Chapter Ten
L
ucy found it felt very strange to go to a meeting of the Board of Selectmen without her notebook and camera, and accompanied by Bill. They could hear voices as they descended the stairs to the basement hearing room, which didn't surprise Lucy. Between the naturists and the spotted lichen, plenty of people would want to voice their opinions. Worse luck for her and Bill that Kudo's fate would be decided on a night when so many people were at the meeting.
When they entered the crowded hall, Lucy was struck once again with how much the room resembled a courtroom. Just the other day she had been in court with Toby; now it was the dog. She was spending entirely too much time these days on uncomfortable seats in the halls of justice.
She picked up an agenda from the table at the back of the room and they made their way down front, where the rows of seats hadn't filled up yet. Once they were settled, she checked the schedule and discovered what she had feared had happenedâthey were the first item, after the public comment period. There were only a few other official itemsâ accepting the gift of a new flag from the VFW, granting family leave to a DPW worker, and a presentation by the Fourth of July parade committeeâwhich meant that everybody was there for the public comment period.
“Do this many people usually come?” asked Bill, shifting uneasily in his chair.
“No,” said Lucy. “Usually there's just a handful of interested citizens. Regulars.”
She twisted in her seat, to see who else had showed up, and spotted Ted standing in the back, looking for a seat. There were still a few vacancies in their row, but she didn't wave to him. He was supposed to be impartial and inviting him to sit next to her didn't seem quite right. Ted apparently agreed, because she saw him making his way down the other side of the room. Her heart sank when she noticed Cathy Anderson, the dog officer, sitting nearby. Lucy had been harboring a faint hope that somehow the whole matter might be canceled or postponed, but that seemed a pipe dream now. When Pru Pratt arrived, looking as sour as ever, she knew she and Bill would finally have to face the music.
They watched glumly as the selectmen entered and took their seats. When Howard White called the meeting to order with a bang of his gavel, Bill placed his hand over Lucy's.
“We'll begin tonight as always with the public comment period, when the floor is open to one and all. Does anybody want to speak?”
A middle-aged gentleman in the Tinker's Cove summer uniform of khaki pants and a polo shirt raised his hand.
“Mr. Weatherby,” said the chairman. “Please state your name and address for the record and tell us what's on your mind.”
“Thank you. My name's Horace Weatherby and I have a summer home on Wequaquet Lane. The reason I'm here is that I'm very upset that the fireworks have been canceled and so are my neighbors.”
A sizeable contingent had accompanied him to the meeting and they all nodded and murmured in support.
“In fact, I have a petition here with over one hundred signatures asking the board to reconsider the matter.”
The contingent grew a little louder, joined by many others in the room.
“Hear! Hear!” boomed Scratch Hallett, waving a fist in the air.
Chairman Howard White banged his gavel and called for order.
“We'll have no more of that,” he said, as if scolding a classroom of rowdy kindergarteners. “You'll all get to express your views, but you have to wait to be recognized by the chair, that's me.” He pointed the gavel. “Reverend Macintosh.”
“Clive Macintosh, I'm the chaplain for the VFW, and I want to express support for Mr. Weatherby's petition.”
Heads nodded and hands shot up throughout the room.
“Am I correct in assuming you're all here because you want the fireworks restored?” asked Howard. “Just raise your hands.”
Almost everyone in the room raised their hands.
Howard White sighed, and the other board members looked pained.
“Perhaps if I explain our vote,” said Howard. “The problem is that this plant is protected by state law and the town could face an expensive court battle if the lichen is harmed. We really had no choice but to cancel the fireworks this year. But I'm willing to appoint a committee to look into alternatives for next year.”
The other board members nodded in agreement.
“We don't want a committee!” yelled a shrill female voice. “We want fireworks!”
This was greeted with enthusiastic applause, prompting Howard to bang his gavel furiously.
“I don't want to have to clear the room,” he warned. “We have a consensus, however, and the committee proposal will be put on the agenda for the next meeting.”
This was met with grumbles and somebody called out, “We don't want a committee! We want fireworks!”
“That's not the way business is conducted in this town,” said Howard, setting his jaw firmly. “Now, does anyone have any other matter to discuss beside the fireworks?”
“Hold on, Howard,” said Joe Marzetti. “Maybe we should take another vote.”
“That's impossible,” snapped Howard, “and you know it. We can't vote on a matter unless it's placed on the agenda and duly advertised.”
“Well, then, let's add it to next week's agenda,” said Joe, speaking through clenched teeth.
“We can add it, but it will be too late. The next meeting is after July Fourth.”
Joe's face was red with embarrassment at his mistake and fury at Howard's high-handed manner. He sat silently, drumming his fingers on the table.
Lucy was so caught up in the drama of the situation that she'd forgotten all about Kudo until Bill tapped her thigh a few times with his knee. “How long is this going to go on?” he whispered.
“I don't know,” she said, looking around the room. Nobody seemed ready to leave and Howard was looking increasingly uncomfortable with the situation.
“Discussion on the fireworks issue is hereby closed,” he said, adding a smack of the gavel for emphasis. “Does anyone wish to bring any other issue to the board's attention?”
If he had expected the crowd to pack up and leave, he was going to be disappointed, thought Lucy. Hands had shot up throughout the room. Howard gave the floor to Millicent Blood, a patrician woman who happened to be one of his neighbors. If he'd been seeking a conciliator, however, he'd made the wrong choice. Millicent's comments only fanned the flames of controversy.
“I would just like to say that I applaud the efforts of the Society for the Preservation of Tinker's Cove to preserve our natural heritage. . . .”
Millicent was drowned out by a chorus of boos. Seeking to restore order, Howard pointed his gavel at the first person he happened to see: Mike Gold.
The portly, frizzy-haired representative of the American Naturist Society had dressed for the meeting, albeit in sandals, rather short shorts and a tank-style T-shirt. Definitely not the sort of thing people wore in Tinker's Cove, thought Lucy, but at least he was decently, if minimally, covered.
“My name is Mike Gold and I'm here on behalf of the naturist community . . .”
If only she'd had a camera, thought Lucy, to capture Howard's horrified expression.
“. . . and I'd like to express our appreciation to the people of Tinker's Cove for their tolerance and hospitality,” continued Mike. “We'd like to apologize for any disruption we may have caused and ask for your patience. We understand naturism is controversial, not everyone approves, but we believe that if you get to know us, you'll find we're a pretty responsible group and we're eager to work out any problems that may come up in a constructive way. Thank you.”
The next speaker, Mel Dunwoodie, wasn't quite as tactful. “Whether or not you like it, naturists have rights, too, and we intend to exercise our right to âlife, liberty and the pursuit of happiness' to the utmost,” he said, turning to glare at Prudence Pratt. “I'd also like to add that this proposed bylaw against nudity is a bad idea for our town and urge everyone to vote against it.”
The crowd was divided on this issue: some applauded while others grumbled. Hands shot up and Howard scanned the crowd until he found someone who was certain to say the right thing, whatever the occasion: Corney Clark.
Corney got to her feet gracefully and gave a little toss of her head, causing her blond hair to fall into place. Trust Corney to find a fabulous stylist, a genius with the shears.
“I just want to say,” she began, in her wellmodulated finishing school voice, “that in all the years I've lived here in Tinker's Cove I've never seen the town so divided. These are challenging times and we're faced with many difficult issues, but I want to remind everyone that we're all members of the same community and we all want what's best for our town. The days ahead will be much more pleasant if we treat each other as we would wish to be treated ourselves : with tolerance and respect.”
For once, the crowd was silent. Howard White seized the moment, closed the public discussion period and moved the meeting forward onto the first item of business. He slumped in his chair, mopping his brow with his handkerchief, while dog officer Cathy Anderson came forward and arranged her papers.
Lucy, who'd been enjoying the meeting so much that she almost forgot about Kudo, clasped Bill's hand.
“I have received several complaints about Kudo, a mixed-breed dog owned by Lucy and Bill Stone, who live on Red Top Road. The dog has on several occasions attacked chickens, and I myself have witnessed him running loose in violation of the town's leash law. On at least two occasions these sightings have coincided with complaints about knocked-over garbage bins. When I contacted the owners, they were exceptionally cooperative, they even built a kennel to specifications I recommended, incurring considerable expense. Unfortunately, the dog continues to defy their best efforts and keeps getting out.”
“Are the owners here tonight?” asked White.
“Yes,” said Lucy, rasing her hand.
“Ah, Mrs. Stone, I didn't see you there. You're not in your usual seat.” He surveyed the audience. “Are any of the complainants here?”
“Yup. Right here,” Prudence Pratt spoke out loudly.
“Well, I guess we better hear what you have to say, Mrs. Pratt.”
Lucy found herself sinking lower in her chair as Pru strode to the front of the room, taking her place beside Cathy Anderson. Pru was much taller than Cathy, and in contrast to the dog officer's womanly figure, she looked mannish from behind. Her T-shirt and jeans hung loosely from her bony body. Cathy's blond hair was clean and shiny while Pru's was scraped back and clumped into a stickylooking ponytail.
“Well,” began Pru, “I've got a flock of about forty Rhode Island Reds. These are chickens I breed myself, and they regularly take the blue ribbon at the county fair. They're also good layers, I get a lot of double yolks. And when they stop laying they make a very tasty stew, if I say so myself. The problem is that this dog, here, keeps coming over and gets 'em all in a panic and, well, being chickens, eventually one of 'em will manage to flap its way over the fence and right into the beast's mouth. And then there's blood and gore and feathers all over the place.” She snorted. “He doesn't even eat 'em, mind, just shakes 'em 'til they come apart.”
There were a few groans from the audience and Lucy found herself wincing.
“You're saying he doesn't dig under the fence, or break it in some way?' asked Joe Marzetti.
“No, he's a crafty devil. He just keeps worrying 'em and worrying 'em until he gets one in a panic. He's a master at it.”
“Have you asked the Stones to repay you for the lost chickens?” asked Ellie Sykes.
“Sure. They always pay, but what's the good of that? I can't replace the chickens. They're breeding stock, see. Last week he got one of my prizewinners, one I was planning to breed.”
“Do we have any other witnesses?” asked White.
No one came forward, and Lucy had a little surge of hope. Then she was called to the front of the room. Bill squeezed her hand as she rose from her seat.
“All I can say,” she began, looking each board member in the eye in turn, “is that we have done our very best to restrain the dog. As Cathy mentioned we built him a very sturdy kennel, but he is something of an escape artist. I would like to mention that he is not a vicious dog, except for chickens, and he's a much-loved family pet. My two youngest girls, especially, are very fond of him.”
Again, she tried to make eye contact with the board members, but only Ellie Sykes met her gaze. The others looked away. Not a good sign.
Lucy went back to her seat when Howard White asked Cathy for her recommendation.
“This is a very difficult situation,” she began in a tight voice, pausing to consult her notes. “As I mentioned, the Stones are responsible pet owners who have followed all my suggestions and recommendations. Unfortunately, they have been unable to control the dog and his problem behavior continues. This doesn't leave the board with too many options. You could banish the dog, which essentially means passing the problem on to someone else, or you could vote to . . . ,” she paused and swallowed hard, “destroy the dog.”