The Cherry Cola Book Club - By Ashton Lee Page 0,1

of 2010. They had won because they had campaigned with the same stale bumper stickers, but now that they’d gotten in once again, their mantra had suddenly morphed into growth and change. Even if she knew—and Durden Sparks, Chunky Badham, and Gopher Joe Martin also knew damned good and well—that Cherico was not the type of town that wanted to get busier with traffic and attract a lot of those copycat, big-box franchises that advertised on television all the time. It did not even have a daily newspaper anymore—only one of those weekly shopping guides full of coupons, discounts, and special sales gimmicks on certain days of the week.

No, Cherico was small and parochial, even xenophobic at times. It had never taken full advantage of its picturesque location on Lake Cherico, which itself was a finger of the Tennessee River System in the extreme northeast corner of Mississippi. The town was not actually old enough to be called antebellum; indeed, it barely qualified for the Victorian Era with a smattering of homes in the Queen Anne or Swiss Chalet style here and there. Overall, the architecture was muddled and mundane.

Mostly, though, Cherico was full of people who wanted to be left alone, particularly the newer citizens who had built their ritzy vacation retreats and boathouses out on the lake and were therefore not even year-round residents. When they dropped in on the environs during warmer weather for some fishing and skiing, it was only for a few weeks at a time, maybe as long as a month, and they stayed out of local politics as a result.

“What you cannot deny, Miz Mayhew,” Councilman Sparks continued after a healthy sip from his water glass, “is that your circulation figures have steadily declined over the past three years, and they weren’t going gangbusters before you came here, either. By your own admission, your only regular patrons are Miss Voncille Nettles and the Crumpton sisters, who gather in your meeting room once a month.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Maura Beth said, her eyes flashing. “We have our regulars who check out books and DVDs. And just for the record, we also have the very respectable Mr. Locke Linwood attending ‘Who’s Who in Cherico?’ His wife, Pamela, was also a regular before her untimely passing, as I’m sure you recall.”

“Yes, I do. It was a most unfortunate event. Very well, then. I stand corrected. Three spinsters and a widower attend these utterly fascinating meetings.” Councilman Sparks loudly cleared his throat and continued, “At any rate, they gather to run on about their fabled family trees. As if who begat whom is going to change from week to week. Hey, the bottom line is, you’re stuck with your genes—good, bad, or something in between—and no amount of flowery window dressing will make any difference, to my way of thinking.”

“ ‘Who’s Who in Cherico?’ has been the benchmark for genealogical research for many years,” Maura Beth proclaimed. “Miss Voncille Nettles spends countless hours researching deeds and such at the courthouse for accuracy. She knows everything about everybody, as well as all sorts of historical nuggets about this town.”

Councilman Sparks pursed his lips as if he had just taken a swallow of sour milk. “Tell me about it. I think sometimes we should just set up a cot for the darling lady in the archives and lock her in for the night. Maybe throw in a pitcher of water and a chamber pot for good measure. But Miss Voncille and her followers could just as easily meet in someone’s living room as your library. They’d certainly have more space, and I bet she and her little crowd would enjoy a libation or two while they gossip about their dear, dead relatives. Unless you’ve changed the policy without my knowledge, I don’t believe the library allows the consumption of adult beverages, if you will, on its premises. Why, that little bunch could leave you high and dry if they decided they’d had enough of teetotaling all these years. Face it, Miz Mayhew, they’re now your only viable claim to fame!”

Chunky and Gopher Joe snickered, winked at each other, and nodded their heads knowingly while Maura Beth did her best to suppress her disgust. She knew those two would never carry on in such a disrespectful manner anywhere other than this special budget session she was being forced to endure without benefit of a single witness. It was clear that as far as they were concerned, she fit the definition of