Welcome to the intro video
and an excerpt from the twentieth post of my weekly serial, “Sketches from the
Café Confictura.” If you’d like to share a comment, please use the comment option at the end of this excerpt. To follow the mystery of Applewood, and get
recipes from Mrs. Creaverton, writing advice from Roscoe Belesprit, and fashion
tips from the Fastionista, please visit www.ClarissaJeanne.com for new posts
every Tuesday at 2:30 p.m. EST.
Today’s the day! Beech Street, at long last, officially reopened this afternoon. Let the fanfare commence, strike up the band. I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced this: a dream you’ve had for so long, finally coming true. At one point it seemed impossible, breaking out of the day-to-day. The cracked asphalt of Beech Street, reflected in Confictura’s huge front window, looked the same every sunset as it would the next sunrise. And, then, even when Wilhelmina Washington’s construction crew got the go-ahead to begin revitalization, there were still so many cracks.
Until, one day,
we noticed there weren’t. That day, none of us simply passed by the street’s
reflection in the sunrise. We lingered a moment before going inside the café,
and admired the morning.
It seemed as
though all of Applewood had gathered outside a few hours ago for the
ribbon-cutting ceremony. That’s not surprising, since this is our commerce
center, taking its first deep breath in over a year. What none of us Confictura
regulars expected was for Yolande, Hackett Masterson’s assistant, to come
running up to us, looking green with whatever news she had to share.
Up until now,
Yolande hadn’t been the fount of information we’d hoped for the day we met her
last month at the sit-in. At first, it seemed like she might be willing to spy
on Masterson’s mayoral campaign; after all, she said she’d help run Alan
Loggins as a third-party candidate, against her boss. But when we pressed her
on this, standing outside of Masterson’s office building just after the sit-in,
she turned as chilly as the mid-spring breeze that had kicked up around us.
“I’m no
traitor,” Yolande had said. “I want to help Mr. Masterson in the grand scheme
of things, not throw him under the bus. If you can get Loggins to run, I’ll
talk to Hackett, see if he’d consider dropping out and supporting him.”
Mrs. Creaverton
asked, “Why would he do that when he just worked his tuchus off to beat Loggins
in the primary?”
“Because
something is off about Orsted,” said Yolande.
Roscoe said,
“Something’s off about an ageless energy vampire who possesses the minds of
children and has a suspicious interest in a local mayoral campaign? You’re kidding.”
Kate, Roscoe’s
ex-wife and current friend, put a hand to his forehead. “Resorting to sarcasm.
You feeling all right?”
Yolande
explained herself: “Okay, I didn’t know before that Klaus Orsted was all those
things. I don’t know how much Hackett knew, and when he knew it. But ever
Orsted helped Hackett win the primary, Orsted’s been skulking around when
Hackett’s not there. Then, when Mr. Masterson tries to set a meeting with
Orsted, it’s suddenly the hardest thing in the world to get him when he’s free.
I have a bad feeling that Hackett’s going to end up hurt in all this. Like,
career-ending hurt.” She pushed her big, square glasses up, and shrugged. “And
I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think Hackett knows he’s in too deep with
Orsted.”
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