"Uh, Madam Mayor, members of the council, thank you for letting me speak to you tonight. I live at 43 Myers Road, and have lived there for the last twenty-seven years, and we have had, in the last few months, a severe problem with dogs running loose."
Not particularly interested in Lucille Belfountain's pack-of-dogs dilemma, my mind wandered. My eyes kept settling on Carpington at the end of the table. He was reviewing a stack of papers in front of him, making notes in the margins, looking up occasionally to hear what Lucille had to say. If you only knew, I thought.
One of the other councilmen, who was apparently quite knowledgeable about animal control problems, promised Lucille Belfountain that he would make sure the town's animal control officers did extra patrols in her neighborhood and urged her to call him back in a couple of weeks if things did not improve. That business done, the mayor asked whether any members of the council had any other business to bring up before she adjourned the meeting.
Carpington leaned into his microphone. "Yes, Mayor, I had a matter I wanted to bring to the council's attention."
"Go ahead," she said.
"I just wanted to serve notice that at the next regular meeting of the council, I will be putting a motion on the table that we approve the final phase of development for Valley Forest Estates. I believe all the environmental concerns have been addressed and that it would be beneficial not only for the developers of this site but for the town as a whole to approve the development at this time. It broadens our tax base, means more jobs, and more families coming into the community of Oakwood and making contributions on so many levels."
I was thinking, You have a hairy butt. You have a hairy butt.
From the other end of the table, Councilman Ben Underwood spoke. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. Samuel Spender, who spoke to us so eloquently only a few weeks ago about the need to protect Willow Creek, died violently but a few days ago, and I think Councilman Carpington's motion is an insult to that man's memory and should be set aside at least until the police investigation into Mr. Spender's death has become fruitful."
"Now hold on," Carpington said. "I'm on record as saying that I had nothing but respect for Samuel Spender and the work he did throughout his life to protect the environment, and we should all be grateful to him for the concerns he raised about Willow Creek, and had he not done that, then Valley Forest Estates would not have had the benefit of his suggestions when it came to revising the plans for its final phase."
"Oh gee, Roger," Underwood sneered, "what did your friends do, cut back from 300 homes to 299?"
"That's a ridiculous comment to make," Carpington said. "You'd rather wipe out an entire neighborhood if it meant saving a salamander. Furthermore, I see no connection between police investigating the circumstances of Mr. Spender's death and the development plans for this property."
"Talk about ridiculous comments. You wouldn't -"
"I think we can hold this debate," the mayor interrupted, "when Councilman Carpington makes his motion. If there's no other new business, then I would like to make a motion to declare this meeting adjourned. Do we have a seconder?"
Carpington jammed his papers into a briefcase, shaking his head angrily. At the other end, Underwood grabbed his things and stormed out of the council chamber. This guy was clearly not a friend of Don Greenway's. Don't take any walks down by the creek, I thought.
Carpington was hotfooting it to the exit when I tried to head him off. "Mr. Carpington?" I said. "Excuse me?"
He glanced over at me, still bristling from his exchange with Underwood. "Yes?" he said, looking at me over the top of his glasses.
"Do you have a moment?"
"It's really late," he said. "Why don't you call my secretary tomorrow, or my home, and make an appointment?"
"I'm afraid it can't wait. It's rather urgent." I raised the brown envelope in front of me. There were other council members, within earshot, filing past us.
"I'm terribly sorry, but I have to insist. Another time."
I leaned in close to him, whispered. "It's about Stefanie Knight, Mr. Carpington."
It was like you'd turned on a tap and drained the blood out of him in a couple of seconds. He swallowed, glanced over at his colleagues, then whispered back to me, "My office."
He led me down a tiled hallway and into a small room that served as his municipal office. It contained a small desk stacked with papers, a computer tucked in the corner, and several town surveys tacked to the walls. He quickly closed the door behind us and directed me into a chair. A cheap "World's Greatest Dad" statuette sat on his desk next to a family photo. He grinned at the camera, surrounded by his plain wife and generic-looking children - a girl and two boys, all under the age of ten.
"What's this about?" he said, slipping behind his desk. "I'm afraid I don't know anyone named, what was it? Stefanie White?"
"Knight," I said. "Nice try. I guess that was why you dragged me in here and closed the door, because you've never heard of her."
"I'm afraid I don't even know who you are."