Raffle Ticket Read online

  Raffle Ticket

  by Daniel Kelley

  Copyright 2016 Daniel Kelley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and places are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, in whole or in part, without permission in writing from Daniel Kelley.

  Cover design by Adair Kelley.

  Daniel Kelley is an author and a music arranger. His fifth novel, Raffle Ticket, was published in October 2016. Nearly 700,000 books of Daniel’s compositions and arrangements have sold worldwide, and over 30,000 of his e-books have captivated readers. With lyricist JoEllen Doering, he also composed the music to the classic holiday song, “It's Christmas Time Again”.

  Daniel mosaics, bakes constantly, annoys practically everyone with puns, is a massive EDM fan, and loves playing games of any kind, though Hearts is his current fave. In 2016, a mosaic of his won the Best of Show monetary prize at the Los Angeles County Fair. He and his wife Cynthia have three children and too many fish. Adair, Darcy and Adele are the names of the children.

  RAFFLE TICKET by Daniel Kelley

  Table of Contents

  One: The October Meeting

  Two: Ticket Sales

  Three: The Raffle

  Four: Dancing

  Five: A Bonus Prize

  Six: Lenny

  Whispers from Fielding

  Seven: Business

  Eight: Parents

  Nine: The Cottage

  Ten: Fielding General

  Eleven: School Daze

  Twelve: The Library

  Thirteen: Schraff Lake

  Fourteen: Factory #6

  Fifteen: Decisions

  Sixteen: More Decisions

  Seventeen: Ginger Ale

  Eighteen: Dinnertime

  Nineteen: Cronshaw’s Rug

  Twenty: Debussy and Dvorak

  Twenty-One: Home Alone

  Twenty-Two: Ready

  Whispers from Fielding

  Twenty-Three: Jennifer

  Twenty-Four: Early Shift

  Twenty-Five: Baking Day

  Twenty-Six: A Picnic at Home

  Twenty-Seven: Biding Time

  Twenty-Eight: Images on a Wall

  Twenty-Nine: Inside, Outside

  Thirty: The Fielding Picnic

  Thirty-One: Bettie Jo

  Thirty-Two: The Forresters and Frank

  Thirty-Three: The Same, But Different

  Thirty-Four: A New Ending to the Day

  Thirty-Five: Details

  Thirty-Six: The Final Time

  Whispers from Fielding

  Thirty-Seven: Lenny’s Scrapbook

  Thirty-Eight: A Letter to Junior

  Thirty-Nine: Discoveries

  Forty: Julie

  One: The October Meeting

  It had been a year since the debacle. And after all the outrage, the letters of disbelief published in the Fielding Gazette, the oft-expressed opinion about town that someone had to be responsible for not anticipating what had happened, it was time again for the annual raffle.

  The Fielding town raffle. Originally a gimmick to boost attendance at an autumn meeting no one wanted to attend, it had become a rite, an event looked forward to as much as the Homecoming game, or the month or two that Schraff Lake froze over enough to support ice skaters each winter. And forty-two years after the ruse had first been tried, the raffle worked in pretty much the same way: drawing in the hopefuls, pulling them out of their houses, apartments and farms for a lighthearted assembly, followed by the awarding of a series of prizes and capped with a convivial dance featuring a live band.

  Except for the previous year.

  Sure, 2014 had included a spirited discussion about water meters and parking rates, a hilariously narrated raffle, and an eight-piece combo that had the crowd shaking the dust out of the Community Hall rafters until after eleven p.m. But Willy Jansen, entertaining as he had been in his twelfth year as the official emcee for the raffle, had not only stolen the bulk of Fielding’s 2014 kitty, he’d also managed to disappear with most of the proceeds from similar raffles held in the towns of Amity, Calverton, and Dorsey.

  Julie Darling could undoubtedly lay out all the damning facts with far more clarity and speed, but here they are, in no particular order:

  Willy Jansen had grown up in Fielding. His mother had worked as a secretary and bookkeeper for several local businesses over the years. She’d died of natural causes in March 2014.

  Over a decade earlier, Willy had offered his services to enliven what had become a rather pedestrian drawing of the winners. And enliven the process he had, with his quick wit, off-the-cuff double entendres, and a willingness to gently poke fun at the sanctified powers of Fielding in a manner that even his victims could enjoy.

  As his reputation for whimsy spread, along with a sharp rise in ticket sales and attendance, nearby towns began asking him to drive the few short miles to their own gatherings. Willy ended up successfully introducing the raffle to no less than seven municipalities within a hundred miles of Fielding!

  And while Willy gladly handled Fielding’s affairs for free, he was paid for his time by the other communities. It wasn’t much, however.

  Using cajolery and the implied threat that he wouldn’t be able to find another suitable time, Willy bullied the towns of Amity, Calverton, and Dorsey into holding their autumn 2014 meetings on the same October weekend as Fielding’s. His work that Saturday afternoon began at four o’clock in Calverton, and was finished by the time the first revelers hit the dance floor in the Fielding Community Hall on Sunday night.

  Coincidentally, all local banks had closed for the weekend by the time the first raffle began.

  And in an unusual twist that in hindsight made perfect, yet horrific, sense, Willy had convinced the councils in all four towns that writing a check to the monetary winners would be a superb security precaution. The story told over and over was that of a $200 prizewinner imbibing just a wee bit too much, and discovering at the end of the evening that his winnings had been stolen. The thievery had always occurred in whichever town was farthest from that in which the tale was being told.

  The lockboxes with the cash had been duly fastened, and on Monday were found to be packed with bound papers of an appropriate heft.

  Only in Dorsey did a glimmer of suspicion by one town clerk named Nancy keep the raffle presales out of Willy Jansen’s greedy hands. The glimmer, alas, had not been enough to prevent her from accepting the offer of an iced coffee and a couple kisses on the cheek… for after her vanity had been attended to, Willy hied for the exit, grateful to have her eyes lingering on his practiced smile instead of on the backpack in which he’d stashed her town’s cash.

  Willy Jansen hadn’t been seen locally since that Sunday, October 19th, 2014.

  And he would most likely never be seen locally again, having made off with over twenty-three thousand dollars. Not exactly a fortune, but certainly enough for a fresh start somewhere far, far away.

  Nearly a year later, on Sunday, October 18th, Julie Darling was sitting in an over-warm corner of the Fielding Community Hall with her friend Mary Kean while councilwoman Lila Bates did her best with a dry report on upgrade costs to the city’s outdated sewer system.

  “I just don’t understand,” Mary was saying quietly to Julie, “Who is he? And couldn’t they find anybody in Fielding who can read seven-digit numbers out loud? And are we having to pay him? Is he being paid for this?”

  Smiling, Julie reached over to pat Mary’s hand. “After last year, who would volunteer for it? And his name is something Carmody. Sam
Goodson down in Willingsford apparently told Sonny that he’s never seen anything like him. And he refuses to handle the money, so that’s certainly a point the council found to be a plus.”

  “Why didn’t one of the council members just do it? Like they used to before Willy? Or you?” Mary’s head swiveled so she could stare directly at Julie. “You’d be perfect! Who could object to the town’s librarian, not to mention your family’s – ”

  But Julie’s countenance, equal parts horror and amusement, had nipped Mary’s idea in the bud. “I can think of several who might object to me,” she returned wryly. “And as for the council, just look at them! Or rather, listen.”

  The two women turned their attention for a minute to Lila, who was still gamely orating. Most of the audience was clearly not engaged; the hum of conversation was rising, and occasional laughter was spilling upwards.

  “Lila barely squeaked into her seat in the April election,” stated Julie. “She gets nervous just voting aloud, for heaven’s sake! Sonny? Willy’s mom worked for him for over a decade before Geoff Harmon hired her away, so that knocks out the two of them. Ed Meerschaum’s wife is Willy’s second cousin, though I don’t believe they ever socialized. So that just leaves…”

  “Oh,” said Mary. “Lee.”

  “Yes. Lee. And if he ran the raffle this month, there would no doubt be a riot. Not to mention zero sales.”

  Mary fiddled with the controls of her motorized wheelchair. She slid forward a few inches, then reversed. And then she edged closer to Julie before backing away again. “It’s just frustrating, I guess,” she said, forcing her hand back into her lap. “He at least had better provide as good a show as Willy did. This Carmody fellow, I mean.”

  Lila had put her report down and was attempting to tie a ribbon around the box while making as much eye contact with her audience as possible. Mayor Sonny Devore appeared attentive. Councilmen Harmon and Meerschaum were scribbling dutifully, although it was doubtful their pencils were working on anything that Lila had just imparted. Councilman Lee Forrester wasn’t even pretending to be anything but bored.

  “Let’s get to the raffle!” someone called out, although not too loudly.

  Lila stumbled, reached for her report again as if its presence in her hands might save her, and then began to speak louder and faster.

  “Poor thing,” Mary muttered. “Why didn’t one of the men do the honors?”

  Julie snorted. “Because they’ve all taken such a beating in the last year. Lila’s the freshman; they probably convinced her it was a privilege. And she was eager to believe it.”

  The audience quieted. Sonny had risen from his seat at the center of the long table at one end of the hall, where the council members faced the public. Lila glanced at him, took a look down at her report, and then again found Sonny’s pleasantly neutral expression, all while various words and phrases continued to tumble out of her mouth.

  Sonny nodded to her, a sharp bob that could have meant anything from Nice job! to That’s it for you and public speaking, kid. His expression hadn’t changed a jot.

  “So… That’s all, then!” Lila was happy to wrap it up. She looked ecstatic to have come to such a succinct halt. “Any questions?”

  It was impossible to tell if the groans had emanated from any of the four councilmen as well as the audience, but they were certainly in stereo throughout the hall.

  Mary was about to say something to Julie, but was forestalled by a brash “Just one!” from near the front. More rumbles of displeasure, but the question immediately ensued: “Can we get on with the raffle now?”

  “Yeah!” came an enthusiastic second a few feet from Julie and Mary.

  Echoes all around.

  Sonny stepped forward a touch as Lila plopped gratefully into her chair. Late fifties, horn-rimmed glasses, a youthful pinkish face, and his clothes and hair always perfectly groomed, Sonny Devore looked exactly like what he was: the successful owner of one of the financial mainstays in a small town, and an important political cog as well. He and his wife Teresa ran Fielding General, as close to a Walmart as one could get with honor, although with far higher prices, and employees that actually knew the customers’ names.

  “Son-ny D! Son-ny D!” began the usual chant. The high school boys always started it, but within seconds even the oldest attendees would find themselves joining the kids in an exuberant homage to one of Fielding General’s top-selling juice products.

  “Son-ny D! Son-ny D!” Julie couldn’t help but chime in.

  “Oh God, you too?” Mary rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I’m going to roll on up toward the Society table, ’kay? If the raffle’s gonna start, it’s time to start layin’ out the goodies.”

  “I’ll join you later,” said Julie. “But I’ve got the best view in the house right now, and there’s no way this isn’t going to be a fascinating show.”

  Sonny was trying to hush the crowd with his hands, but the calls merely got louder.

  “With this thing for an undercarriage – ” Mary patted the body of her wheelchair – “I could park us straight in front of the council, and who could object? Then see if we get cheated again!”

  Julie smirked at her. Mary winked before whirring away.

  “Son-ny D! Son-ny D!” Julie sang out, but the fervor was ebbing.

  Sonny Devore was a master of timing. In one suave move, he reached for a microphone and raised a hand high into the air. “Did everybody have a great time at the picnic last month?” he thundered, sounding as much like a preacher as the mayor.

  Whistles and a herd of stomping feet replaced the chorusing of his name.

  “Well, good for that!” was his jovially hollered reply. His eyes shot toward Geoff Harmon as he flashed a downward finger; Geoff quickly notched the volume down on the PA system. “The September picnic in Fielding has been something I’ve enjoyed my entire life. It almost made up for the start of school each year when I was young. Though I suspect I might have looked better in a bathing suit back then!”

  Hoots. Whoops.

  “Oh you did, Sonny! You did!” cried Mary Kean to the amusement of the crowd as she maneuvered her chair around the Fielding Ladies Society table, a few feet from where the council sat.

  Sonny grinned at her. In her mid-70s, and like Sonny and Julie a Fielding native, Mary’s plainspoken directness was both accepted and appreciated.

  He turned back to the room. “And is everybody ready for the raffle?” he crooned, mustering what appeared to be genuine enthusiasm, considering what everyone present knew would most likely be the response.

  It wasn’t a total dud. But scattered applause and one boisterous “About time!” weren’t enough to cloak the jeers and moans.

  “Ya gonna pay by check again?” was yelled from Julie’s left.

  “Where’s Willy?” was the brisk chaser from a side of the hall.

  “Can we vote on formin’ a posse next Saturday?” was spoken by Brandon Starks, a burly man with such a powerful basso he’d hardly needed to raise his voice to command attention. “I mean, so long as a bunch of us’re already votin’ next week!”

  Cheers erupted from all over, as at the council table Lee Forrester swiftly stood up, the anger on his face visible even from the furthest corners of the hall.

  “Now, now,” soothed Sonny, both hands up to curb the uproar. “This is neither the time nor place for that.”

  “Siddown, Forrester!” was bellowed from behind someone’s cupped hands. Heads craned as folks attempted to figure out who had been brave enough or stupid enough to do so.

  Councilman Forrester glared about the room. Nearly sixty, tall and lean, with thinning hair but a physique imbued with an intensity which had intimidated many a younger man, Lee’s icy survey accomplished what Sonny’s admonition had not: a sudden hush, marred only by muted mumblings of discontent.

  Sonny nodded at Lee, the I got this clearly received as Lee stiffly retook his seat.

  “Well, I wanted to talk a little bit abo
ut last year,” Sonny announced to the room. His posture relaxed, and he looked down at the table for several long seconds before continuing. “I’ve had many conversations in the past year regarding 2014’s raffle, as you might imagine. We all have, as everyone in this Community Hall has. I’ve spoken with quite a few of you personally. The issue has been before our council every meeting. And…” A finger pointed piously north. “And our town of Fielding has done its absolute utmost to recover both the stolen money and the perpetrator!”

  A collective sigh of what felt like disappointment. Even Julie Darling, knowing full well that Willy Jansen and the money he’d stolen would no doubt never be seen again, couldn’t help but expel frustration along with everyone else.

  “As you are all aware, our town’s general fund took the hit. If the loss had been covered by insurance, it would have meant a hefty increase in future premiums. Private donations, along with contributions that those of us on the council made…” The other council members sat woodenly as Sonny inclined his head in their direction. “…bridged the gap considerably. But I think that all of us must acknowledge the fact that any recovery, at this point, is most likely not… probable,” he concluded after a solemn gap of a few seconds. “Christmas on Big Cohasset was as festive as always. The picnic, as you all recall, was as fabulous as any other year! Fielding will survive, as ever.” His voice had begun to grow again, the resonance waxing along with the verbal flourishes.

  “Which leads us directly to the next important issue!”

  The council was suddenly poetry in motion. Lila Bates and Ed Meerschaum rose and stepped away, returning seconds later with what was plainly the raffle box underneath a cheerily patterned cloth. Geoff Harmon and Lee were briskly clearing the table of papers, notepads, writing utensils, and the ubiquitous water pitcher and glasses.

  “I am pleased…” The microphone was so incredibly close to Sonny’s lips he could have licked it. “…and proud to introduce to you… our 2015 master of the raffle, Mr. Carmody!”

  Two: Ticket Sales

  If Sonny and the council had anticipated rapturous applause at this point in their obviously choreographed presentation, they must have been sorely let down. Tepid clapping and the rustle of a few hundred torsos stretching as people tried to catch a first glimpse of Willy Jansen’s successor were the only response.