If I was going to help Maddie, I did need information. It was just a drink. What could it hurt?
twenty-five
A loud laugh echoed through the cypress trees, shattering the quiet sanctuary of Himmarshee Park. Startled, a great blue heron took flight from the creek bank near the nature path. Another laugh sounded, even louder than the first. A group of men in business dress rounded a curve in the path near the park office. I was outside the office, in a vending machine alcove, battling a recalcitrant package of Corn Nuts.
The noisy crowd of suits and ties came to a halt on the boardwalk over Himmarshee Creek. The mayor, at the center of the group, nodded toward the water: “You know what they say about waterfront property in Florida, don’t you?’’ His voice boomed, and he slapped one of the suits on the back. “Get it while you can. They’re not making any more!’’
The man chuckled, a bit too heartily I thought. A second suit, much taller, stepped forward to peer over the railing. He pointed to the dark water below. An expensive-looking gold watch peeked out from the monogrammed cuff at his wrist: “So this stream also fronts the parcel we’ve been talking about?’’
Parcel? What parcel? These guys looked like developers. No telling what kind of proposal they’d cooked up.
I stepped out of the vending area and onto the wooden boardwalk, my indestructible snack bag in hand. My boss’s lectures about being more friendly and welcoming to park visitors ran through my mind. Well, here were some park visitors. I injected a smile into my voice.
“Can I help y’all?’’
Except for the mayor, the men looked like they’d all selected their outfits from the Timeless Fashions for Business Guys Shoppe: white shirts, dark suits, black dress shoes, red ties—with a couple of striped-blues thrown in to mix things up. It had to be 95 degrees outside. They stood in the full sun, and not a one of them had thought to take off his jacket. It was clear they weren’t from around here.
The mayor gave me a campaign-poster smile. I was surprised to see a diamond stud winking from his earlobe. Pretty hip for a guy sporting polyester beltless slacks, white loafers, and a T-shirt that screamed BILL GRAF FOR MAYOR in red block letters.
“I know you, don’t I?’’
“We’ve met at the country club.’’ I didn’t add that when we met, Mama had informed him she’d voted for his opponent, and then tried to browbeat him and his wife into attending her church. “I think you also play golf with my brother-in-law. Kenny Wilson?’’
He pursed his lips like he was thinking. “Nope. The name doesn’t ring a bell.’’
“The staff out there said you two played together. Big guy? Drives a pickup truck with silver mud flaps?’’
He grinned. “Oh, yes. The flaps with the naked girl silhouettes. You don’t see too many of those at the club.’’
“Naked girls or mud flaps?’’ said the tall man with the watch. A couple of the other suits smirked.
“I think I might have played a round or two with your brother-in-law, when one of my threesome didn’t show.’’
The tall suit leered. “Threesome? I’ve heard you like to play with a foursome.’’
The mayor ignored the comment. “Your brother-in-law’s a lousy golfer, by the way.’’
I didn’t reveal I’d heard the same assessment of the mayor’s game.
“Have you seen Kenny lately?’’
“Can’t say that I have. Look, we’re kind of busy here.’’ His tone was impatient. “We’re looking for the park supervisor. We need to have a cornfab about business.’’
Opening the office door, I pointed inside to my boss, Rhonda.
“ ‘Cornfab’ away.’’
A familiar wave of relief that I wasn’t management material washed over me. When the mayor and the four suits had filed into the office, I slipped in behind them and took a seat at my desk. I’d been working on an exhibit about the mating habits of the Sandhill crane. I arranged it so I could disappear behind it.
Rhonda, trapped in a dull phone conversation about budgets and such, quit talking in mid-sentence when she spotted the mayor. “Anyway, those are the salient points about personnel.’’ She quickly wrapped up the call. “I’ll have to get back to you. Something’s just come up.’’
As soon as she placed the receiver on its cradle, she unfolded her lithe body from her chair, and stretched her hand out toward Graf. “Mr. Mayor, what a pleasant surprise.’’
A smile spread across her lovely face. Only I recognized it as one the former fashion model reserved for people she didn’t really want to see. It reached her angled cheek bones, but stopped short of warming her hazel-flecked eyes.
A couple of the suits seemed awestruck to find such a beauty wearing park department khakis. The mayor, though, barely gave her a second look. “Where’s your boss, doll?’’
Her smile was cool. “I am the boss.’’
Which of Rhonda’s characteristics confused him, I wondered: The fact she was black, or that she was a woman?
“So, you’re in charge?’’
She extended a long graceful finger, tapping the supervisor title on her desk nameplate. “That’s what it says.’’
“Well, screw me like a rabbit, I’m surprised.’’ It didn’t seem to register with the mayor he was pissing off a possible ally in whatever plan he was hatching. “We’re trying to find out anything we can about the owners of the properties next to the park.’’
“All you have to do is go to the county courthouse.’’ Rhonda took her seat again, started shuffling papers. “Property ownership is public record.’’
The mayor glanced furtively around the office. He didn’t seem to notice me slumping down behind a stuffed Sandhill crane—a tall, regal bird with a red cap of feathers.
He lowered his voice. “We’re more interested in off-the-record kind of information. Are any of the property owners having financial problems? Anyone contemplating divorce? Or, maybe one of the families is struggling with a tragic—and costly—illness?’’
I came out from behind my bird.
“In other words,’’ I said, “is there anybody in a bad way so a bunch of developers can take advantage and buy their land cheap?’’
“That’s rude,’’ one of the suits said.
“What’s rude is outsiders coming in here and buying up property to build ugly crap that nobody wants.’’
Rhonda lifted her palms in the air in the traffic cop position. “That’s enough, Mace.’’
“You know it’s true,’’ I said. “Why don’t you ask them what they have planned? No doubt it’s something that will compromise every living tree and critter, not to mention the water supply, in this end of the county.’’
“It’s a subdivision,’’ the mayor said. “Country Haven. New homes for five-hundred residents. The park will become a very important amenity. Everyone wants a house conjoining a park.’’
“Adjoining,’’ I said. “But nobody wants to live next to a shoddily built subdivision with cookie-cutter houses and too many cars and people.’’
The face on one of the suits turned thoughtful. “What’s the possibility of getting a zoning change for the park itself?’’ He looked out the window to acres of pristine woods and water. “That’s prime real estate, just going to waste!’’
The mayor glared pointedly at him, and then cut his eyes to Rhonda and me as if to make sure we noticed. “We’d never do anything to compromise this beloved park, or Himmarshee’s precious eco-system, for that matter. It’s what makes this part of Florida very unique.’’
I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t correct him again. Lord knows, Maddie drilled it into my head enough: Unique is unique. Something can’t be “very’’ unique. Even beyond his grammar, though, I wasn’t buying his words.
A frown creased the face of one of the suits, the gold watch guy who’d first gazed over the railing at the creek. “I’m still troubled about the image of the community itself. Marketing Country Haven as ‘How Things Were Back When’ is difficult with headlines screaming about a sexually tinged murder.’’
The mayor tugged at his collar. Swallowed a couple of times. He looked nervous. Stalling for time, maybe? The suit had a point.