But the beginning for the attorney was when the MacKenzie boys decided they wanted to sell their father’s farm after he went off to a nursing home. So Doris started her story.
“The section of land is right next to my property and would have been perfect. I contacted the kids and they were willing to sell to me, only I didn’t have the money. Hy Cobb, at the bank, said my credit was good, my plans to lease most of the six-forty to Lee Howard to plant organic feed for my chickens and to extend my runs for the breeding hens into about a hundred of it sounded to him like a winner. But when I went back to the MacKenzies, they’d already received double my offer from Lovewell Developers. The sale’s contingent upon the company getting urban zoning so they can build fifteen hundred housing units. The development would pretty much put me out of business. I can’t expand in any other direction, and being close to so many people, who are sure as shooting going to own dogs, will destroy me.”
Ginya looked up from the keyboard. “Can’t you fence in the farm?”
“I’ve got hog wire around the perimeter now.” She paused and pointed at a black lab who had been sleeping peacefully near her feet. “Rogue, here, is a great watchdog. He keeps the weasels and coons away and handles the occasional stray dog. But he’s getting old. He’d never be able to deal with a pack. And the fencing I have now would never stop determined dogs eager to kill chickens.”
She shook her head. “I’d have to put in cyclone fencing with a deep concrete footing. The cost of doing so around my current acreage would be prohibitive, and Hy isn’t about to back a business which would just be standing still. Besides, you know as well as I do when the city moves to the country it crowds the country out. For one thing, the traffic will be horrendous. Pretty soon there’ll be complaints about my crowing roosters and cackling hens—and the smell—even though they don’t smell. Sure, the commission chairman loves to go on about how urban zoning wouldn’t affect my business and how I’ll be grand-fathered in, but farms don’t last long when the suburbs close in.”
Her headshake became more forceful. “No! If Lovewell gets their rezoning, I’m out of business.”
“How close are they to getting the rezoning?”
“To make a long story short, the County commission has already had the first two readings on Lovewell’s application. It’s the usual developer approach – campaign contributions to all the commissioners who vote for developments, and a bored lawyer and consultant who know they can’t lose to present the plan. They didn’t even bother to show up at the last reading. As expected, the commission approved the ordinance both times—three to two. On this third and final reading, they’re sure to pass it.”
“Three to two? Is there one who might swing?”
Lenny answered the question. “Carl Stanley just might. He owns a hardware store and the main grocery store in town. He also owns Stan’s Steak House, which he’s always bragging about. ‘Best in the West,’ he calls it. Anyway, it made sense for him to want the development to go in on some patches of land Lovewell owns right near town instead of out here—for the trade, you know. But some of that’s marshy and would be more expensive to build on, so Lovewell would rather develop this section, and the company has contributed heavily to Stanley’s campaign chest.
“Even so, we wondered why Stan—Carl likes to be called Stan—decided to go along with this rezoning. Then we found out he owns a lot right on the road on the other side of the MacKenzie section. He’s figuring on putting in a service station there if the development goes through. Residents of fifteen hundred homes commuting through town to Portland would mean a lot of gas pumped, and he’d still get almost as much business from them at his stores and Steak House as he would if the development were closer in.”
“Conflict of interest,” Ginya said emphatically as she punched away at the keys on the laptop. “We should be able to get the commission to keep him from voting because of that.” Doris knew the suggestion was a dead end with this particular commission, but she let it pass. Lenny was the one who asked, “What are the other possibilities for stopping the development?”
“Well, one I’m sure you’ve thought of already, and that’s political. If enough people testify against it, the commission members may start thinking about votes and the coming election.”
Doris was beginning to feel her head was in a permanent-shaking mode. “We’ve had a lot of testimony against it, much more than for it. But the chairman just keeps saying, ‘You can’t stop progress,’ and he gets those two other votes in support with no problems.”
“Well, another possibility is the American Farmland Trust.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a private non-profit corporation working to preserve American farms and farmlands.”
“Sounds good.”
“The drawback is it has to be prime farmland, and the AFT has a lot of other commitments they may feel are more important.”
There went her head again—side to side. “They won’t want to touch this, then. There are two outcrops of basalt on it. It was a point Lovewell’s attorney made. He had documents to show how this whole area is just not prime farmland, so he argued it wouldn’t really hurt to change the zoning to urban.”
“Water?”
Lenny answered question. “Their attorney dealt with water at the very outset. The consultant claims less water would be consumed by the residential units than by the existing farm. I doubt it, but we’d have to hire our own consultant to prove him wrong.”
Doris broke in. “We should have worked the water issue earlier. Now, it’s probably too late.”
“Not necessarily,” Ginya said, typing in a series of notes. “We can always go to court and ask for an injunction. If there’s any question about the adequacy of the water supply, it could be a basis for our request.”
“Can you just go to court for any reason?” Doris asked.
Ginya smiled. “You sure can. But it could be costly. If the judge considers the suit to be frivolous, then the defendant could counter sue and probably collect sizeable damages. I really consider legal action to be the last of our options. There just has to be a way to stop the rezoning at the commission level.”
Lenny chimed in. “My husband, Leif, had a contracting job to do some building on a big development in Hazleton, but at the last minute the zoning fell through because the mayor of the town didn’t sign the ordinance.”
Ginya and Doris both looked a question and Lenny grinned. “He couldn’t. Don’t you remember? Someone shot him the day before the bill got to him. The acting mayor who took over vetoed it.”
“Okay. You win. I’ll put that option even lower on the list than a lawsuit, especially since the county doesn’t have a mayor. There just has to be some way to convince the commission to vote no—maybe on some technicality.”
Doris could see the wheels spinning as Ginya continued. “It would put the development back to square one, and would give us plenty of time to bring up the water issue. From what you said, Doris, the MacKenzies won’t wait for all the rezoning rigmarole over again, and they’ll sell to you. There just has to be a way.”
She paused for a moment. “Hazleton? Did you say Hazleton, Lenny? Didn’t the proposed development include a big sixty-acre shopping mall?”
Lenny nodded.
“Geoffrey Fairweather had his hand in that,” Ginya remarked. “Did you happen to meet him?”
Doris guffawed. “Lenny’s known him since high school. He—along with half the male student body—were sweet on her, but Leif beat all of them out.”
Lenny blushed. Ginya became thoughtful. “You haven’t kept in touch with him, by any chance?”
The blush became deeper. “A couple of months ago he wrote. Told me he and his wife had gotten a divorce and he’d heard about Leif’s death. Asked if he could come by and see me. I wrote back ‘no’.”
“Hmm. There may be something there. Fairweather’s specialty is those giant malls. He might be interested in building one ou
t here. Do you have his address? Would you be willing to write to him? Or maybe phone him?”
“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Doris interrupted. “A residential development is bad enough. A giant mall would make matters even worse. Can you imagine what a mall would mean in the way of traffic? And it would generate even more pressure for additional residential development out this way.”
Ginya held up a hand. “That’s not what I had in mind. Listen.” Three heads leaned over the table as Ginya explained exactly what she did have in mind.”
***
The day of the fateful commission hearing dawned bright, crisp and clear. The three plotters met beforehand at the poultry farm.
“Lenny hasn’t lost her touch,” Doris announced. “Fairweather phoned back a couple of times. He’s eager to see her again.”
“I spoke to his attorney,” Ginya said. “Fortunately, he doesn’t know anything about the political situation. He just figures it’s a done deal, but he will show up to testify.” The baby face broke into an innocent smile. “I briefed him on what to say.”
“My,” Doris commented, “this should be a very exciting meeting.”
It was far more exciting than she had anticipated—a veritable cliffhanger. Feeling was running high, and Doris was astonished at the number of people who stood up to testify against the development. The commissioners looked bored, and Doris took the occasion to name off the members for Ginya’s benefit, since their nameplates were difficult to read from where they were sitting.
“First on the left is Mary Kravitz. She owns a consulting firm and votes one hundred percent for every development. Next is Flo Hansen. People call her a tree-hugger. She’s really concerned about the way the whole area is being covered with concrete. No question about her vote. Then there’s our ‘you can’t stop progress’ Chairman, Llewellyn Hartz. He’s a realtor, and he’s even said in public he’s never seen a development he didn’t like. Next is Luther Marquart. He’s a dairyman who had to move his whole farm because a big development went in next door to him. Dogs killed three of his prize calves, so he’s completely on our side.
“Then the last one on the end is our possible swing vote?” Ginya asked, eyeing the short, heavy-set man wearing glasses and a completely blank expression on his round, red face.
“Right. That’s Stan Stanley. I can’t believe we’ll be able to change his mind.”
Lenny surveyed the crowd and finally nudged Ginya. “Where’s Geoffrey’s attorney?”
“I’m not sure. He said he’d be here to testify. Maybe he had a flat or something.”
The testimony droned on, and the numbers left to testify were dwindling rapidly, since a two-minute time limit had been imposed on individual comments. Ginya was becoming increasingly nervous as she looked around, and her emotions communicated themselves to her companions.
When the last persons who’d signed up finished their remarks, the Chairman asked, “Is there anyone wishing to testify who hasn’t yet had the opportunity to do so?” He raised his gavel as he spoke.
The door to the hearing room swung open past several people who were crowded near it. “Yes. I would like to present some testimony.” The voice came from an expensively dressed newcomer—gray-haired, dignified. Doris took him to be a banker, at the very least. “Could he be the attorney?” She leaned over to ask Ginya.
Ginya shook her head just as Doris caught the changed expression on her sister’s face. “You mean you don’t recognize him?” Lenny asked. “That’s Geoffrey, himself.”
The chairman still held the gavel in midair, lowered it at sight of the new arrival and asked the clerk to administer the oath. Fairweather settled comfortably in front of the microphone, obviously accustomed to presenting testimony.
“Thank you Mr. Chairman and members of the commission for allowing me to testify. My attorney was supposed to represent my company here, today, but I felt this was too important a matter to do anything but present my testimony in person. I found out only recently about the Lovewell development, and I want to congratulate this community on an excellent plan and an ideal location. I’ve examined the plan very carefully and the only thing that’s missing is a commercial development. I’ve already spoken to the Lovewell CEO, and they have given my company a 99-year lease on 65 acres—contingent on this commission’s approval of the rezoning, of course.
“I’ve also contacted Ace Hardware, along with Sirloin Stockade, the national steak restaurant everyone’s talking about. And two discount stores, including Wal-Mart, are competing for a spot in the mall. I’m sure you can see the possibilities. With this location, there will be easy access for the townspeople here as well as for the residents of the development. We should be able to meet every shopping need—service stations, specialty shops, you name it. It will be a boon to the area. Now, I have a list of the potential tenants here.” He took several sheets of paper out of his briefcase and handed them to the clerk. “It will give you some idea of what a windfall this development with its commercial and shopping area will be for this entire region.”
Doris was watching Stanley while the Chairman ignored the two-minute limit, and Fairweather continued with a glowing description of how much business would be done by the future stores and how the residents of the town would benefit from the cheaper prices and the enormous variety of offerings.
Commissioner Stanley had clearly awakened from his somnolent state. His face seemed redder and, though there was no other change in his expression, Doris was sure he was hanging onto Fairweather’s every word. The latter paused, finally, and asked if there were any questions. Chairman Hartz exuded friendliness, thanked him for his testimony, declared the public portion of the hearing closed and called for a motion on the ordinance to enable the rezoning. Commissioner Kravitz immediately complied.
Without waiting for a second, Hartz said, “Please call the roll,” to the clerk, who adjusted the microphone and began:
“Commissioner Hansen?”
“No.
“Commission Chairman Hartz?”
“Aye.”
“Commissioner Kravitz?”
“Aye.”
“Commissioner Marquart?”
“No.”
“Commissioner Stanley?”
The crowded room, filled with whispers a moment before, became silent. A loud and unequivocal “No” broke the silence!
Applause broke out. The chairman looked dumfounded. The clerk’s summation of the roll was lost in the tumult. There was nothing left but a motion to adjourn and its immediate and unanimous approval.
Fairweather, who had been standing near the front of the hearing room, seemed baffled as he searched the audience. Lenny lifted a tentative hand to catch his attention. He came back to talk to the trio, who were surrounded by others.
“I can’t understand it,” were his first words after Lenny had made perfunctory introductions. “I’m really sorry, Lenny. I know how much you wanted a shopping mall near your home. I just thought the majority of the commissioners were for the development. Strange.”
Doris broke in. “That’s all right, Geoffrey. We live in a democracy. We just have to accept a majority decision. Let’s leave all this behind us. But we really appreciate your efforts. How about our treating you to dinner? There’s a good restaurant right nearby—Stan’s Steak House.”
“Best in the West,” Lenny added.
A WOMAN WAITING
MONDAY
This dreary, rainy Monday midway through the semester wasn’t all bad. Professor Roger Coulter could remember his student days when Mondays meant weekend hangovers, particularly once the mid-winter exams were out of the way. Well, they were out the way, but were no longer his headache. The class readers had corrected them. He’d gone over the papers, attached the grades, and had returned them to the students the previous Friday. There’d be some disgruntled ones coming by today, but it was all in a day’s work. In fact, the first one was already hovering outside his office when he arrived.
Or maybe not. He didn’t recognize her. A counselee, perhaps, one he’d seen only briefly at the beginning of the quarter. But, no, she quickly identified herself as a student in his class. With well over a hundred in the thrice weekly sessions, it wasn’t too surprising he couldn’t recall her. Except she was attractive, in a pale sort of way. What was the color of her hair? Platinum blonde he supposed. Blue eyes. Or were they gray? In any event, she was very probably an infrequent attendee now coming around to complain about her grade. Or perhaps she hadn’t bothered to take the exam, and was now going to beg for a make-up. Fat chance.
“I’m sorry, but what’s your name?” He was reaching for his grade book.
“Eve Harbinger.”
Yes, there it was. A hundred and forty-three students. He’d thought there were only one hundred and forty-two. But the grade brought his head up. An A. There weren’t many A’s in his classes. Why didn’t he recall her?
A faint smile lit up the rather elfin face. “That’s all right, Professor Coulter. People seldom remember me.”
He was hoping he didn’t show his embarrassment, or his sudden wonderment about someone who was “seldom remembered.”
He made it a point to scan the faces in his afternoon class, but couldn’t spot her. As he slipped effortlessly into the long familiar lecture, his thoughts turned to his research project. It was the end of the period before he again looked at the names in the grade book.
TUESDAY
Ordinarily, Dr. Michael Michaelson wouldn’t have considered squeezing in an unscheduled patient at the end of his lunch hour, but Roger Coulter had been under his care several years before. Suffering from the aftermath of a bitter divorce, the professor had responded satisfactorily after only a few counseling sessions. Michaelson remembered him well enough to know the urgency in his caller’s voice was genuine.
Expect the Unexpected Page 46
