Page 4 of The Rainbow Recipe
Afterthought,South Carolina
“They say it was poison,not a heart attack,” a voice whispered in the crowd behind Pris.
Pris knew better than to let down her mental barriers on election night, more so after the fiasco at the Halloween fundraiser. She gritted her teeth and attempted to edge away from the scandal monger, but city hall was jam-packed.
If she’d had a choice, she wouldn’t be here at all, but in this fraught election, she had to support her family and their candidate as they watched the committee count paper ballots. Her family had been mostly responsible for supporting the gender-bending, racially diverse candidate, Larraine Ward.
On top of that, Jax and his team had worked hard to have the city’s fraudulent voting machines thrown out so Ward had a chance against the establishment, several of whom were now in jail for federal crimes.
“Who isthey?” a voice Pris recognized replied—the school principal and one of Larraine’s staunch supporters. “The sheriff has said nothing about murder.”
“Only because he doesn’t want to rock the boat,” the gossip insisted. “Everyone knows what that coven of witches would do if the sheriff charged one of their own. If Larraine Ward loses the election, Troy could be out of a job.”
One of their own:meaning Pris.How anyone could envision her eccentric, frumpy family as a coven strained the imagination. Sure, Pris knew she was weird. She worked at it. Butwitches? If only she knew a magic spell or two...
Thanks to Jane Lawson, the scandal-mongering columnist, paranoid rumors had run rampant this past week. Lawson theorized the Bella Gente owner had been murdered by a conspiracy of Blacks, meaning Larraine and half the town’s voters, andwitches, Pris and her family. While Jane’s audience numbers grew with her hate-imbued idiocy, Pris’s catering business had dropped off.
Maybe she ought to listen and figure out what motive she had for killing off a potential customer, but crazies were seldom rational. The awful part was that Pris was convinced half of the conspiracy theory was right—Katherine Gladwell, Bella Gente CEO, had not died of a heart attack.
“We’ll be a laughingstock if that...creatureis elected.” A familiar nasal voice repeated the refrain she had pounded on all summer. “No decent business will move here. And if a mayoral candidate is accused of murdering the one upscale business owner who dared locate in Afterthought...”
Pris rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. She could point out that Larraine was standing right there with the CFO of La Bella Gente and some of his employees. They didn’t seem particularly wary of being murdered. She resisted, not needing to agitate the troll into badmouthing her even more.
Just as someone else countered Lawson’s stupidity, the crowd parted. Not waiting to hear the blogger’s response, Pris pushed toward her family. Tonight, they needed to stick together. Fraught wasn’t even the beginning of the election-night mood.
Afterthought, South Carolina barely had a thousand registered voters, but half of them seemed to be in city hall tonight. Ballot checkers hovered as the votes were tallied. This was a special election to fill a vacant position, so the count was simple. The room grew tense as they reached the bottom of the ballot stack.
Hank Williams, the hardware store owner and Larraine’s opposition, stood with a group of men Pris recognized as a majority of the town council. They looked grim at the tight tally. Even Jane Lawson’s conspiracy theories hadn’t completely ruined Larraine’s chances.
Dressed in one of her sophisticated fashions, the designer nonchalantly talked on her phone. She seemed unconcerned by the drama and more interested in her business call. Pris admired her for that. Business first. Drama, pfft.
Except Pris knew it was an act. Larraine had to put on a performance every time she appeared in public. With tension escalating, she had to be aware that the tally had finished and the committee was consulting before making the announcement.
Bill Wright, the shy bank president chosen by both candidates to head the election committee, tapped a water glass to ask for attention. He didn’t have to tap hard. The room quieted. He squirmed nervously. Mrs. Thomas, the elementary school principal and also a committee member, handed him a small white board with large numbers to hold up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce that Miss Larraine Ward has won the mayoral position by a count of 489 to Mr. Hank Williams’ vote of 477. Congratulations to both candidates for a fair and honest race.”
A roar erupted. Pris noticed with interest that she didn’t have to work at shutting out minds when everyone was mentally screaming. It didn’t seem to matter if it was joy or outrage, the psychic cacophony provided its own barrier. Learn something new every day.
She didn’t bother joining the crowd surrounding the new mayor to congratulate her but began elbowing her way to the exit.
Jane Lawson, part-time newspaper blogger and full-time bigot, approached as if armed and dangerous. Her narrow eyes squinted, her sharp nose sniffed, and her thin lips wore a permanent sneer. Or maybe Pris just didn’t like her. The woman didn’t have enough brains to send strong vibrations and was easily blocked.
“How do you believe Miss Ward’s win will affect your business?” she asked into a microphone, as if she were a TV reporter.
The woman’s snide slurs about Larraine, added to her insults about Pris poisoning the appetizers, had encouraged a following of haters, a business model that worked surprisingly well on social media. But Jane’s candidate had lost, and she was simply a sore loser.
Despite her earlier refusal to rise to the bait, Pris was riding high on triumph and wasn’t much inclined to impartiality. “Electing the candidate with the most financial and business expertise works for me. Hasn’t sneering like that hurt your eyesight?”
Any sensible person would have let her walk away, but the hate-monger grabbed her arm. “Most businesses prefer that their mayor represent their customers and people like themselves. What kind of freaks will you be serving now?”
After suffering weeks of insults, fury reined, and Pris yanked her arm free. “Afterthought is half Black, half white, half male, half female. Looks to me like Miss Ward representsmyclientele. Or are you saying I can only market my business to white females because I’m white and female? Do you only want white females reading your byline? Or perhaps you should expand your narrow point of view and consider we’re allhuman beings?”
As she walked away, she heard the bigot call, “You’d better be careful! The coroner is asking for a full autopsy on that poor woman the two of you murdered. We’ll see how well your Miss Ward fares.”
If Pris meant to commit murder, it wouldn’t be of a stranger.
Four: Dante
