Page 59 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

“Not enough attention. The Fairness Doctrine was eliminated in 1987,” I said.

Dusty took the historical update in stride. “Luckily, these guys didn’t know that. I told them they have to let you on that stage after Rita, or else it’s a violation of campaign ethics.” Dusty glanced Vernita’s way. “Is any of that true?”

Itsoundedtruthful. I turned to Vernita as well. “Do you think? Applefest is resolutely apolitical, and the band endorsing her could be seen as a violation.”

“She could say that the mayor’s booth is a form of campaigning.” She shrugged her shoulders as she scrambled through her political knowledge as quickly as possible. “Frankly, it’s uncharted waters. Sourwood’s mayoral election has never been this scrutinized.”

“We’ll score on truthiness then.” Dusty clapped my shoulder. His eyes sparkled blue. I could stare at them all day. I’d forgotten how entrancing they were after all those years of texting and calling. I’d look for them in the crowd.

“You can do this, Leo.”

“I don’t know if I can. Literally. Fifteen years since I picked up a guitar.”

“I’m telling you. Like riding a bike.” Dusty threw both arms over my shoulders.

“Probably five years since I rode a bike, too.”

Dusty kissed away my hesitation. His kisses were feeling less like a campaign tactic, and I savored their warmth.

“Thanks for believing in me.”

The crowd roared as The English Patients took the stage. The guitar player saddled up his instrument; the drummer adjusted his seat. All that was missing was a meddlesome mayor clinging to his last chance to salvage his campaign.

“Sourwood, are you ready to rock?” the lead singer, Jimmy Bart, yelled into the microphone. He was clean-shaven with a neat head of hair and a white button-down shirt. He wouldn’t look out of place selling bibles door-to-door.

The crowd roared again. Dusty yelled back.

“We are so flippin’ excited to be at Applefest. I’m a fan of McIntosh. Dave on Bass is a freak because he likes Delicious, which is probably the biggest misnomer for a piece of fruit in history.”

People held their phones in the air. Kids sat on their parents’ shoulders. I spotted photographers snapping pictures, which would be all over social media and local press tomorrow.

If I flopped, I would go viral. I’d have to change my name and live in the woods. Without Wi-Fi or my favorite coffee pot.

“But before we start the show, we wanted to bring out the woman who made tonight happen. Rita Buchanan lobbied to bring us to Sourwood since we usually don’t play at festivals. She wanted to do something special for the town because she loves you guys so much. Rita, come on out.”

Rita stepped onto the stage with Deborah and their small kids. They were the picture of a cute family. She waved confidently to the crowd, a far cry from the woman who was quiet as a mouse at city council meetings, except when it came to land issues. She was a puppet, and once she wormed her way to the mayor’s office, the Buchanans would take over.

“Rita is running to be mayor of this here town, and that’s because she cares, because she wants a better life for every resident. She wants to see Sourwood grow, not be held back. But most of all, she wants you guys to have fun tonight!”

The lead singer spoke with surprising poise and sincerity, which generated more applause from the crowd. He should consider a run for office. It couldn’t have gone better for Rita.

She beamed to the crowd, who began chanting her name. EachRitawas another hammer of dread slamming into me. Dusty rolled his eyes like this was a minor inconvenience.

She took the mic from Jimmy. “Sourwood, I don’t want to keep you waiting. This is but one small example of how I will work hard for you. Sourwood is a town on the verge. We’ve got one of the biggest music acts here today! Let’s keep growing! Without further ado, The English Patients!” She handed back the mic, and the chants got louder, mixed with general applause about the show starting.

She and her family were leaving the stage when the roadie from before darted out to Jimmy and whispered in his ear.

“In fairness,” Jimmy began with diminished enthusiasm. “We have the current mayor of Sourwood here tonight. Leo McConklin.”

“McCaslin,” I hissed under my breath.

“I wanted to thank him for letting us play, and if he wants to hop on up here and give the crowd a wave…”

“That’s your cue.” Dusty gave my butt a lucky slap. “I believe in you.”

I kissed him for good luck and walked onto the stage where I received a supportive round of applause—though nowhere near the decibels Rita garnered. Not like we had an official sound meter to judge. The crowd stretched all the way down the street.

“Mr. Mayor, make it quick,” Jimmy said off-mic. He stepped back.

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