering my question, Jack took my hand and pulled me toward the workroom. “You look like you need to make some copies,” he said.
“Jack, Arlene is waiting for me in Commissioner’s Court, they’re about to start the meeting again.”
“This won’t take long,” he said, as he pulled me around the corner. In one swift move, he backed me against the wall and scrambled my brain with a kiss. When he leaned away the look in his eyes went from serious to a slow easy grin. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and ran it along the corner of my mouth.
“Don’t want you going back out there with smeared lipstick, people might talk.”
“I swear, Jack, sometimes I think you’re sixteen instead of thirty-seven.”
“Darlin’, all men are sixteen,” he said laughing, “I figured you knew that by now.” He put his hand on my back and guided me out of the copy room and back down the hall. “You better hurry, you’re going to be late for the meeting. See you at 7:00,” he said. I stood with my mouth open watching his long-legged stride move down the hall, then turned and followed Judge Watson into the courtroom.
I was surprised to see that the room was full. All the seats were taken and quite a few people were standing along the back wall. I looked at the agenda to see what had caused so much interest. Agenda item #4: Wallace, Wallace, and Benson; lake proposal.
I recalled that Wallace, Wallace, and Benson are a development firm out of Dallas. They were at a meeting I had attended in May where they presented plans for a resort at Lake Kingston.
The economy in our area is made up of farmers, ranchers, and the lake. We have quite a few new small businesses in town, especially in our downtown area, but mainly we have an agriculture-based economy. Lake Kingston spreads out over four different counties, Overly County on the south side. The north side of the lake has seen a lot of development in the last few years, probably because it’s closer to the Dallas/Ft. Worth area. You can rent a cabin on the water or a room in one of several motels and spend the day fishing, riding paddle boats or water skiing. There is a big marina, a fully stocked grocery store, and a flea market/ craft barn every weekend from April through September. I heard there were plans to put in a casino next summer.
Our side of the lake, until now, has remained pristine. Part of our population would like to have more development at the lake to bring in more people who would add to our economy and tax base. Others want to keep the lake the way it is. The new development would alter the ecosystems and wildlife, plus they don’t want strangers coming in, buying up the lakefront property and blocking locals from those areas.
I was about to ask Arlene a question when there was a commotion at the door. Randolph Wallace walked in ahead of several other people. He’s a tall, attractive man in a perfectly tailored suit. His salt and pepper hair was perfectly styled, and he had a politician’s smile on his face as he shook hands with several people on his way across the room then sat down beside an easel. The man setting up the easel for their presentation had also been here at the last meeting. He was the type of person you could talk to for ten minutes, but not be able to describe an hour later. He was plain, unassuming and lost behind the larger presence of his boss. Once everything was set up for the presentation, he moved into the background and sat down.
“Okay, let’s get started on our next agenda item,” Judge Watson said. “Mr. Wallace is here today to . . .” The third person in Mr. Wallace’s entourage rushed in.
“Your Honor, please forgive me, I am so sorry I’m late,” she said in a breathy voice. Misha, the person whose phone number I had in my pocket, glided across the room in a red, pencil-skirt and those four-inch heels and stood beside Mr. Wallace, smiling. Several of the Commissioners were impressed by Misha, Judge Watson was not.
“Okay,” the Judge continued, “we have Randolph Wallace of Wallace, Wallace, and Benson here today to present a proposal for development at Kingston Lake. Mr. Wallace was here in May when he left us a prospectus concerning their development proposal. Mr. Wallace, you have the floor.” Misha sat down as Mr. Wallace stepped forward, grinning like he was running for governor.
“Thank you, Judge Watson. It’s an honor to be here today to share with you the plans we have to grow the economy of your community and enrich the beauty of your lakefront.” He gestured to an artist’s rendition of a spacious lakefront resort. “As you can see, the main resort center is designed to enhance the beauty of the natural waterfront as well as housing the resort offices, several gift shops, clothing boutiques, and a gourmet restaurant. The second and third floors offer one or two-bedroom luxury suites, while individual cabins will be placed throughout the natural terrain with landscaping to provide privacy while having easy access to the main resort amenities.”
I’m not sure how long the presentation lasted. My mind started to wander back to my grocery list after ten minutes. I admit the pictures were impressive and Mr. Wallace sold the resort as a great thing for our community. Still, I couldn’t get past my gut feeling that he was a con man. He was a little too slick for my taste. I looked around the room trying to read the reaction the others were having to his spiel. It wasn’t encouraging that two of the Commissioners were staring at Misha’s legs.
By the time Judge Watson convinced Mr. Wallace that the meeting was over it was close to 5:00. When Arlene and I walked back into the office it was time to close for the day. The other girls had everything ready to go, so I shut down my computer, grabbed my purse and we all walked out together. I needed to stop at the grocery store, then I would rush home and put the soup together. I should have plenty of time to take a shower and do my hair before Jack arrived at 7:00. By then the soup would be ready.
I drove out of the courthouse parking lot and started across town. Halfway to the grocery store my phone dinged with a text. At a stoplight, I pulled the phone out of my purse to check the message. ‘Sorry, I’m not going to make it. Jack.’ Oh, well, I didn’t want taco soup anyway.
Amy J Bryant 