by Vicki Essex
He hadn’t seen her since that night in the theater. He’d sent flowers—sending gifts was the only way he knew how to apologize—but none of his calls, texts or emails had been answered with more than one-or two-word responses. He’d asked about the roof leaking, about how the A/V equipment he’d brought was working out. It’d put a tiny dent in his bank account, but seeing the wide-eyed look of sheer delight on her face had been worth every cent.
And that kiss... Boy howdy. The moment their lips had touched, it was magic, cliché as that sounded. His sister had accused him of liking Mira—well, he supposed she was right. Had it been that obvious, or had he simply been too stubborn to admit it?
“Mr. Patel?”
He glanced up into the bright, pointed face of an Asian woman wielding a notebook. “Tiffany Cheung. I’m with the County Courier.”
“The local paper, right?” He shook her hand. “Not to make any assumptions, but I think I recognize you.”
“My family runs the Good Fortune Diner,” she confirmed with a nod. “I think I recognize you, too, from a long time ago. You played baseball with my brother. I mean, there weren’t a lot of Indian kids in Everville.” She gave a sheepish shrug, one he understood well. It was an acknowledgment of their shared differences, growing up as a person of color in a small town. “Would you mind if I asked you some questions? I’m covering the meeting for the paper.”
“Sure thing.” He gestured at the chair next to him, and she fired away, asking about his hopes for the outcome of the meeting and so forth.
“You have critics.” She nodded toward a knot of people near the front of the gym. Shane spotted Bob Fordingham among them, an insincere smile spread across his mottled complexion.
“There’s always resistance to change,” he said. “But I believe in this project one hundred percent. So did the former mayor, from what I understand. This project started long before Mayor Welks was elected.”
“Big Bob’s nothing if not inconsistent,” she deadpanned, and Shane chuckled. “Fordingham’s always been a bit of a blowhard. He needs his daily dose of indignity so he has a reason to shout.” She rolled her eyes. “But I’m supposed to be impartial about it.”
“I’m sure the former mayor is only interested in the welfare and well-being of the town,” Shane said diplomatically.
Just then, Mira crept into the gym from a side door. She wore all black as usual, with a crop-sleeved blazer over her T-shirt that gave her a more professional-looking air. She scanned the room like a soldier checking for snipers, then scurried to a corner seat. When their eyes met, she quickly looked down at her cell phone and stayed glued to it.
“Have you had relations with Miriam Bateman?”
Shane startled. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, have you spoken with her? Negotiated the terms of the Crown Theater’s sale? I understand Sagmar hasn’t actually purchased the property yet.”
Shane cleared his throat. “We’re working out the details still.” He didn’t need news of Mira’s stubbornness getting back to the project’s investors.
Tiffany eyed Mira speculatively. “Off the record, my dad served you two dinner a while back.” She arched an eyebrow, leaving the question unasked.
Ah, small-town rumor mills. “When I can, I like to negotiate on a stomach full of the best North American-style Chinese cuisine in the state.” He decided to turn the conversation around. “How’s your brother? Daniel, right?”
Thankfully, she went along with his diversion. She told him about how Daniel was living in New Jersey while trying to make things work with his girlfriend. Shane learned Tiffany had gone to NYU and had lived in Manhattan for years before returning to Everville, which got them talking about the big city they both loved and the small town they’d both come back to. Then Tiffany’s boyfriend, Chris Jamieson, strode in and wrapped a possessive, muscled arm around her. The guy looked like Farmer Thor.
“Nice to meet you.” He bared his teeth and firmly shook Shane’s hand. “I wanted to ask you about the LEED certifications on some of the other Sagmar buildings.”
“Chris is a bit of a tree hugger,” Tiffany said, elbowing him in the ribs. “Watch out for him. He won’t give you an easy time when it comes to environmental issues.”
“To be clear, I’m for anything that revitalizes the core of the town,” Chris said. “And I believe in sustainable communities. Those old buildings have been eyesores long enough. I’m mainly concerned about the most efficient use of resources and what can be done to reduce the carbon footprint of the building and any residents who move in.”
“I have a lot of information about the builder’s plans,” Shane said, glad he’d come prepared. “I’d be happy to forward you a file if you give me your email address. And I’ll answer any questions you have.”
“The meeting’s going to start soon,” Tiffany said. “I’ll see if I can get a quote out of Miriam Bateman.” She gave Chris a peck on the cheek. “Behave,” she warned as she slipped out of her seat.
“She can be a pain, but that’s why I love her.” The light in Chris’s eyes as he looked after her made Shane smile.
“Been together long?”
“Nearly two years. I want us to get married, have kids—my son’s leaving for college soon, and I’m not sure I can deal with an empty nest at my age. But Tiff’s been working on her various careers—reporting, writing, freelance editing and painting... I don’t know where she finds the energy.” He sighed. “Good things are worth waiting for, though.”
Shane wasn’t sure he agreed with the man—if things were good with Tiffany, he should lock that down.
Then again, what did he know about commitment and marriage, or serious relationships for that matter? He realized he was staring at the back of Mira’s head as he mulled it over.
The din in the room settled as someone banged a gavel. At the front of the room, three women and two men arranged themselves at tables flanking the podium. Mayor Cheyenne Welks, in a copper-colored flowing two-piece, stood at the microphone, scanning the crowd. “This meeting will now come to order. If you could all settle down, we have quite a few deputations tonight, and I’d like to get started right away so we can all go to bed at a reasonable hour.”
The mayor outlined the rules: every deputant had five minutes to speak on the topic of the condo development. Board members would have a chance to question the deputant about his or her case, but in Shane’s experience, that rarely happened. These types of meetings were mostly about venting. Board members had likely already made up their minds or else had been directed to vote one way or another by someone of influence. It would take an extraordinary argument to sway their minds.
The first speaker at the microphone set up in the center aisle was a man in his fifties with gray sprinkled through a thinning pate. In a smoker’s rasp, he introduced himself as Jonas Randall.
“I, for one, don’t think the condo is a good idea,” he said, rocking from side to side. “Condos aren’t for Everville. We’ve got enough traffic on the roads as it is. The last thing we need is more people around.” He paused, as if expecting applause. “We don’t need the wrong element here is what I mean.” He seemed to have run out of words. “This is a quiet town for peaceful folks. We should keep it that way.” A slight pause. “That’s all I have to say.”
“Questions from the board?” Mayor Welks asked, her tone as neutral as the color beige. When no one spoke up, she nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Randall.”
Faint applause followed him back to his seat. Shane didn’t miss the sentiment lurking beneath Mr. Randall’s words. “The wrong element” had a lot of different connotations. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, a lot of people equated condo dwellers with transients; others simply didn’t appreciate the “otherness” element, whether it was ageist, racist, classist or antisuburban. True, many condo owners in larger cities
were young people owning their first homes, or people who rented out their properties for income. But most people wouldn’t buy a condo in tiny Everville unless they meant to live there themselves. Even if the high-speed rail line went in tomorrow, the town was still pretty out of the way—not exactly a place you’d park your car so you could go clubbing in Manhattan on a Friday night. His intentions for owning a unit were probably the only exception to the rule: he knew what a gem Everville was.
The next four deputants had prepared speeches. He didn’t recognize any of the residents from the night he’d hosted the condo presentation, but that wasn’t a surprise. People rarely sought out new information if they’d already formed an opinion on something.
Mostly, the concerns were aesthetic: people worried about the shadow a twelve-story building would cast, how the facade would match the rest of the town, or whether the condo would reduce property values. One older woman with dyed orange hair raged about how the condos spelled the death of Everville, spewing some strange theory about gentrification and growth being the scourge of small towns. She went way over her five minutes, and kept talking off her cards about how children in the community would be subjected to more dangerous strangers, then started accusing newcomers of stealing her cats for nefarious purposes. It took the mayor banging on her gavel and shutting off the speaker’s microphone to stop her from talking. The congregation looked uncomfortable and people were starting to get restless.
“Mrs. Abbot, while we appreciate your concerns, I’ll remind you that every speaker has been allotted five minutes to state their case.” Cheyenne’s tone was firm, though clearly laced with annoyance. “We kindly ask that to expedite matters and—”
“Well, I didn’t vote for you, so you can stick it,” the orange-haired Mrs. Abbot spat. “I pay my taxes and I’ve lived here for forty-three years. The people of Everville have a right to speak up for their community and to defend it from danger. I don’t want terrorists as neighbors!”
The crowd looked uneasy, though Shane couldn’t help but notice a few nods in the Fordingham camp.
Cheyenne looked on placidly, her cool green gaze settling over the crowd. “We’ll take a break before we continue. But first, I’d like to bring up a point of order from my colleague, who has noted that Shane Patel, the representative from Sagmar Corp., is sitting with us in the audience today.”
Hundreds of eyes turned toward Shane. Everyone knew who he was, of course—it was hard not to notice the Indian guy in the sea of white faces—but they’d left him alone for the most part. He stood and waved, putting on his most winsome smile.
“Mr. Patel, my colleague has asked whether you’d be willing to address some of the questions or concerns that have been brought up multiple times so far so we don’t end up repeating the same points.”
He hadn’t been prepared to speak, but he already knew he wanted to nip some of the concerns in the bud. “I’m happy to provide information about the project.”
The mayor nodded. “As this is a committee, we just need to put this point of order to a vote. All in favor?” All five members of the zoning board raised their hands, and Cheyenne nodded. “Motion carried. We’ll recess for ten minutes. Mr. Patel, if you need to prepare anything, now’s the time to do so.”
The crowd got up and stretched, hurried to the bathroom. Shane stood as Cheyenne approached him.
“Sorry for the short notice. I didn’t expect so many deputations tonight.” She rubbed her temples. “I don’t want to chastise folks for not doing their homework, but I think what you’ll have to say will at least cut down on repetition and I’d like to get home before midnight. It’s a school night, after all.”
“It’s no problem.” His gaze slid to Mira, perched in her seat, clutching her notecards. She met his eye, then quickly looked away. Something inside him clenched. He didn’t want her to treat him as if he were the enemy. They might be on opposite sides in this issue, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care about her.
It also didn’t mean he would go easy on anyone opposing the project. He was here to win, after all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MIRA SWALLOWED DRILY, trying to suppress the banging of her heart. Sweat gathered on her palms and under her arms. Why was she even here? No one needed to hear from her.
Except that they did. While everyone else was concerned about building shadows, Dumpsters cluttering sidewalks and a lack of parking spaces on Main Street, she had so much more at stake.
She didn’t want to be here, opening herself up to criticism and ridicule. She wished she could’ve used instant messaging to give her deputation. She could be articulate and thoughtful on a computer screen. In person, not so much. Still, it wasn’t an excuse to not show up. Grandpa would have.
She glanced around, searching for Arty and Janice. She thought for sure they’d be here. She’d really wanted their support—but then, she was more than certain they wouldn’t have been too broken up if she was forced out of the Crown. They’d warned her for years about the dangers of living there alone.
The zoning board filed back to their seats, and Cheyenne took the podium once more. “We’ve gathered a list of citizens’ concerns thus far for Mr. Patel to address. To the deputants, I would highly recommend that before you approach the mic, you listen to what he has to say.”
Shane walked up to the front of the room. Mira instantly recognized the foam core boards he’d had at his presentation as he set them up facing the crowd. He moved the mic stand a little farther forward and turned it around so he could face the audience.
“Good evening, everyone,” he said with a grin. “I hadn’t expected to speak tonight—honestly, I just keep these boards in my car trunk. But I’ll jump right into it and keep it short.”
He started with the building shadow, pointing out that Main Street ran east-west and that the block slated for the condo was bound on either side by streets, nowhere near any other building that would be greatly affected. He showed pictures of the building facade and how the first four floors were stepped back with terraces covered in green. He reiterated that Sagmar had to adhere to existing code to include parking spaces on the premises for new residents, and that several common green spaces were also being developed.
“This doesn’t even begin to cover some of the other benefits Sagmar will provide Everville. We’re building a children’s splash pad and upgrading the downtown internet connections. We’re even starting a pilot project on this block to provide free high-speed Wi-Fi to residents and small business owners. Some people would call these things frills, but we’re building toward the future success of Everville, and communities aren’t built on blank concrete alone.”
Some of the murmuring turned from suspicious to interested. Mira was intrigued by the prospect of free Wi-Fi, but it wasn’t enough to entice her into giving up her grandpa’s beloved theater.
“Why don’t you tell us the truth, Mr. Patel?” a gruff voice said above the din. Heads whipped around to focus on Bob Fordingham, who stood leering at Shane.
The real estate developer regarded him with a perfectly blank look. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“I mean that you’re a salesman, and that all these promises you’re making are just that. Promises that can and will be broken.”
Some of the people around him muttered their agreement and clapped. The mayor banged her gavel. “Order, please. This time is allotted to Mr. Patel—”
“We know you’re in bed with the Sagmar people, Madame Mayor,” Fordingham said nastily, voice rising. “Isn’t it true you’ve accepted special benefits in exchange for support for this abomination of a project?”
Mira’s eyes narrowed. Surely that wasn’t true. Cheyenne homed her basilisk stare on the former mayor. “Mr. Fordingham, I do not appreciate your continued interruptions or your insinuations. You will sit down and listen to the rest of Mr.
Patel’s presentation. You will also carefully consider the ramifications of your slanderous statements.” The implied threat of legal action was as effective as flashing a holstered gun, and the room went silent. Her quelling look blanketed the crowd. “I will not tolerate any more outbursts. This is a civil municipal proceeding. If you have nothing but mud to sling, take it outside.”
No one moved except for Bob, who slowly sank back into his chair, a smug look on his face. Mira frowned. The attack hadn’t been about the project—it’d been about shaking people’s faith in the current mayor, planting a seed of doubt and dissention among her followers. It had also made her sound like a staid schoolmarm wrangling her classroom.
Cheyenne studiously made a note, taking a full five seconds to smooth her ruffled feathers before nodding at Shane to continue.
Shane leveled a look at Fordingham. “To answer your...concerns, Mr. Fordingham, Sagmar has always kept its promises when it comes to augmenting communities. Yes, we do offer incentives to municipalities to let us build properties there—we’re no different than any other developer in that respect. In fact, it’s in the contracts, and it’s completely legal. There’s nothing underhanded about that.”
He angled his chin to one side and bared his teeth in a foxy grin. “I think you’d agree, Mr. Fordingham, that politicians like building things. Nothing is quite as sexy to a town council as a ribbon-cutting ceremony. It makes them look like they’re getting things done. Unfortunately, people are less interested in fixing things. You should know. When my predecessor at Sagmar first approached you about this project while you were in office, you tried to get us to pay for a multimillion-dollar sports arena instead of accepting the investment we were willing to put up for your water main repairs.”
The former mayor’s face turned beet red as the audience gasped and turned their collective judgment upon him. Mira remembered how Big Bob had boasted his vision to bring professional football to town, all while insisting they couldn’t afford vital upgrades to the aging water and sewage systems. Funding had only been secured after Cheyenne had been voted into office.