Huddled Masses (JP Warner Book 2)

by Derek Ciccone

  He held a gaze on me as he spoke. Here we go.

  I was familiar with these agenda-driven orchestrations, most notably coming from my former boss Cliff Sutcliffe, and his partner in crime, Lauren Bowden—Hastings was just better at it.

  Being in charge of the Hastings Fund, which has subsidized huge portions of Rockfield since his father created it in the 1960s, had made Woodrow the most important ally for the first selectman in this town. So he and my father had countless golf outings, meetings, and power lunches over the years, and never once was it requested that I join them.

  “Your timing has always been impeccable, Peter,” Woodrow went on. “And you’ve picked the right time to leave. When that casino goes through, this place won’t be recognizable anymore.”

  Heads nodded somberly, including my father’s.

  He was referring to the Samerauk Tribal Nation’s push to build a large casino on their land, which happened to border on this very golf course. The courts granted them federal recognition this past summer, opening the door. Other tribes in Connecticut have already built casinos, Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun the most notable. But because those same courts upheld a 1930 agreement between Rockfield and the Samerauk Nation, Rockfield’s first selectman has to sign off on it. It’s become the hot election issue, and Woodrow was right about one thing—it would dramatically change the area if it goes through.

  Woodrow continued, “I never would have believed that Rockfield would willingly agree to such a monstrosity, but the demographics have changed a lot in the last decade. Many younger families have moved into town, and they see the possibilities of growth—new money, restaurants, entertainment—but not the dangers. Or perhaps they don’t care—they’ll take the profit on the sale of their homes and move on to the next town.”

  “Times have definitely changed, but I wouldn’t start buying the slot machines just yet. Never underestimate the passion of our longtime residents, and how protective they are of Rockfield,” my father tried to be diplomatic … sounding like, well, a politician.

  “If you were running again, Peter, I’d have all the confidence in the world. But Ed Coachman couldn’t beat Maloney last time, and he isn’t going to beat him this time.”

  I felt a rumble of guilt in my stomach. I removed my sanctions on Bobby Maloney last spring, and gave my blessing for him to run for first selectman. This was before I knew of the court ruling, and the possible casino, which he is supporting. And now with half the residents having money-signs in their eyes, the information I have on him probably wouldn’t stop his election, anyway.

  My father countered, “I like Bobby, but he goes the direction the wind blows. So what Rockfield needs to do, if they want to hold off the casino, is not necessarily to be victorious in the election, but to win a campaign for the hearts and minds of the residents—let them know how this project will truly change the town they purchased a home in, and remind them why they moved here in the first place. It wasn’t for more traffic … an increase in crime … things of that nature.”

  Woodrow remained unconvinced. “What we need is Noah to come back to life.”

  My father and I were first surprised, and then taken aback. Woodrow instantly realized the impact of his words. “I’m so sorry … and on this weekend of all times. I didn’t mean your Noah. What I meant to say is that this casino is coming in like a two-hundred-year flood and we’ll need an Ark to survive.”

  A reasonable reply, but with it being the first anniversary of my brother’s murder this weekend, emotions were touchy.

  It also was another subtle reminder of how short life was, and how I no longer have the time or patience for games like the one Woodrow Hastings was playing. So I decided to get all the cards on the table. “To find someone who feels as strongly about Rockfield as my father, I would suggest keeping it in the family. Perhaps his son could take over for him, like you did for your father.”

  Woodrow looked pleasantly surprised. I just made his job easier, and he didn’t even have to buy me dinner.

  “So you’d be interested?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Me? Not a chance. I was thinking of Ethan.”

  The air came out of Woodrow’s balloon. “With all due respect, your brother is not you. He might be effective at the job, but you were born to do it.”

  “I don’t have any experience as a politician.”

  “Neither did your father when he began, and that turned out pretty well.” He smiled, before adding, “And as badly as we need you, JP, I think you need us just as bad.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I can tell that you’re craving a challenge. Dabbling at the Gazette, and an occasional special for GNZ, can’t be cutting it for someone as driven as you.”

  “I’m very happy with what I’m doing. If I wasn’t, I’d be on a plane to some country halfway around the world to cover a story.”

  Woodrow looked at my father and shrugged. “Like I said—a natural politician.” He then sent me a serious look, his brow creasing. “I think you came back to Rockfield for a bigger purpose. To save the place that gave you so much—the place you and Gwen will want to raise your own children in one day.”

  He had a point. Actually, lots of points. And he was good, softly touching all my weak spots … Gwen, Noah, Rockfield.

  Woodrow had the look of a winner as he swigged the remainder of his scotch. He set down the glass, leaned back in his chair, and let out an extended ahh. “I’m not trying to pressure you, JP, but I truly believe you’re our last chance to maintain Rockfield as we know it. And I have nothing to gain—our family would probably double our worth if that casino is built. But I believe in Rockfield, just like my father, and yours … and I feel in my heart that you do as well. So all that I ask is you think it over and get back to me after the weekend.”

  I meant to say, thanks but no thanks, but it came out as, “I will, thank you. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  Woodrow looked like he was about to smoke a cigarette and leave me cab fare on the dresser. “Time marches on, but that doesn’t mean we have to let it step on us,” he said, before glancing at the watch on his tanned wrist. “Speaking of time, I have a meeting to get to in the city. I apologize, but I’m sure we’ll be talking again real soon, JP.”

  We all stood and shook hands, and Woodrow Hastings exited. He might as well have dropped the mic on his way out.

  After finishing our drinks, Lewis escorted us to the parking lot. We arrived just in time to see his father holding open the door of his gold 1960 Rolls Royce Cloud for a stunning blonde, wearing a skirt that proved she had the best short game of anyone at the course. I guessed she could be his daughter, but I got the feeling she wasn’t.

  For a moment I had a “holding doors for blonde” flashback to my regrettable time dating Lauren Bowden. I actually thought it might be her—she had a way of popping into my life at the most inopportune times. Upon closer examination, it wasn’t, but I still felt like I knew this woman from somewhere … I just couldn’t place her.

  Lewis seemed to read my mind. “It’s Jill Leezy.”

  I did a double take. Jill was one of a couple of classmates to miss our reunion last May, and now I could see why—she was obviously too busy transforming herself into an entirely different person.

  “Wow—she’s changed quite a bit since the last time I saw her.”

  “Especially in two places I can think of,” Lewis once again showed off the dry sense of humor he displayed during our round of golf.

  On that note, Lewis and I said our goodbyes and parted ways. I didn’t see Gwen and me double-dating with him and his wife anytime soon, but I found him quite genuine … for a Hastings, anyway. I guess the lesson would be: it’s probably best not to judge people by their actions as teenagers.

  I headed for my Jeep, which was a family hand-me-down, and the antithesis of Woodrow Hastings’ Rolls Royce. As I did, Woodrow passed us by with a honk and the confident smile of a man who always gets what he wan
ts.

  Chapter 5

  Saturday—Rockfield Fair

  The aqua sky above the Rockfield Fair on Saturday afternoon was glorious. But I sensed the storm clouds above me.

  It was logical, as this was the most Dickensian of days for me. On this same Saturday, one year ago, my life changed forever when my brother Noah was murdered—the worst of times.

  But it also served as one of the great days of my existence, as it was also the moment that Gwen Delaney returned to my life.

  As if sensing my inner conflict, she grabbed hold of my hand as we strolled passed booths and exhibits. We waved at longtime town doctor, Dr. MacDougal, who once again had set up shop at the fair, offering free blood pressure readings and flu shots, as he’d done for the last thirty years.

  Next to Doc Mac was the exhibit for the Rockfield Historical Society, anchored by my mother, and her soon-to-be successor, my sister-in-law Pam. This year’s theme was the infamous Rockfield Flood of 1898. There would be no repeat this year, since we were in the midst of the worst drought in town history, without even a hint of a raindrop since late July.

  We continued on our way, not really headed anywhere specific. “Are you okay?” Gwen asked softly.

  “How could I not be?” I replied, and breathed in the unmistakable smell of barbecued chicken mixed with cow shit. “I’m spending a beautiful day with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. It don’t get better than that.”

  And I wasn’t embellishing. The sun seemed to have a special shine on her, highlighting her shoulder-length raven hair, and the body-accentuating sundress that showed off her tanned arms; the result of our recent trip to Rhode Island. What was supposed to be a romantic weekend turned into sharing a beach house with her father and brother, Tommy, but it was still good to get away.

  She smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, Warner. But I was checking to make sure … the ceremony was very emotional.”

  “It’s hard to believe it was my father’s last time giving that speech as first selectman,” I said, referring to the speech that traditionally opens the fair each year. “Although, it shouldn’t be a surprise—it’s not like this is his first retirement.”

  “It was a great speech … as usual. But you do know I’m referring to the tribute to your brother, right?”

  “I know—I was trying to avoid the subject.”

  “You used to be much more adept at it.”

  “I think the small town life is starting to wear off on me. Everyone is so straightforward and honest here—I miss the deception of the news business.”

  Her smile grew impatient, which meant it was time to spill it. The relationship with Gwen had lived up to all my expectations, even the unrealistic ones, but the whole “sharing my innermost feelings with another person” thing was still a work in progress for me.

  “The Noah stuff doesn’t bother me any more than normal—it hurts every day, not just some circled day on a calendar. I thought the tribute was well done, and deserved.”

  Part of the tribute was to rename the Lisa Spargo Memorial Award—given to the resident who does the most to combat drinking and driving—to include Noah. It fit, as Lisa and Noah always belonged together. This year’s recipient was police chief Rich Tolland, who basically put his career on the line to help me get justice for Noah.

  They also rescinded last year’s award, which had gone to Kyle Jones, who was found to be an imposter named Grady Benson. It was re-gifted posthumously to the real Kyle Jones.

  We continued along a strip of brown grass—it appeared that the fair didn’t get the same sprinkler treatment as the golf course during the drought—passing the always popular pie-eating contest. I suddenly stopped in my tracks, leaving Gwen with a puzzled look.

  I pointed to a spot about ten feet away. “Go stand right there.”

  “What are you up to, JP?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “That’s a very complicated question,” she said, but for the first time for as long as I’ve known her, she actually listened to me. She made her way to the spot and looked back at me with curiosity.

  I checked my watch and waited for the second hand to make two more clicks. “Gwen Delaney—at 4:38 p.m., one year ago today, we stood in this exact spot, in what was not only a life-changing moment for me, but a life-saving one. It was when you reentered my life, and suddenly the time that felt like it was rushing by, stood still, and it has stayed that way ever since.”

  We stared awkwardly at each other for a long moment, before Gwen flashed her brilliant smile, and naturally tried to deflect, “Are you referring to that tender moment when I kicked your ass?”

  “I believe you kicked out my cane, and I slipped on the grass.”

  “That’s your story?”

  “And I’m sticking to it.”

  Gwen’s guard came down, and I think I detected a tear roll down her cheek. She began walking toward me, then started to jog, and she didn’t stop until she wrapped her arms around me.

  But I wasn’t done. I pulled out a box and handed it to her. She looked unsure, so I urged her to open it.

  What she found was a white gold necklace with a heart-shaped amethyst pendant. Amethyst represented the 33rd anniversary, and since we met when we were five years old, that was our true anniversary.

  She just stared at it, mesmerized. “I love it, JP. But I didn’t know we were doing gifts, or I would have …”

  “Every day I’m with you is a gift, that’s all I ever need or want,” I said. I then helped her put it on, and asked, “Surprised?”

  She ran her hand over the pendant and looked almost relieved. “You always surprise me, but for a brief moment I was worried that you were actually going to propose.”

  Worried? I was thrown off by the statement, but didn’t push it. This was too perfect a moment for even me to ruin.

  We returned to our stroll. And when we turned a corner, it was just me, Gwen … and me again. We were staring at one of Bobby Maloney’s campaign posters. Since he couldn’t possibly have something positive to say about himself, he decided on a strategy of going after an opponent who wasn’t yet his opponent.

  “He could at least use a better photo of me,” I said.

  Gwen looked amused as she read the caption, He left you once—he’ll leave you again. Once a cheater, always a cheater.

  I would still be an upgrade over a spineless weasel like Maloney who once sent an innocent man to jail to save his own rear. But I guess that was for the voters to decide.

  “Not only has this campaign poster convinced me not to vote for you, but it’s causing me to rethink our entire relationship,” Gwen continued, a little too gleefully.

  “Can you imagine what he’d be saying about me if I was actually going to run?”

  “From what I hear, we might get to find out very soon.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You didn’t meet with Woodrow Hastings following your golf outing yesterday? I heard that you were ‘responsive’ to his inquiry.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Sometimes you seem to forget that I’m the best journalist in this relationship.”

  “I told him that I’d give it some thought. ‘Responsive’ would be a little strong.”

  “Maybe, but it’s a much different than your previous denials. That’s a story, and gives credence to speculation that you might.”

  “I was ambushed by Hastings and my father. I really didn’t know what to say, so I said I’d think about it. You’re reading too much into it.”

  “And why would your father be involved in this? He’s always gone out of his way to remain neutral when it comes to his successor.”

  “He said he owed it to Hastings, who supported him all his years in office, and never tried to use The Fund to influence him. He also believes that the casino will be harmful to Rockfield, and agrees with Hastings that I might be the last chance to stop it.”

  “Actually the best chance would
be for your father to run for one more term. If he’s so concerned, why not throw his own hat in the ring? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d changed his mind on retirement for the good of the town.”

  “He told me that being first selectman was still his dream job, but that I should know better than anyone that the dream girl always trumps the dream job, and he and my mother had plans they were no longer willing to put off.”

  Gwen smiled. “Good answer. So much so that I won’t bring up again how hypocritical it is for you to go off and see the world, as you did, but then take issue when your parents choose to leave.”

  There was no doubt I had been acting on the irrational side when it came to my parents’ upcoming retirement to Savannah. It just wasn’t part of the plan—at least my plan.

  “Will you vote for me if I run?” I asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no?”

  “Was there ambiguity in my reply?”

  “If I get caught in a scandalous affair, I promise that you won’t have to stand by my side like one of those robotic political wives. If that’s what’s holding back your vote.”

  “Oh, you won’t have to worry about that. And for the record, if you truly wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps, and be first selectman, I would support you with all my being. But you don’t—you’re only interested in keeping everything the way it was, in some neat little package, whether it's your parents moving away, or the town you grew up in. Progress isn’t always a bad thing, JP.”

  “Maybe you should think about starting a ‘Dear Gwen’ column in the Gazette. I think Rockfield would appreciate your free advice—why should I get it all?”

  “You want something more tangible? You don’t have the skills to be in politics. It’s a balance of consensus building and ass kissing, neither of which you’re very good at.”

  She had a point there.

  I grabbed hold of her hand and began dragging her in the opposite direction.

  “What are you doing, JP?”

  “Another thing that politicians never do—keeping my promise.”