Page 12 of That Conflicted Feeling

“Eitheryou’ve coincidentally shown up in an executive car and an executive suit at exactly the time the executive fromYellowBarnis due here for the planning board meeting.Oryouarethe executive fromYellowBarn.”

Heslides the hand from his pocket and points at me.Thatfinger has just been right next to his—

“You’dmake an excellent detective,” he says, thankfully interrupting where my mind was heading. “ButIdon’t work forYellowBarn.”

“Oh.”

Maybehe’s not the devil.Maybehe’s not that annoying.Maybeit’s not so bad that my arms are trembling not just from the weight of the picket signs.

“Mycompany does own it, though.”

Christ, who is this guy? “Youmean you’re the executive who owns all theYellowBarnexecutives?”

Henods.

Whatis he, some sort of global business mogul? “Yourealize that’s worse, right?”

“I’dlike to think it puts a little distance between me and the grocery store that is, apparently, er, ‘gross.’”Henods toward the placard in my right hand and runs his hand down his red tie.

Mymind flashes back to the tingles that rippled up my arm when that exact thumb stroked the palm of my grazed hand just two days ago.

“Ifyou’re fighting to bring one of those huge hideous stores here,”Itell him, “there’s about as much distance between you andYellowBarnas there was between the peanut butter and jam on my toast this morning.”

“Ah.”Hissmile reveals a row of perfect, white, expensive dentistry. “Nowthere is some common ground between us.I’mvery partial to a good strawberry jam.YellowBarnhas an excellent one in itsFruityFiestarange.”

“Whereare the strawberries from?”

Heshrugs.

“Howmuch are the farmers paid to grow them?”

Heshrugs again. “Whateverthe going rate is for strawberries,I’dimagine.”

“Sureabout that?”Giantcompanies almost always undercut market price.

Heignores my question, and runs those baby blues along the placards lined up along the wall behind me. “Youseem to have considerably more signs than hands.”

Myshoulders are burning with the heat of a thousand ghost peppers, butIwill not put these two signs down while he can see me.Iwill not give in.

“Theother people got delayed.”There’sno wayI’mtelling him they didn’t show up.

“Right, yeah.”Heemits a skeptical chuckle. “Or, maybe, they simply don’t care.Maybethey’d be happy with theYellowBarnspecial of ten pounds of potatoes for a buck on the first of every month.Everyoneneeds to eat,Polly.”

“Mycustomers value quality produce.Theylike that it’s grown by peopleIknow.Andthey like the personal touch of our service.Noone in your produce department would rememberMrs.Bentleylikes thyme and lemon with her chicken.”

“MaybeMrs.Bentleycould remember that for herself.”Hepulls back a crisp cuff to reveal a large aviator-style watch. “Well,Ihave to go explain to your delightful council people what a huge benefitYellowBarnwould be forWarmSprings.”

“Butyou know it wouldn’t be.”Mybody temperature shoots up, not just from the effort of holding the placards, but from frustration at this soulless ass. “Youknow it would destroy pretty much every business onMainStreet.Apartfrom maybeJerrythe cobbler.Ibet you don’t have a cobbling department.”

Hemimes writing something on the palm of his hand.

“Addcobbling department,” he mutters.

Itwould be funny if there weren’t so much at stake.Insteadof making me laugh, it raises my blood pressure. “Youknow you’d be wrecking the heart of our community purely for profit.Andyou simply don’t care.”

“Iknow nothing of the sort.Ifyour business and everyone else’s businesses are as loved by the locals as you say, they’ll be loyal to you and not succumb to the money-saving charms of a heartless retail bastard like me.”

Hesteps away toward the glass double doors of the town hall.