by J. C. Eaton
“I can’t take it anymore. These people are relentless. Relentless and crazy. I give up. I acquiesce. I surrender. I’ll be attending tonight’s board meeting.”
“I figured as much so I left my calendar clear. No client appointments, no nothing. So . . . a quick dinner and indigestion?”
“Seriously? You want to go through that again? I have to be tortured. It’s my mother. But you’re a free citizen.”
He crinkled his nose and laughed. “In theory. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but ... I’d really like to see the outcome. It’s kind of like part two of a TV show. We’re at the cliffhanger ending. Let’s see where it goes.”
Fast-food was our only real option in order to arrive on time for the meeting, so the Taco Bell across the road from Sun City West had to suffice. We were in and out of there in less than twenty minutes, but it still didn’t give us enough time to get a decent parking space by the social hall, forcing us to once again seek out a spot by the dog park.
“I hate to say it,” I said, “but I think there’s a bigger crowd this time. Look around. Not many free spots here either.”
“It’s from all that publicity. Sorrel’s murder. Brent’s kidnapping attempt. Much better than watching winter reruns on TV.”
“Marshall, what happens if the board passes that proposal? Sun City West is never going to be the same.”
“Ultimately, they have to make a decision that’s right for the entire community, not a handful of people. That’s what they were elected to do. Personally, I hope the proposal falls flat on its face. Considering the demographics, I don’t think it’s the way to go for this city. But retirement places are changing. Golf’s not as popular as it used to be. Baby boomers and Gen Xers are looking for something different.”
“Speaking of something different, take a look on your left.”
“My God. Where’d they all come from? I didn’t see them when we pulled in.”
It was a crowd of at least fifty or sixty people. People with signs. I could only make out one word, but it was enough. NO!
As we got closer to the entrance, more and more people were showing up with signs, but not all of them read NO! Some signs said YES FOR PARKS.
A number of posse volunteers were ushering people into the social hall, making it clear that the large signs could only be displayed outdoors.
“It’s a matter of safety,” I overheard one volunteer posse member explain as Marshall and I maneuvered through the crowd and into the packed room.
We were able to find seats toward the back, near one of the exits.
“Good,” I said. “If the villagers start lighting torches, we’re out of here.”
Just then, a familiar figure made her way down the aisle toward us. Louise Munson.
“Phee! Marshall! Save me a seat! Is there a seat?”
There were three seats a few spaces over from us so I ushered her toward us. “Hurry up, looks like it’s filling up fast.”
We stood up as Louise sidestepped her way to a seat. “I wanted to get here sooner, but my beauty parlor appointment ran late. Your mother and some of the ladies are near the front. Also Herb and Wayne. I imagine the others are scattered all around the room.”
With so many people standing or making their way to seats, it was impossible to see where anyone was. It didn’t matter. If my mother or her friends were going to speak, we’d hear them.
A long rectangular table with eight chairs took up most of the small stage. A microphone was positioned in front of the table, presumably to allow the audience to hear any discussion. Off to the table’s right was a podium and another microphone. A few board members started to trickle in and seat themselves at the table. I immediately recognized Jeannine Simone. Like Sophia Loren, it was hard not to. She was followed by Barry Wong, Mildred Saperstein, and Clarence McAdams.
Bethany Gillmore and Eloise Frable walked on stage next. Finally, Burton Barre and Harold Stevens made their way to the seats. By now, the social hall was standing room only, and posse members were guarding the doors. From what I had been told, if the room reached capacity, the meeting would be on closed circuit TV in the adjacent rooms.
“From the looks of things, they should’ve rented Phoenix Stadium.” It was the man seated next to me, two chairs away from Louise.
Up front, Harold Stevens was trying to get the meeting started. Unfortunately, the only audible sound was static as he and another man fiddled with the microphone.
“Can everyone hear me?” Harold shouted. “Can all of you in back hear me?”
“Speak louder!” someone shouted.
“Now can you hear me?”
Since no one complained, Harold started the meeting. He began by thanking everyone for their attendance and interest in the community. Then he paused for a minute to reflect on the events that had transpired in the past month.
“We haven’t been living under a rock,” a woman yelled. “Get on with the meeting. I have a pot roast in my slow cooker. I don’t want it to turn to mush.”
Ignoring the commentary, Harold expressed the board’s condolences for Sorrel Harlan and read a letter that the CEO of Golfscapes had sent to the board. It was similar, if not verbatim, to the media statement that had been issued prior.
“They’re just covering their butts,” another person shouted.
Again, Harold ignored the interruption and went on. He explained that the meeting would proceed as planned and a new appointee to the board would be made at the conclusion of the meeting.
“Since our new appointee hasn’t had the benefit of background information on our proposals, it’s not fair to have said appointee cast a vote tonight.”
No one on the board objected and there were no signs of disapproval coming from the audience. Again, we sat through mind-numbing reports from the secretary, the treasurer, and the board committees. The food service director gave a report as well, and a young, female representative from Golfscapes, who spent more time wringing her hands than looking over her notes, presented their report.
“I’m only the temporary replacement for Mr. Haywood until my company and the Recreation Centers of Sun City West can reach an agreement on a permanent manager.”
Harold Stevens thanked her, and she rushed off the stage before anyone could ask any questions. Leaning over the podium, Harold took a deep breath. “This is the portion of our meeting devoted to old business. We have one item up for final discussion and vote. The proposal to convert some of our golf courses to eco-friendly parks. Let me now turn over the discussion to our board. When they’ve finished, we’ll allot a few minutes for audience comments as well. No more than three minutes per person.”
Mildred Saperstein clasped her hands together and spoke. “Sorrel Harlan gave her life for eco-friendly neighborhood parks that she felt we could all enjoy. What more is there to say?”
“That it was an ill-conceived, altruistic idea that has no place in this community? Let me be the first one to say that.” It was Clarence McAdams, and he seemed downright annoyed.
Jeannine glanced at Mildred and spoke softly. “I know Sorrel envisioned a gentle and loving world, and creating eco-friendly parks was high on her list of priorities. However, creating those parks would result in more harm than good. Not to mention the disharmony it would cause for our community. Home values dropping. Privacy issues with park usage. The list goes on. My vote is a no vote, and I intend to stick with it.”
“She’s good,” Marshall whispered. “Especially that bit of Jungian psychology she used on Mildred.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you. It’s been a long time since I was in a psychology class.”
“Carl Jung. It’s a technique they taught us in the police academy. Always validate what the other guy says and then twist it around. Something like that.”
I was wondering if it might work on my mother when Bethany Gillmore’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“I tend to agree with Jeannine. This is a golf community. People boug
ht their homes knowing full well it was a golf community. They can’t suddenly up and change their minds. It would be like eating in an Italian restaurant and complaining because they don’t have chow mein.”
“Give it up, Bethany,” Harold said. “Communities change. Otherwise, we’d be decaying old relics. If we can’t support our own golf courses, then it’s time to support something else. Good grief. If everyone had that philosophy, we’d still be using slide rules!”
“At least slide rules work, and you don’t have to power them up with solar or batteries,” Barry Wong said.
Harold made a slight grumbling sound that was magnified by the microphone. “And what’s that supposed to mean? We’re not talking about buying a math calculator.”
I poked Marshall and looked straight ahead. “Is it my imagination, or is it about to get ugly?”
Eloise Frable joined the conversation before Marshall could reply. “Don’t you people care about your grandchildren and their enjoyment? Think of all the wonderful time you’d be able to spend with them in a nice park close to home.”
Clarence’s voice got loud as he turned to Eloise. “If I wanted to spend time with them in a nice park close to home I would’ve moved into their neighborhood!”
Suddenly, everyone got quiet, but the tension in the room was palpable. Harold Stevens walked to the podium. “Is there any further discussion from the board?”
The shaking of heads indicated they had said all they intended to say. Harold stood for another few seconds and waited before clearing his throat. “The bylaws allow for additional comments from the community. We will do this in an orderly fashion. Raise your hands and wait to be recognized.”
Hawaiian shirt guy, Russell (Spuds) Baxter, stood up and waved his arms frantically. Harold had no choice but to acknowledge him first.
“Said it before. I’ll say it again. Over my dead body!”
“I don’t think Harold is going to be able to apply Jungian psychology to that remark,” I muttered.
A woman in her late seventies or early eighties stood up next. “I walk around in my nightgown at night and never worry. Only the coyotes can see me. Now what? Late night picnics under the stars? What if someone snaps a photo and I wind up on that Facebook or Instant thing? I say the golf courses should stay golf courses.”
Harold Stevens allotted a few more minutes for the continued shouting, whining, and complaining before calling for a vote.
“This better not wind up in a tie, or I’ll commit hari-kari,” I said to Marshall. “I don’t think I can take many more of these meetings.”
I didn’t expect a yay or nay. I figured Harold would ask for a show of hands, and we’d be done with it. Instead, he clasped his palms together and took a step toward the audience. “We beg your understanding during this vote. Under normal circumstances, a simple raising of hands would suffice. However, we don’t want any board member to feel intimidated by his or her decision. Remember, these are unpaid positions and a few of our board members have received not-so-subtle threats this past month. Imagine how that must feel in the light of Sorrel Harlan’s murder.”
Louise Munson leaned forward to get my attention. “Psst! It was only Mildred Saperstein. She said someone put a dead toad by her doorstep, but I think the thing just died there.”
I nodded and leaned back as Harold continued to speak.
“Therefore, this will be a write-in vote. Yes or no. ‘Yes’ means support for the eco-friendly park conversion, and ‘No’ means the golf courses remain intact. Is everyone clear?”
The board members nodded and muttered to themselves while Harold handed out small white sheets of paper.
“Before you write your response, I would like to request three volunteers from our community audience to count the votes. Do I see a show of hands?”
Herb Garrett was the first one out of his seat, followed by two women I didn’t recognize. Harold asked them to wait near the podium until everyone had cast a vote.
“My God, Marshall,” I whispered. “What’s taking them so long? How hard can it be to write Yes or No?”
“Look at them. You’d think they were taking the bar exam.”
“I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been this concerned about a voter outcome since the 2016 Presidential Election.”
When all the votes were cast, Harold Stevens counted and collected the slips of paper before handing them over to Herb and the two ladies. I watched as the three of them approached the podium and tallied the results. They did it three times to be sure.
“There are only eight votes!” someone yelled. “My five-year-old grandson could count them up quicker!”
I didn’t think it was possible for time to move any slower but, by golly, it did. At long last, Harold Stevens read the results out loud. “In favor of the eco-friendly park proposal, three votes. Against it, five votes. The motion is denied.”
“Wahoo! Wahoo!” Bill Sanders jumped from his seat, waved his hands in the air, and charged to the front of the room. “All in favor of celebrating at Curley’s, let’s go!”
A number of men in the audience all but fell over each other in a rush to leave the room. It was so frantic that Harold had to call for a five-minute recess before they could resume.
“This is a short break. I repeat, we are taking a short break. We have important new business to discuss—placing holiday lights on the palm trees by our entrances. Holiday lights.”
More people left the room as Harold made one final plea. “Doesn’t anyone care about entrance beautification?”
Marshall nudged my elbow. “Apparently not.”
Chapter 35
“Let’s try to get out of here while we have a fighting chance.” Marshall reached for my hand.
“Too late! My mother’s elbowing everyone in sight in order to reach us. Might as well stay where we are for a few more minutes.”
“Ouch!” It was the man sitting next to me. Louise had stepped on his feet in her effort to vacate the room before the meeting resumed.
“Sorry. So sorry, Phee.”
I tried to move my feet out of her path.
“Oh, look. There’s Harriet. Tell your mother I’ll catch up with her later. I’ve got to get out of here.”
Louise made it to the aisle and into the crowd before my mother got to our row. I imagined the other ladies were ducking out of the place as well. Not to mention Herb and his crew. Meanwhile, my mother was gaining ground like a quarterback making his first down.
“Mom!” I shouted as she approached, “Meet us at the entrance, or we’ll be stuck in here.”
She immediately went for the exit. Once we were outside, we moved away from the entrance, toward the administration building. It was the only place that didn’t seem to have a throng of people.
“Hallelujah! It’s over!” my mother shouted. “The voice of reason has returned to Sun City West.”
I gave Marshall a slight kick on his ankle, and he had all he could do to hold back a laugh. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m sure most of the residents are glad that’s over with. Too bad it cost someone her life.”
“You know what I feel bad about?” I didn’t give anyone a chance to answer. “Poor Milquist. Losing his wife and having everyone suspect him. According to Deputy Bowman, there was never anything going on between Milquist and Edmund Wooster. It was a condolence call after all. And Marlene Krone was a friend, like Milquist said all along. Well, at least the guy has his writing.” I lowered my voice as a few people walked past us. “Oh, and Eleanor. Don’t let me forget what I was going to say about her. I was almost certain she was the killer. She had the background and the motive—jealousy.”
Marshall nodded. “Ironic, huh? Her brother turned out to be the killer in the valley’s highest profile case, and his motive was completely different.”
“Enough already with the murders,” my mother said. “I’ve got to go and call your aunt Ina. She couldn’t make it tonight because Louis signed them up for tango lessons in Gle
ndale. Tango? Can you picture it? Your aunt has as much grace and agility as a sumo wrestler. And don’t you dare tell her I said so!”
“Um, of course not. But why don’t you just call her from your cell phone?”
“She complains about static on the line. Anyway, I don’t want to leave Streetman home alone any longer than I have to. It makes him nervous, and he sometimes has indiscretions. I’ll catch up with you this week. Oh look, there’s Gloria Wong. I want to say a quick hello to her before she gets to her car.”
“Have a good evening,” Marshall said as my mother raced to the parking lot. Then he turned to me, “I wonder how many indiscretions Streetman will have.”
* * *
Midway into the week, I realized two headaches were gone—the one that lingered from my concussion and the one that came with all the drama from my mother’s senior living community. On Thursday night, I gave my mom a call. I needed to return the casserole dishes to her friends and figured it would be easier to simply drop them off at her house.
“Why don’t you just meet us at Bagels ’N More on Saturday?” she said as soon as I mentioned returning the pans.
“I’ve got to work for a few hours at the office. Our client list all but exploded after those two cases. Nate and Marshall are going nonstop.”
“What about you and Marshall? Are you going nonstop? You’re not getting any younger. Mid-forties is not mid-thirties.”
“Thank you for the mathematical update, but we’re doing fine. We enjoy each other’s company, and we enjoy doing things together.”
“Good, because Myrna saved two tickets for you and Marshall to attend the bocce tournament awards dinner. You can pick them up whenever you drop off the casserole dishes.”
“I, er, we, um . . .”
“I know. It was very considerate of Myrna. The book club ladies all like you. Just think, in ten years you’ll be eligible to live in Sun City West.”
