Seven | The Secretary

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FROM THE COLOR SHIFT IN WESTON'S FACE, it looked like he had seen a ghost, only he was staring at Mrs

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FROM THE COLOR SHIFT IN WESTON'S FACE, it looked like he had seen a ghost, only he was staring at Mrs. Lincoln. What was their story? 

"Everyone! Thank you so much for being here and for your patience," the short, black-haired women's voice bellowed into the hall. She clasped her hands together, herding the people like cattle into their chairs. "You all can take your seats."

Weston and I shared a look, then silently trudged to two empty chairs furthest away from the podium and next to the exit in case we needed to make a great escape. What had gotten under his skin? From how he looked at Nora, I knew she had been the culprit of his change in attitude. Why? I would probably never know unless I pried.

"As always, Mayor Wallaby sends his regards. Tonight's meeting has been long awaited. As the autumn season quickly approaches, so does our annual fundraiser for a charity of our choosing."

Collective whispers ensued, and elation sizzled in the air.

"Before we talk about the exciting stuff, we must discuss unpleasantries." Nora's tonal shift killed the energy in the room like a flick of a switch. People slunk against the backs of their chairs.

If one person was corrupt, it was Nora Lincoln.

Born and raised, just like her predecessors, Nora kept the well-oiled machine that was Clifton functioning. Though the town was still rooted in misogyny, it never elected a woman as Mayor, despite her father and grandfather bearing the position.

Nora did the next best thing and ran for Secretary, which she won, and immediately retitled as Chief of Staff. I had to give her credit; Nora was a force of nature. If everything that came out of her mouth was not backhanded or going to be relayed in a gossip session over coffee, I would look up to her.

She talked about yard upkeep and other nonsense about storing boats for the colder season.

Weston leaned closer. "Do they come and look at our yards?"

I shook my head. "They're probably talking about the houses in town, and our houses are on private driveways in the woods. Although, I wouldn't put it past them to come look at ours."

"Now that all the trivial stuff was addressed, it's time to talk about the fundraiser. The council has worked endlessly to find the perfect charity to donate to this year, and we settled on Searching For A Saint in honor of the third anniversary of Ester and Logan Pierce's passing."

My head jerked upright as if someone yanked my hair and forced me to watch the room clap over my dead parents. My nails curled into my palms, stinging. I'm thankful they were blunt, or else I would've penetrated my skin.

This had to be a joke.

Nora touched her hand to her heart. "We have the privilege of having Ivey Pierce, their only daughter, back in town to celebrate with us." She droned on about how Searching For A Saint was a non-profit organization that helped locate missing people, and it was only "fitting" because my parents were missing for forty hours before being found.

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