by Beth Urich
Roger tilted his head back and squinted. “Isn’t that funny. Can’t say I remember much about him. He was pretty quiet. Couldn’t have been too tall; he didn’t tower over me much and I was sort of a runt until my teens. His face is a blur. Must not have made much of an impression.”
“Oh,” Kate said, disappointment shaping her tone.
“Remember her though. I’ll admit to a little crush on Etta. I was ten when I started my job. Guess she must have been around thirty.”
“To be precise, when you were ten, she was thirty-one,” Kate said.
“Actually, age was not an issue,” Roger said, winking.
“So, she worked with Clay in the store?”
“She did most of the work. Sales, displays, the books. He did the ordering, but she probably told him what to order.”
“How was business?”
“Okay, I suppose. They’d been open for several years. Seems like they had a good share of customers.”
“That’s odd.”
“Why? Did Etta say it wasn’t good? She’d know better than I.”
“No, but Clay apparently—”
“—killed himself? Yeah, we knew he did it. Hard to keep that sort of thing quiet in a small town. Not that anyone said anything to Etta. I remember hearing her tell your grandma and other ladies about Clay’s bad heart. Hell, he couldn’t have been much over thirty-five when he died. But whoever she was talking to would say poor Clay, so young for a heart attack.”
“She was in denial.”
“Well, she seemed brave to me. She was protecting the honor of her pitiful coward of a husband. I’d say that’s when my crush turned to love.”
“Did you do anything about it?”
“My crush? Lord no. An almost-fourteen-year-old didn’t have a chance with a sophisticated gal like Etta Stupholds. Not that I even considered trying.”
Kate eased off the glider and moved to the banister. “I can’t believe you’ve never told me this.”
“I didn’t know father’s told daughters about childhood crushes.”
“But I’ve written three articles on Etta. And you didn’t even say you knew her.”
“Crazy as it seems, I didn’t even remember my sweeping job at the store until you asked me about Etta tonight. Anyway, it wasn’t long after Clay’s death that Etta closed the store and merged with Jack Brighton’s. I lost my job and my first love in the same afternoon.”
“Why didn’t you go to work at the new mercantile?”
“I tried, but no luck. Already had two kids sweeping floors and running errands.”
“Etta didn’t put in a good word?”
“She may have, but one of the kids was Randy Brighton.”
“Jack’s son.”
“Yeah. The other kid had a connection, too. And, so, with my first exposure to nepotism, I was unemployed.”
“That other kid was Bryan Porter,” Kate said.
“You’re probably right,” Roger said, shaking his head. “Small world, huh?”
“It is in Branson.”
“I didn’t know Bryan in school. He was several years younger than us. Knew Randy though. He was a real hot shot. Even had a girlfriend.”
“Were you friends?”
“He was a year behind me. I knew him but we weren’t friendly. He had a hot temper. Stayed in trouble a lot. Your grandma wouldn’t let me associate with him.”
“And you didn’t care enough to disobey her.”
“More like she had me scared, but my stepdad was worse. No way would I cross either one of them.”
“Did Randy make it through school?”
“Joined the army at the beginning of his junior year. Surprised a lot of folks. Gave me an idea though.”
“A way to get away from your stepfather?”
“The war was over, but they were still calling for recruits. Made it easy to get away. Your grandma was unhappy about it, but she understood.”
“Did you ever visit Etta at the new store?”
“No, I guess I got over that pretty quickly. Went to work for the lumber company. It was a lot harder but paid better. Worked until the day before I joined the Army six months after graduating from high school.”
“Why didn’t Bryan stay with the mercantile?”
“His father quit, opened his own business. It was a year or so after the merger. I considered applying at the mercantile then, but I was doing okay at the lumber yard. Not sure what happened or when, but by the time I returned from the army Porter’s store was closed.”
“Was it located where Bryan’s flea market is today?”
“Wow, you are relentless.”
Kate shrugged.
“Frankly, I’m not sure I gave Bryan or his father much thought. I remember hearing about the opening, that’s about it. But the store was closer to town. Nothing was way out west back then.”
“Do you know what Bryan has against Fortune Enterprises?”
“Jealous of their success, I imagine. He’s not a good businessman.”
“His vendetta seems more personal.”
“I know what you mean. He used to make lots of noise at the planning and zoning meetings when I was on the committee. Most of his objections were about Jack Brighton’s requests. And he made some good points. But Jack usually got his way. I wouldn’t want to say he was a bully, but he had a way to sway the votes.”
“Maybe that’s where Randy’s temper came from.”
“Could be. But Randy’s not nearly as hot-headed now. I’d say the service and years away from home calmed him down a good bit.”
“But not completely?”
“Everyone has a temper, Katie. Some do a better job hiding it than others. But I don’t know of any personal issue between Porter and either Brighton. Of course, I was away in the army for several years.”
“Maybe, you’ll remember more. If you do, let me know.”
“I do remember going to the mercantile when I was leaving to enlist.”
“To say good-bye to Etta?”
“Yeah. I lied about being over her. Anyway, she said Randy was happy in the service and she hoped I would be too.”
“She remembers you ... said you were a hard worker. She knew about the crush.”
“Well, with that bit of news, I’m going to bed.”
“Me, too. I’ve got an early appointment in town.” Kate hugged her father’s neck. “Let’s do this conversation thing again real soon.”
Chapter Eight
Kate opened her eyes and wondered why her father was shaking her shoulder. The building department files rested precariously on her lap and her feet were propped on her father’s ottoman.
She raised her head slowly off the arm of the sofa. “Guess I didn’t make it to bed.”
“That was my impression.”
“What time is it?”
“Eight thirty. You didn’t stop by the office to say goodbye, so I came to check on you.”
“I’ve got to get going.” She started toward her room but stopped abruptly and hugged her father. “Thanks again for the talk last night. It was illuminating.”
“I’ll bet it was.”
Kate pulled into the city hall lot at precisely nine-fifteen and headed to Leatherman’s office suite. Claire was sitting at her desk, staring intently at her computer screen and mumbling to a sheet of paper on the copy holder next to the monitor.
Ben Leatherman’s office door was shut, but Kate could hear voices. She couldn’t quite make out the conversation. A period of silence was followed by the door swinging opened and slamming against the inside wall. Claire raised her head and stared at the two emerging men.
Bryan Porter—his cheeks, ears, and forehead red with anger—shook his finger. “Mark my words, Mr. Leatherman, this is slander only if what I’m saying isn’t true. Now, take my advice and flush this good-old-boy network out of the city or I’ll do it,” he said.
Leatherman shook his head but made no comment as Porter left the area and walked ac
ross the lobby to the building exit.
Kate cleared her throat loudly and placed her purse heavily on the counter.
Both Claire and Leatherman turned toward the noise.
Kate said, “This may not be a good time, but I’d like to speak to you, Mr. Leatherman.”
“Come on in,” he said straining a smile.
“I appreciate your seeing me,” Kate said as she scooted into the chair in front of his desk. “I couldn’t help overhearing Bryan Porter’s threat.”
“Bryan didn’t threaten me. He was merely stating his intentions.”
“Point taken, Mr. Leatherman.”
“How can I help you, Ms. Starling?”
“I have some questions about the files Claire copied for me.”
“I’ll try to help.”
Kate turned on her recorder. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Leatherman said.
Kate took the files from her large handbag and placed them on Leatherman’s desk. She opened the top one so he could read it.
He glanced at the three sheets of paper in the file, then back to her.
“This concerns the lot where the skeleton was recently found,” she said, pointing to a letter-sized sheet. “Can you tell me why this warning was issued? It was the first item placed in the file.”
“How about I explain what’s happened with that lot over the last few years. I’ll touch on each of these inspection reports and the warning.”
“That would be great,” she said.
“Clearly, you’re aware the property is owned indirectly by Fortune Enterprises, by way of Jack Brighton and Henrietta Stupholds. The actual lot goes back from Commercial at St. Limas to the Roark Creek arm of the lake. The original buildings along the two streets were used off and on for thirty years or so after Henrietta merged her store with Brighton’s. In the late 1970s, the buildings were torn down at the city’s request. They had been unoccupied for about four years and were eyesores, if not safety hazards.”
“Excuse me for interrupting, but none of that is in the file.”
“Right. I’m getting to that,” Leatherman said, with familiar impatience in his tone. “When the buildings were razed, that portion of the lot was cleaned up, but the woods behind them remained. About two years ago, a crew hired by the owner started clearing the lot of trees. I had been on the job for a few months. The city of Branson was in the midst of the construction crisis. The environmentalists were pushing the city to preserve the natural beauty of the Ozarks, namely the trees.”
“I remember,” Kate said. “You were hired, in part, to make sure it happened.”
“That’s what I was told,” he said.
“So, the warning was issued because the company did not have a clearing permit.”
“Correct. Allen was unaware of the requirement for a permit.” Leatherman stared at Kate perhaps checking for a reaction. “In any case, they stopped clearing and replaced the three trees taken before they received the warning. Nothing else was done with the lot, until the clearing permit was requested and issued last month. The clearing plan and the two inspections which have taken place are filed with the permit.”
“Thank you for being so thorough,” Kate said.
“Any other questions?”
“Not about the St. Limas lot.” She opened the other file and spread the sheets across Leatherman’s desk. “Maybe you can give me the same sequence of events on this Fortune Enterprises Office Complex project.”
“I won’t be able to do that.”
“You know historical details of a relatively small lot, which has gone unused for decades, but you can’t explain the department file contents for a major new construction job?”
“First, the property is not within city limits. Second, the project is on the list of those being audited by the state. If you have specific questions, I’ll try to answer them.”
“Okay. Twelve of the sheets of paper in the file are warnings to the owner or architect or both regarding the lack of proper permitting to proceed with the project. In fact, the oldest issue dates are on three of those warnings. Seventeen inspection reports were issued before the date on the footing permit. Neither a clearing permit nor a building permit is in the file. But three dozen additional inspection reports were issued after the date on the footing permit. Some of the inspection reports appear to be altered to indicate approval.”
Kate studied Leatherman and waited for his response.
“Do you have a question?” he asked.
“I don’t know much about construction. But it seems logical that the permit structure is in place for a reason. A permit is issued for each phase of a project, presumably before the work begins for that phase. Is that correct?”
“That’s the intention.”
“Why didn’t that sequence happen on this project? And before you use the excuse of it being outside the city, I know that does not apply due to the city’s agreement with Taney County. Why was Fortune Enterprises allowed to move forward without proper review and permitting by your department?”
“Unfortunately, Ms. Starling, Branson is going through some serious growing pains. Ways of doing business for decades are not going to change overnight. And those changes must be supported on up the chain.”
“You’re saying someone other than you or your staff authorized the go-ahead?”
Leatherman came to his feet and walked to the door.
“You aren’t going to answer my question.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Starling, I have a meeting across the hall.”
Kate shook her head in disbelief, remaining in the chair for a few seconds after his departure and securing her copies in the envelope.
“Is everything okay?” Claire asked, peaking into Leatherman’s office.
“Peachy,” Kate responded, then quickly added. “I’m sorry, I should be used to being dismissed by city staff. It happens a lot.”
KATE WAS READY FOR her next meeting by the time she parked in the newspaper’s lot and walked the block or so to the old Riverside Mercantile Building. The side door opened to a stairway as narrow as the hallway at the top. All but one of the wooden doors along the hall had Authorized Personnel Only signs. A modest placard on the single exception stated “Fortune Enterprises” in bold letters.
A lone desk sat in the center of the oval reception area, which could have fit two of her father’s living rooms. Three doors broke the perimeter—one on her left not far from a cluster of uncomfortable looking metal and cloth chairs, one on the right directly opposite the entrance, and the third positioned about halfway between the other two.
Kate placed her business card in front of the young woman sitting behind the receptionist plaque and said, “I’d like to speak to Mr. Jack Brighton.”
The receptionist pushed a long blond tress behind her ear as she picked up the receiver and pressed a button. “Kate Starling with Branson Daily News is here to see Jack Brighton.” She glanced up at Kate. “Okay,” she said with a shrug and hung up.
Before Kate could remember the title of the song playing from the overhead speaker, Larry Allen emerged from the door on the right. She met him halfway across the room. His light green polo shirt complimented his eyes, which were somewhere between olive and Kelly green. But his vacant stare definitely did not match the smile pasted on his face.
“Kate, always a pleasure,” he said extending his hand. “I must say your articles lend a breath of fresh air to an often-boring newspaper.”
“Thank you,” she said, adding, “I think.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
Quite the charmer, she mused.
“Sorry, Jack’s not available, but perhaps I can help.”
“I want to interview him for a Branson history series we’re running,” she lied.
“Let me try to help,” Allen said, leading Kate to his office. “Granddad will be out of town for a few days. Have a seat,” he said, pointing to a padded armchair in the center of the o
ffice. He sat and swiveled in his desk chair to face Kate, and then rolled a blueprint covering his desk and placed it on a shelf behind him. “First question?”
She shook off her schoolgirl reaction to his charisma, remembering the councilman’s harsher side witnessed in previous encounters. He had a way of ignoring questions he didn’t want to answer. If pressed, he could turn the tables between heart beats and make a reporter wish he, or she, hadn’t asked.
“I appreciate your seeing me, Larry. I know you’re busy.” She took out her recorder and switched it on. “Makes it easier for quotes,” she said.
“Not a problem. But any facts about Branson’s history before 1970 will have to be saved for my uncle or grandfather.”
“I also have questions about the current projects, specifically, the new office complex.”
“I run the day-to-day for that job.”
“Then you’d be the one to explain why the building is almost complete but the building permit has yet to be issued.”
“It was issued last week.”
“Even so, the structure itself is almost finished,” she said, wondering why Leatherman hadn’t told her.
“What’s your point?”
“Shouldn’t you have waited for the permits to be issued before beginning each phase of the construction?
“We had waivers.”
“Were they in writing?”
“A handshake is a legal agreement.” He stood and walked to the window overlooking Commercial Street.
“Are you saying you had unofficial permission to start construction?”
“That’s how it works.”
“For all projects? Or for those run by a city councilman?”
He turned around quickly. “In the Ozarks, Kate. That’s how it works.” He took a step toward her. “Tell me, Kate. Have you examined records for other projects? Have you compared actual construction start dates to permit issuance on all of them?”
“I’m concerned with this project at the moment,” she said.
“Do you think this one is unique?”
“Do you?”
“Are you suggesting Ben Leatherman or his staff did me a favor?”
“Are you suggesting they didn’t? The fact is construction started before permits were issued, including the footing and foundation permit. Correct?”