Jeff Abbott - Only Good Yankee

Intraglobal has the resources and the money to get what they want, regardless of whether or not you want this development in your backyard. They will build without regard for the sensitive ecosystem that surrounds Mirabeau”-here I distinctly heard Uncle Bid snort-“and they will despoil the river, the river that has nurtured the town of Mirabeau for over a hundred and fifty years. I’ve dealt with Intraglobal before, with their attempts to develop in other small towns, in both the South and in New England.” She paused, letting us realize that once again the battle was joined. She produced charts, bar graphs, and tables of data on an easel to show just how much the river would suffer under Intraglobal’s stewardship. She spoke with conviction and assurance-and I found myself liking her more. “They ruin towns, then move on. They don’t have to win again. You can stop them,” she concluded. “Excuse me, Mother Earth,” a voice called from the back of the room, “but why the hell should we want to?” Uncle Bid being his usual charming self. He’d risen from his customary predatory crouch to his feet. “And you are, sir?” Nina asked, obviously irritated at the interruption. One could only hope she’d sic Tiny on Uncle Bid. “Bidwell J. Poteet, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law,” Bid purred in response. “And as one of the concerned landowners, I don’t see a single reason why we shouldn’t sell. Intraglobal is offering good money for this land and the resort community could bring a lot of money into Mirabeau.” There was a buzz of general assent from one corner of the crowd. Apparently some folks supported that view, and I couldn’t blame them. Nina wasn’t fazed. “The reason, Mr. Poteet, is the way that Intraglobal does business. They probably won’t hire local contractors to build this development; they’ll bring in big-city folks. They target towns like yours that haven’t needed to have serious environmental controls yet and they get their plans approved before the voters can put any sort of ecological leash on them.

They’ll build with no regard for what pollutants they spill into the Colorado.” She slammed her hand down on the podium we’d pulled out of storage. “We can stop them. You don’t have to have this kind of development.” “We need development, missy!” Bid brayed back at her.

The Miss Twyla corps of supporters glared at him as one. “Not this way!” Miss Twyla opted to enter the fray. “I don’t necessarily think that development is wrong, Bidwell, but we want to control how it happens, not just sell our land to folks we don’t know diddly about and let them ruin it and the river.” I raised my good arm. “Excuse me, Ms. Hernandez. I had dinner with one of the Intraglobal representatives this evening. She showed me environmental impact statements that indicate the effect on the river would be minimal.”

Nina smiled nicely at me. “Those statements are prepared by Intraglobal, Jordan. They emphasize whatever Intraglobal wants them to emphasize. I’m sorry you were deceived.” Well, that shut me up. I kept my mouth open for a moment in case inspiration hit, but shut it when a sad-eyed Eula Mae shook her head at my naivete. The Lord Mayor of Mirabeau (not his official title but that’s how he fancies himself), Parker Loudermilk, rose to his feet and cleared his throat. He had plenty of Cherokee in him and his complexion was dark, his eyes brooding except when he had on his mayoral smile. His daddy had been mayor for fourteen years, and when he died, no one else ran against Parker. It just seemed natural to have a Loudermilk as mayor. Parker was not a tall man, but he had the most erect posture I’d ever seen, like someone had shoved a metal beam along his spine. And I knew from city staff meetings that special cough of his meant all us peons better grovel in the mud. “I think, Ms. Hernandez, that the fine citizens of Mirabeau can rely on their elected officials to protect their environment” “Your wife owns some of the land,” Tiny called out, then looked embarrassed. His first venture at public speaking. If I’d liked him I’d have been proud of him. Nina favored Tiny with a gracious smile and turned back toward the mayor like he was cheese on a cracker and she was starving. “That’s right, Mr. Mayor. Mrs.

Loudermilk does own some of the involved land. Do you think that you can maintain your objectivity when Greg Callahan starts throwing money at y’all?” Mayor Loudermilk huffed. His thin, politically weaselly face pinched tight. He didn’t like folks challenging him and I sometimes wondered if he didn’t have a pronounced violent streak under that suave exterior. I’d seen him break pencils with a smile in staff meetings when he thought someone was challenging his authority, and I heard he ran his construction company like a military unit. Junebug and I joked about it after the meetings, but I really didn’t care much for the man. It was a shame; his daddy had been a real fine fellow. “I don’t really need to worry about the money he might throw at me, Ms.

Hernandez, but I thank you for your concern for my moral fiber.” I saw Dee Loudermilk put a restraining hand on her husband as she rose to her feet. She was prettier than Parker Loudermilk deserved, a slight, wispy blonde beauty with eyes of fierce hazel intelligence. Dee used to be like Candace, doing mostly volunteer work. She’d discovered art, though, a while back and had become a potter. I had one of her own pots in my backyard, an object of strength and sturdiness if not of beauty. Dee’s metaphysical stretches of the boundaries of ceramics escaped any meaningful interpretation from me. I liked her a sight better than I did her husband. “It’s my land, not Parker’s. I had that land before we married, so it’s not his concern,” Dee said. Parker didn’t look like he agreed with this economic assessment but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Dee’s voice rang out clear as a bell; I guess it was used to out-yelling her husband. “Regardless, I’m sure that Loudermilk Construction would be interested in bidding on the development work,” Eula Mae put in. She’s self-employed and got more money than God, so she doesn’t have to be cordial to our elected officials. Parker bristled. Dee smiled at Eula Mae; she was a better politician than her husband. “I won’t sell until we know more about what these Intraglobal people plan, and that’s a promise.” “I’ll be glad to answer that for you, Mrs. Loudermilk,” a man’s voice, nasal in its Northernness, called out from the back of the room. The voice belonged to a man in a tailored summer gray Italian suit, certainly the finest duds Mirabeau had seen in some time. The floral pattern on his tie would have gotten him thrown out of all the beer joints I knew of. His hair was starting to thin, with strands of blond still clinging to his freckled pate. His face was intelligent, with a rough sensuality to it that suggested he was a man who took a coarse and easy pleasure in life. Lorna stood to one side of him, looking cool but perhaps a touch uncomfortable. I saw her eyes seek me out and she stared hard at me for all of ten seconds. I glanced away and saw that if I wasn’t willing to return Lorna’s stare, plenty of other fellows were. I hoped Uncle Bid, seated right in front of her, wouldn’t drool.

The man on the other side of Lorna was someone I knew: Freddy Jacksill, a local real-estate agent. He was sticking to Lorna and the balding man like sap on bark. I saw another form move behind the three from the stairs and find a seat. A stunning young brunette I recognized as Jenny Loudermilk, the mayor and Dee’s daughter. She looked like she’d gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar- hiding cash. I didn’t miss the glances that Parker and Dee exchanged-or Miss Twyla and Eula Mae exchanged-at this latest development. “This is a private meeting, Callahan,” Nina barked. The look she gave the man was one of pure loathing. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.” “This is a public building,” Greg Callahan (I’d already guessed who it was) answered smoothly. “Um, he’s right, Nina,” I spoke up. “Meetings held in the library, unless previously approved, are open to the public.”