“So the gay and lesbian organization, they have your support?”
“Ha!” said Alice Holland. “They’re nothing but a bunch of shit disturbers, pardon my French. Honestly, can you imagine any gay and lesbian group even wanting to be part of a fall fair parade that features lawn tractor racing? It’s all I can do to sit in the back of the convertible from Braynor Ford. Those gay activists’ll have the Braynor High School band in front of them performing ‘Feelings’ with trombones and tubas and coming from behind will be Eagleton’s Bait and Tackle, which, last I heard, was going to have choreographed, dancing night crawlers. People in worm suits. I mean, isn’t the gay community a tad too sophisticated for something like that? The only reason they want to be in the parade is because there are so many people who don’t want them in the parade. If Charles Henry, who, by the way, can kiss my skinny white ass, got rid of his petition and put a sign out front of his grocery store saying “Welcome Homos!” they’d pack up and go back to the city and forget this whole damn thing.”
I said, “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
Alice Holland smiled. “You’re very astute.”
“How long have you lived in Braynor?”
“George and I moved up here from the city almost fifteen years ago. He was a set designer, and I practiced law, and then we came into a shitload of money when his mother died, and we figured, let’s get out. We moved up here, didn’t have to work right away, but then we got interested in the area, about attempts to overdevelop it, and I ran for a seat on council and won, and then a couple of elections later, ran for mayor, and won. Who’d have thunk it?”
“Don’t suppose you ever thought of opening a law office up here?”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Think about it,” I said. “Some of the local talent leaves something to be desired.”
“Yeah, well, what can you do? You should meet our chief of police.”
It was my turn to smile. “I’ve had the pleasure. Speaking of overdevelopment, which way’s council leaning on that big fishing-resort proposal south of town? The one Leonard Colebert’s pitching?”
“Oh, that,” Mayor Holland said. “I was looking at the plans for that again only yesterday. Every time he submits new ones, there’s something new added. Another floor on the hotel, or a new outbuilding, or a casino. The day that goes in is the day I let them run over me with an Evinrude.”
“So council’s unlikely to approve it?”
“Well, there are a few members, they’re tempted by the extra jobs, the increased tax base. But they’d bring in a fucking nuclear waste dump if it brought in enough taxes to buy a new snowplow.”
I really liked this woman.
She leaned back on her couch. “So, what the hell are you actually doing here, anyway? I mean, I’m having a lovely chat and all, but are you doing a story, or what?”
I paused. “I have a bad feeling,” I said with some hesitation.
Mayor Holland’s eyebrows went up a notch. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“And why do you have this bad feeling?”
I sensed that part of her was humoring me, that she was starting to find me amusing.
“I have to tell you, first of all, that I’m something of a worrier. I’m a worst-case-scenario kind of guy. I’m not some kind of conspiracy nut. I just think that if there’s a chance that things might go really bad, they will.”
Alice Holland said, “Some people would call that being a realist.”
“Yes, well, I can appreciate that. It’s just that, the things I’ve seen happening in Braynor, and out at my dad’s place, I have a sense that these events are linked and leading toward something very bad.”
Alice Holland said nothing.
“Are you familiar with the people who’ve rented the farmhouse out on my dad’s property?”
“Refresh my memory,” she said.
“Timmy Wickens. And his family. A wife, her two sons, his daughter and grandson.”
“Ah yes. Are they friends of yours?”
I was taken aback. “Not at all.”
“Then you won’t be offended if I categorize them as a bunch of whacko-nutcase-racist-survivalists.”
“So you’ve heard of them.”
“They have a bit of a reputation in the Fifty Lakes District. They’ve moved around a couple of times, they’re known to police. Some people think they burned down a lawyer’s house up in Red Lake, but nothing was ever proved. So what about them?”
“Do you know what was stolen at the co-op?” I asked.
“No.”
I told her. And I told her what it could be used for.
“You’re making quite a leap,” the mayor said.
“I appreciate that.”
“Have you discussed your suspicions with Chief Thorne?” she asked.
“I have. These, and others. He’s not been particularly receptive.”