The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (15 page)

“I do,” said Diane. “In section 12.a you said the bids have to be submitted by April twentieth. That gives prospective painters less than two weeks. Is that enough time?”

Gary answered. “It'll have to be. Summer is a busy time for painters, so we'll probably run into scheduling conflicts. We need to give them as much time as possible to finish the job by the Festival at the beginning of September.”

Norman apparently couldn't let that comment pass. “Bull flookies. Don't take hardly no time a'tall to slap some paint on a water tower.”

Al exchanged a glance with Bill. Obviously, that was the problem last time. Little Norm completed the job quickly, and the town had suffered for it ever since.

The mayor ignored the outburst. “I agree, Gary. Sally has assembled a list of potential painters, so in addition to filing the RFB publicly, we'll also be sending a dozen or so directly. They'll know about it within a couple of days, which should give them plenty of time to respond. Any other questions?” Jerry's glance slid up and down both sides of the table. When no one answered, his chest inflated slowly. He stood, removed his glasses, and gazed at the onlookers. “Okay then. Let's open this issue for discussion.” Before anyone could speak, he held up a hand. “This will be conducted in an orderly fashion. If you have something to say, please make your way to the front row and raise your hand. I will call on each of you in turn. We don't have a microphone, so speak loudly enough to be heard by everyone. First please state your name so Sally can record it in the minutes.”

Norman, already on the front row, shot his hand in the air. A few other hands also rose, and the crowd began to shuffle as some attempted to make their way forward. Al took the opportunity to edge sideways to take up a position behind Lucy. From that vantage point he could see the entire Council over the top of her head.

Jerry pointed with his glasses at Norman, and then lowered himself to his seat.

Norman spoke to Sally, his gravelly voice loud. “Name's Norman Pilkington, Senior. First, I want to say Little Norm woulda been here tonight, but he's working on a job over to Nicholasville. Plus, he didn't want to put none a you'uns on the spot with him bein' the cause of this here issue.” He stepped forward and slapped the spiral notebook on the table in front of Jerry. “I got a petition here with one hundred eighty-seven names on it what says you'uns ought to give the job to someone from Goose Creek. Ain't no sense in giving Creeker money to outsiders when it ought to stay right here in the Creek.” He paused to glance over his shoulder, and seemed encouraged to see several heads nodding in agreement. “What's more, this here RFB business is a bunch of hooey and a waste of taxpayer money. Little Norm's born and raised right here, and he'd get that job done quick-like. Ain't no reason to go involving outsiders.”

A few people voiced agreement. Surprised, Al noted Chuck Geddes nodding vigorously. Chuck always seemed like a reasonable man. Surely he wasn't in support of inviting Little Norm to inflict his lack of skill on the town a second time.

Jerry picked up the notebook and flipped through a few pages. “Thank you, Norman. We will file this petition with the meeting minutes.”

“File it and what else?” Norman drew himself up, shoulders stiff. “Can't ignore a hundred and eighty-seven folks.”

Gary spoke up. “That's not a majority of the town's population. It's not even ten percent.”

Norman turned his glare toward that end of the table. “It's
voters.
You got to do what they say.”

“I've got to do what my
conscience
says.”

“How many votes put you in that chair, Vandergrift? I'll wager you get a hundred and eighty-seven less come November.”

A flush rose on Gary's face. His mouth opened with what was sure to be a heated retort, but Jerry spoke first.

“We don't intend to ignore a single voice,” he said smoothly. “I'm
sure I speak for all of us when I assure you we will take this petition into account when we cast our votes.” He turned his attention pointedly away from Norman to scan the crowd. “Who else would like to speak?”

Woody's hand shot skyward, and Jerry nodded at him.

“My name's Woodson Edwards. My signature's on that petition, and I want to explain why.” He half-turned so he addressed the crowd as well as the Council. “I don't necessarily think the town should hire Little Norm to paint the tower.” From where he stood, Al saw the shrug of apology Woody directed toward a bristling Norman. “But I do think any job the city hires out ought to go to somebody from Goose Creek, if there's one available. Or at least their kinfolk. We ought to have loyalty toward our town.”

Though there was something to be said for loyalty, the “kinfolk” comment pricked Al's memory. Woody had a brother-in-law in the handyman business. He'd been quick to bring him up a few weeks ago when it looked like Al might need someone to do work on the Updyke house. Which, he devoutly hoped, he would not.

When recognized, Pete Lawson glanced at Woody before speaking. “Loyalty's important, I'll grant you that. But when it comes to spending the town's money, I think it's more important to avoid the appearance of favoritism. And we have to consider workmanship too. I don't see anything wrong with accepting bids. If Little Norm comes in with a good bid, he should have the same chance as the others.”

Al found himself nodding. Of course, the only way the Council should consider letting Little Norm touch that water tower was if he volunteered to do it for free. Even then they ought to insist on approving the paint first.

Jerry pointed in Al's direction, and for a startled moment he thought he was being called upon to speak. Then Lucy stepped to the front of the room.

Leonard's lips pursed into a tight bow. “We agreed to keep quiet,” he whispered to Al, who didn't hesitate to move forward and take her place.

“Lucy Cardwell,” she told Sally, and then faced the crowd. “I think the Council is right. As a business owner in this town, I would hate to be told who to hire. I mean, you all know we hire local help when we can, but look what happened with Fern.”

A mumble stirred through the crowd. Fern Wainright, a local teenager, had worked as a cashier at the pharmacy last year until she'd been caught stealing sinus medicine. The police investigation uncovered a meth lab operated by some unsavory fellows in the county outside of town whose main supplier of over-the-counter ingredients was none other than Fern. She was halfway through her sentence in a juvenile detention center in Lexington.

Leonard's eyes squeezed shut. “I can't believe she mentioned Fern,” he said in a low voice.

“Now we have Janice, who is trustworthy and reliable,” Lucy said. “Is it her fault she's from Frankfort?”

“That's differ'nt.” Norman spoke harshly. “You tried hirin' local. Put a sign in the winder an' all. Weren't nobody local wanted the job.”

Jerry leveled a stern glance on him. “You've had the floor, Norman. Don't speak out of turn.”

“And besides.” Lucy appeared to warm to her topic. “Hiring outsiders might end up bringing new residents to Goose Creek. I mean, look at the new veterinarian. She's going to move here.”

A grumble sounded among the crowd, louder than any before. Surprised, Al spied more than a few scowls in his immediate vicinity. Millie had mentioned the problems the young woman was having gaining the trust of the Goose Creek pet owners, but he had only listened with half an ear. Judging by the frowns and hissing whispers, the new vet had managed to stomp on quite a few local toes, and not all of them were feline.

Lucy waved a hand. “Whatever you may think of her, at least she is going to bring money into Goose Creek. If this town is going to survive, we need new blood, and new money.”

She hurried back toward them and slid between Al and her
husband, head ducked. Al gave her a supportive nod. She'd outlined some good points that business owners should consider before shooting off their mouths.

If disaster struck, one day soon he might fall into that category himself. If, on the outside chance, their purchase of the Updyke house went through and Millie's plans for her bed and breakfast came to fruition, he would be a business owner. He didn't plan to hire staff—Lord knew they couldn't afford that—but he'd certainly have to hire people to do the renovation work. Would his friends and neighbors fault him if he looked outside of Goose Creek for help? There really wasn't anyone competent in town. Of course there was Woody's brother-in-law.

Jacob Pulliam took the floor next. “I was undecided when I came here tonight. I see both sides. But while I was listening to everybody talk, something occurred to me. If we make it a rule or a law or something that preference has to be given to Goose Creek residents when it comes to doing work for the town, we're setting a precedent. What'll it be next? Will we make a law that you can't hire any but local boys to mow your grass? If I decide to start me a business doing…” He shook his head. “I don't know, maybe digging fence posts. Would you be required to hire me to put in your fence?”

“Ain't no way,” shouted someone from the back. “You're too lazy.”

Everyone laughed, even Jacob. “You're right about that, but you see what I mean. Think about the complaint about Paul's concrete sidewalk. Making a rule like this will give everybody in town one more reason to complain about their neighbors. The more I think about it, the more I believe nobody ought to tell me how to spend my money.”

A half-dozen replies to that argument occurred to Al. Nobody had mentioned mandating private citizens' spending habits, only those involving government funds. Still, it was a logical progression, given the unreasonableness of some of his fellow Creekers. He held his tongue.

The meeting continued far longer than Al's interest in the subject.
Almost twenty residents insisted on speaking their piece, even though most of them were only parroting the arguments voiced before them. Al's feet started to ache, and he was not the only one who shuffled his weight shoe-to-shoe as evening gave way to night. All his favorite Thursday night television shows would be long over and Millie comfortably in bed before he got home.

Finally, when no one else raised their hand, the mayor once again took the floor. “Folks, this has been a terrific discussion. Thanks to all who participated. Does anyone on the Council have any questions?” He glanced left and right. “Okay, then it's time for a motion.”

Gary spoke up, his tone saturated with determination. “I move that we approve the RFB and proceed with publishing it.”

The audience rumbled. Al glanced at Norman's stormy glare. He'd hate to be sitting in Gary's chair right about now.

“Anyone care to second that motion?” asked Jerry.

Lynn rubbed a hand across her mouth, whirling thoughts apparent on her face. Then, “I second.”

Another rumble from the crowd.

With an apprehensive glance toward Norman, Jerry asked, “Further discussion on this issue?”

The silence in the room weighed a ton.

“All right, then.” The mayor's spine stiffened, and he set his shoulders. “The motion is to approve the RFB as written and move forward with putting the job of painting of the water tower out to bid. All who approve please signify by raising your hand.”

Gary's arm swung straight up, the first in the air. Lynn's followed more slowly, and then Diane's and Phyllis's. All heads turned toward Aaron, who slid down in his chair. His face flaming, he raised his hand slowly.

Last of all, Jerry raised his hand. “Let the minutes show that the vote is unanimous. Now, for the next item—”

“Bull flookies!” Norman's outburst roared in the room. “This still ain't over, Selbo. You mark my words, you ain't heard the last of me.”

The man whirled, fury apparent on his face, and pushed his way through the crowd toward the exit.

In the awkward moment after he left the building, Al exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Leonard while between them Lucy had already fished her cell phone out of her purse and was busy tapping with her thumbs. No doubt spreading the juicy news to those not fortunate enough to have witnessed Norman's outburst in person.

Chapter Eleven