Caught Bread Handed Read Online Free Page A

men looked like he belonged in a biker gang. His bald head glistened under the studio lights and he glared at everyone they passed on their way to the stage.
    â€œWho’s the Brutus?” Lance said under his breath as the beefy guy stomped past us.
    â€œI’ve never seen him before,” I replied.
    Rosalind scowled. “Mindy, I didn’t realize that you were coming.”
    Mindy walked to the front of the room. The two men followed after her. She paused in front of the stage before taking a seat in the front row. “Maybe that’s because I wasn’t invited.”
    Rosalind looked flustered, but quickly recovered. “I wasn’t sure you would feel comfortable attending tonight’s meeting, since we’re all here to discuss your restaurant.”
    Mindy didn’t reply.
    I craned my neck to try to get a glimpse of their exchange. “What’s happening? I can’t see.”
    â€œA catfight,” Lance said. “Or maybe a cougar fight.” He clapped and turned to me. “Oh, this is going to be fun!”
    Rosalind continued. “As I was saying, thank you for being here. Many of you have expressed concern with the direction that some businesses downtown have taken.” Her eyes lingered on the front row.
    Alan Matterson, the owner of the Jester, sat three rows in front of us. I was surprised to see him here; he’d withdrawn from anything public since the restaurant closed. He jumped to his feet. “Just say it, Rosalind. Say it, man. We all know that you’re talking about ShakesBurgers and that thief, Mindy. She’s just in it for the bread. It bums me out.”
    Lance put his fingers over his mouth and grinned like the Joker. “I couldn’t script this.”
    I elbowed him again. “You are terrible.”
    â€œI know.” He smirked.
    Rosalind nodded at Alan and motioned for him to sit. “Yes, Alan, I know you have firsthand experience and I want you to share that with everyone in a moment. Take a seat and let me finish, though.”
    Alan remained standing. Mom was right, he wasn’t wearing one of his typical jester costumes. He looked like a different person. His long, graying hair had been tied into two braids. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him in street clothes.
    â€œOur town jester and resident hippie is all cleaned up. Did he shave his beard?” Lance asked.
    â€œIt’s weird, isn’t it? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him out of costume.”
    â€œA tragedy.” Lance straightened his ascot and gave me a somber stare. “A depressed jester. That doesn’t work at all.”
    Rosalind continued. “It has been my honor to serve as the president of the Downtown Association for the past three years. As most of you know, I’ve lived in Ashland my entire life. There’s no place I’d rather live. We have a thriving downtown business association, thanks to all of your hard work and effort, but the core of our plaza—the heart and soul of Ashland—is being threatened by businesses like ShakesBurgers that have no regard for Ashland’s history or charm.”
    Heads began to nod around us.
    â€œWe are known around the world for the festival. When tourists arrive in town they want to feel like they’ve stepped back into the time of the Tudors. They come for the charm of downtown. They come for shops that serve meat pies and our bookstores that sell worn copies of Shakespeare’s works.”
    Lance cleared his throat. “They come for my award-winning plays,” he muttered under his breath.
    But Rosalind had found her groove. “They don’t come to Ashland to feel like they’re in any other American town with strip malls and disgusting fast food. They come, they shop, and they spend their hard-earned dollars in all of your businesses because when they’re here with us they feel like they could be on the pages of