“Yes, I’m the bad guy,” he began in a honeyed voice and several women called out “amen” in response. He smiled at the shadowed faces before him. “Now that we’ve established that, please hear me out. When I show you what I’ve got here, you might just change your mind.” He tapped his laptop, which was hooked up to a projector. “Yes, Talbot Fine Properties would like to build a lovely community of homes on your park land, but my company does not want to leave the town without a park. Therefore, in addition to paying nearly nine million dollars for the old park land, we’re prepared to include a new and improved park as part of the final proposal.”
Earl Johnson, Debbie Hale (one of the female committee members), and Mayor Guthrie did their best to appear pleasantly surprised by this revelation, but Olivia wasn’t fooled by their act and she suspected few of the townsfolk were either.
“Allow me to show you the new and improved Talbot Community Park.” Max nodded at a man stationed by the door. With well-timed synchronicity, the lights went out the same moment the projector was turned on, revealing an architect’s drawing on the large screen occupying center stage. The image was rendered from a bird’s-eye view and was carefully labeled.
“Look! A real playground!” a woman whispered to her neighbor as the next image showed a stylized drawing of the children’s play area. “It’s wonderful!”
Indeed, the playground featured two sets of swings, a sandbox, a teeter-totter, and an enormous wooden castle structure complete with firemen’s poles, slides, monkey bars, and a rock wall. A small building housed restrooms, a vending machine area, and three water fountains at different heights. Benches surrounded the mulched area, and the covered areas with picnic tables looked like old-fashioned bandstands with their striped roofs and wide-planked floors.
The next image displayed a map of paved walking trails and dirt tracks reserved for mountain bike enthusiasts. The final slide featured a generous parking lot bordered by a white split-rail fence and landscaped flower beds. Upon entering the park, one would be greeted by a flowing fountain featuring a statue of a jumping dolphin.
“We don’t have dolphins here, Mack!” one of the men called out.
Max smiled. “Pretend it’s a blue heron then. I’ve seen them flying over the Ocean Vista condos.” He gestured to his underling and the lights were turned back on. “So there you have it, folks. A new park, nine million dollars added to the town budget, and an attractive community of homes for those looking to relocate to Oyster Bay. I can assure you that these are tasteful, quality homes built to blend in with the traditional style of the area. Thank you for considering this proposal.”
There was an immediate explosion of excited chatter in the room. Mayor Guthrie resumed the podium and banged his gavel.
“We’re going to vote on this proposal tonight, so if any members of the public would like to ask questions or voice your concerns, now’s the time. Please raise your hand and wait to be called on so everyone can be heard in an orderly fashion.”
Dixie snorted. “In other words, we’d best behave ourselves or we’ll have to sit in detention.”
A burly man wearing a sweat-stained T-shirt and dirty khaki shorts stood up. Without bothering to wait for the mayor to give him permission to speak, he shouted, “It’s a damned disgrace to move those graves! Those boys died fightin’ for this place. They bled for us. And now we’re gonna dig ‘em up like they’re some kind of weeds and stick ’em in the ground someplace else?” He turned to face the audience, his face dark with anger. “Don’t they deserve peace? My great-great granddaddy’s buried at that park. You’d best not touch a splinter of wood on his coffin or you’re gonna have to answer to me!”
Several people jumped to their feet and clapped loudly as the rest of the crowd tittered, wondering how the refined committee members would handle the man’s overt threat.
“They’re having the time of their lives,” Dixie remarked with a fond smile. “A few rounds through the gossip mill and the story will have him draped in a Confederate flag and holding up a photograph of his great-great granddaddy.”
“Or a gun,” Grumpy murmured in agreement.
Olivia’s eyes were on the broad back of the man who had spoken. “Who is that?” she asked Dixie.
“Jethro Bragg,” she answered readily. “Quiet type. Clam-kicker. He’s a war vet. Been in Iraq and Afghanistan. He had a house and a girlfriend when he got deployed, but lost them both while he was on tour overseas. She lives with an insurance salesman now.” Dixie sighed. “Jethro saw a lot of hard things when he was away—lost some of his friends to a car bomb. I can see why the idea of movin’ those soldiers troubles him.”
Olivia knew the weight of loss and fought against feelings of sympathy for Jethro Bragg. After all, he’d been the last person to see Camden Ford alive. Olivia stared at the man and wondered if his eyes were haunted by more than loss. Perhaps something even darker lingered there, a shadow of horrible deeds. “Is he a fisherman?” she asked Dixie.
“Nah, he’s one of those quiet types. Doesn’t like to work with a crew. He’s been a clam-kicker ever since the war. Before that, he was a land surveyor. He must still know folks in the field, since he came here tonight ready for a fight, so this whole thing was no surprise to him.”
Her gaze still fixed on Jethro’s back, Olivia thought about the profession he’d chosen. Clam kicking was a method of netting clams by using the backwash from a motorboat propeller to force the clams to the surface. It was a lonely occupation. Jethro would only have to talk to another person when it came time to sell his catch.
He’s a man who likes to be alone with his memories, she thought. Or worse. A man crippled by the past.
As Earl Johnson made his way to Jethro’s side in order to speak to him in calm, soothing tones, the mayor called upon a plump woman in the middle of the audience. “I think this idea is wonderful! Nobody ever goes to that old park anyhow. Have you all seen it lately? It’s a disgrace. Me? I’d love to have that new playground. Not only do we get bathrooms, but we can also have church picnics in those nice covered areas. We shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, people!” She gestured at Jethro and spoke with pointed gentleness. “Now, I’m not saying I like the thought of moving those boys, but as long as it’s done with respect, then why not lay our soldiers to rest in the churchyard? Why not give them a Christian burial while giving our living children a fine, safe place to play?”
Her statement was followed by a smattering of applause from the crowd and an enthusiastic nod from the minister onstage.
Several others made speeches for and against the sale of the park, but the combination of parents, outdoor enthusiasts, business owners, Realtors, and those engaged in all facets of the construction trade made it clear that Talbot Fine Properties was welcome to continue building in Oyster Bay.
Earl Johnson, who had returned to his seat after being shoved aside by Jethro Bragg, gripped the microphone and announced that it was time for the committee members to vote. “Who’s in favor of this proposition?” he asked.
Without hesitation, all five members raised their hands and said, “Aye!”
A unanimous decision.
Mayor Guthrie beamed, pumped Max Warfield’s hand, and stepped to the podium for his final address of the evening. “We can’t get our shovels out yet, folks. The Planning Board will need to make the final call on this proposal next week. It’s up to them to debate the amount of green space or storm water drainage required for the new development, but I have every confidence that Talbot Fine Properties has seen to every tiny detail.”