by Emma Belmont
“It will be a complete and utter blight on the bay,” Etienne Fournier said in his French accent. “Who is going to sit at my restaurant and look at such a monstrosity?” He waved his hand across the bay. “‘And here is your wonderful view of metal.’” He shook his head. “No. I think not.”
“And that is my second piece of good news today,” Audrey said, looking at him. “North American Petroleum has decided to use a drillship, not an oil rig.” Her smile was absolutely radiant. “You’re not going to lose your wonderful view, Mr. Fournier. Your diners will simply see yet another ship in the bay.”
Though Maris had never heard of a drillship, it didn’t change the fact that liquid petroleum was going to be pumped from the bottom of the bay up to a waiting tanker. A massive industrial ship was a far cry from the luxury yachts and quaint sailboats that typically plied the waters. Nor did a perfect track record guarantee there wouldn’t be an accident.
“And what about these documents?” a woman’s voice said.
She was moving through the crowd, her hand high in the air with her own set of papers. All the townspeople recognized her as well. Like the NAP representatives, Julia Mendes had arrived early, and was also staying at the B&B. It’d made for a tense few days, but everyone had done their best to be civil—mostly by avoiding one another.
“Company emails,” she said, as everyone parted for her. Someone patted her on the back. “Internal communication that makes it clear that the so-called ‘independent’ EIRs are anything but.”
The petite brunette made her way to the front. Older than Audrey, Julia was still a young woman, thirty at most. It was due to her hard work that today’s rally had been organized. She’d made the flyers and the signs, and had held several small meetings around Pixie Point Bay to clearly outline their goals and strategies. She was an environmental activist with an already impressive list of accomplishments from hot spots around the globe. From the moment she’d arrived, she’d appeared as passionate about the bay as the residents.
She took up position directly in front of Audrey, turned to the crowd, and shook her papers angrily over her head. “Those EIRs were done by companies with direct ties to NAP.” Without looking at Audrey, she jabbed a finger at her. “Direct financial ties.” She glared at the faces in the crowd, and took a copy of the EIRs from someone nearby. “They paid for these findings, pure and simple.” She hurled the papers to the planks of the wharf. “If those EIRs were printed on softer paper, they might actually be useful.”
Someone in the back of the crowd laughed. Someone else said, “It’s all rigged.”
“You can read it for yourselves,” Julia shouted, shaking her printed emails. “They think we’re going to roll over. They think we’re already in their pocket.”
Joseph had returned to the front as well. Audrey turned a troubled look to him. Clearly this was supposed to be his area.
“Hearsay,” he said simply. He spread his hands. “I’ve never heard of these emails until now, and I’m not going to debate them without even seeing them.”
“Here!” Julia shouted, shoving them at him. “Go ahead. No one’s stopping you.”
“What do they say?” Ryan shouted.
“Read it,” Howard yelled.
But as Audrey darted pleading looks at Joseph, he simply smiled, crossed his arms, and shook his head. “That’s not how it works. There are ways to falsify these types of documents. Someone will have to prove to me that these are real before I look at them.”
Now Audrey scowled at him. She climbed down off the fish crate, and said something into his ear. As the shouting rose louder, he shook his head again.
Now it was the environmental activist who climbed onto the box. “Go away, not this bay! Go away, not this bay!”
Soon the chanting was up to full force. Joseph dragged Audrey away and soon Maris lost them in the crowd. Meanwhile Julia thrust her fists up into the air. “Yes! Victory for Pixie Point Bay!”
But just as Maris was going to join in the chorus of hurrahs, she glanced across the bay. There, on the rocky promontory that jutted out into the water, the beam of her lighthouse flashed on and off.
“Uh oh,” she said.
• • • • •
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Dedication
For Mr. Bee’s Knees
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 Emma Belmont
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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