“Miranda, hello!” The man on the end of the table beamed. “How’s Jeffrey? I haven’t seen him on the course lately.”
“He’s fine, Bill.” She smiled. “Busy. How are the kids and Nancy?”
“Oh, you know. Nancy’s got that Christmas board thing coming up. You’re on that, aren’t you? She’s dying for some grandbabies but so far—”
“Ahem.” Judy coughed. “Can we proceed?”
The man—Bill—flushed straight to the top of his bald head. “Sorry,” he mumbled and bent over his paper as if he were writing something. Jo would bet he wasn’t.
Miranda stiffened, poker face back on. “As most of you know, I am J. J.’s mother.”
Jo’s mind echoed the words Jeff had mentioned about his mother. Community leader. Charity board member, on every committee known to man.
She was so screwed.
“J. J. wanted to be here, but he had to be back at school. He’s in law school, you know.” She said it with an odd mixture of pure maternal pride and snotty one-upmanship. “I think we all know J. J. made a mistake. One he regrets most deeply.” Miranda fluttered a hand over her heart for emphasis. “But he was led down the path of bad choices by someone older, one who had a responsibility she chose to ignore. My son trusted Josephine Tallen and he was let down. For that, I think the blame lies solely on the bar owner’s shoulders.”
“Breathe,” Stu muttered. “You’re turning blue.”
She tried—really, she did—but it hurt too much.
“I think we all know …” Miranda’s gaze finally moved from the front of the room toward the door seconds before it opened. Trace Muldoon strode in, a little extra swagger to his hips Jo hadn’t seen before.
Jo’s breath caught again, but for a different reason this time. He’d come. Without being asked, he’d come to support her. And he’d brought the cavalry. Peyton, followed by Red and Emma, walked in behind him. Her chest ached with gratefulness.
“Sorry we’re late,” he announced to the room at large. “Got the times mixed up.” He winked to her, then took a seat two rows behind. His family followed.
“Continue, Miranda,” Judy encouraged.
“Right, yes.” Flustered, she went on. “I think we all know this is a case of he-said, she-said, with little evidence. And that means …”
The doors opened again, and several servers from the bar, along with a few lunchtime regulars, poured in like water through a funnel. Amanda waved cheerfully and pointed to a few seats in the back.
“Please be seated,” the chairwoman droned.
They hushed and quickly settled. But before Miranda could continue, a new flood of people showed up. Some she recognized—the local vet, more regulars from the bar, even Mr. Meldon, who owned soon-to-be-closed Gimmie’s. She recognized others, but couldn’t place names with faces.
The noise echoed off the tall ceilings in the open room. Feet shuffled over the stained linoleum, chairs squeaked as they were pulled out or pushed forward, bags plopped to the floor, voices were not-so-very hushed as they whispered to save a seat or scoot over.
“This is ridiculous,” Miranda protested.
The chairwoman pounded her palm on the table rapidly. “Quiet. Quiet down now!” But even with the admonishment, it took several minutes before everyone settled down.
Jo surveyed the faces sitting around her, behind her, in front of her. And her throat closed up at the obvious support these people were lending her.
“As I was saying,” Miranda bit out. “It seems to be a little unfair—dare I say, presumptuous—to believe the word of a veritable stranger over the son of a pillar of the community. Jeffrey’s family has lived here for generations, as has mine. You all know us. I think that should carry some weight.”
“Who cares?” someone called out from the back of the room, and waves of laughter erupted.
Judy banged her hand again. Jo’s own palm stung from the sound alone. Man, that had to hurt. “If you don’t quiet down, we’ll limit this meeting to necessary personnel only.”
That worked. Immediately, it was as quiet as a church on Sunday with half the congregation asleep. Jo wondered if she should start sweating like a sinner now, or wait until later.
Miranda threw up her hands. “I’m done, I suppose.” She sat with a thump.
Jo raised her hand. “Am I allowed to defend myself here?”
Miranda shot her a steely look. “Why bother?”
“Don’t hit her. Don’t hit her,” Stu muttered.
Judy motioned for her to stand. “Name, occupation, and business here for the record please.”