"Claire!"
Joyce's shrill voice hailed me the instant I entered the foyer, echoing throughout the high, domed ceiling.
Town hall had been constructed before the Civil War, back when they'd been able to afford building government offices out of stone and marble. The place was a monstrosity and would last until the end of time.
My assistant hustled to meet me. Nearly six feet tall in her bright white walking shoes, Joyce was as solid as an oak, in stature and temperament. Her hair was shorn close to her head and black as the day she'd been born, courtesy of a standing appointment with Miss Clairol. Joyce dressed like the lumberjack her father had been - jeans, flannel shirts, and boots in the fall and winter, khaki shorts, plaid, sleeveless shirts, and walking shoes in the spring and summer.
She'd started life as a high school phys ed teacher. But when kids became mouthier and a teacher's ability to kick their ass for it became nonexistent, Joyce came to work for the city. She'd never married, devoting herself to this job and my father to the exclusion of all else. There were times I'd wondered if they had a thing going on; I'd decided I didn't want to know.
"Everyone's left. " Her mouth flattened in disapproval.
"Who's everyone?"
"I told you there were people waiting to see you, then you snuck out the back door. "
Oops.
"I knew you and Grace would be up to your old tricks the minute my back was turned. "
I stifled a grin at the memory of some of those old tricks. Although I doubted Grace and I would be sneaking a joint out back or getting sick on cheap wine anytime soon, you never could tell.
For the first time since I'd returned, I felt as if returning might have been a good choice and not the second stupidest thing I'd ever done.
"You have to be above reproach," Joyce said. "The whole town's watching you. "
My urge to smile faded. "I know. "
When I'd returned for my father's funeral, I hadn't planned to stay, although I hadn't had anywhere to go. I'd recently quit my job as the producer of one of the top Atlanta television stations.
I hadn't been all that broken up abo
ut it. I was an adequate producer but not outstanding. I was never going to go any further than I already had, and for the first time in a lifetime, Atlanta did not appeal. The gilded glow I'd placed over the city - because my mother had loved it so - had been tarnished.
"Balthazar was here," Joyce said.
"He's always here. "
Balthazar Monahan was a recent transplant from the North. No one knew exactly where he was from; no one knew exactly why he'd come, unless it was to be elected the mayor. He'd been after the job from the day he'd arrived and had not been happy when it was offered to me for the taking.
He'd spent the past three weeks tallying every one of my mistakes, then trumpeting them far and wide, which was easy for him to do since he owned the Lake Bluff Gazette.
"What did he want this time?" I asked.
Joyce shrugged. "He came in as he always does; then when he found out you were gone, he started whispering to the people who were waiting to speak to you. "
"Shit," I muttered.
"You can say that again. "
"Shit. "
Joyce chuckled. "Relax. People have to give you a chance to get used to the job. Being the mayor isn't easy. "
"Tell it to Balthazar. "
"Won't matter. Man was born to be a pain in the ass. "
Joyce had him pegged, but she so often did. I don't know if it was her years as a teacher or her years at the desk in town hall, but she could read people in an instant. Good, bad, ugly - Joyce took one look and knew your heart. Which was why she was still working for me despite her tendency to bitch, moan, and mother.