Joanna waved to Rachel and Holly, beckoning them to join her in the front row of the bleachers near the podium. By the time they made their way to her, Tom was there waiting. He took Rachel’s arm and steered her far enough from Joanna that she wouldn’t hear them over the general racket.
“I wish you’d stayed home,” he said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I called in almost the whole crew, but I don’t know if it’ll be enough.” He gestured, indicating more than a dozen deputies spread along the top of the bleachers on both sides.
“I had to come for Joanna.” Before he could respond to that, Rachel added, “The man you were talking to is the one who came by our place yesterday.”
One corner of Tom’s mouth lifted in a hint of a grin. “Well, he’s still alive and doesn’t have any visible wounds, so I guess you weren’t too harsh with him.”
“Very funny. Has he said anything to you about selling the farm to Packard?” Lawrence Archer was watching them, she noticed. Rachel’s gaze connected with his, and he gave her a little wave and flashed the smile that transformed his face from pleasant to handsome. She acknowledged his greeting with a nod but didn’t return the smile.
“Not yet,” Tom said. “We’ve both been a little busy here. Don’t worry about it. If he brings it up, I’ll set him straight. I’ll tell him our land’s not for sale.”
Our land. Although Rachel might refer to the farm that way, she knew it didn’t belong to her. Tom had grown up there, and he’d inherited the property when his parents both died in an accident. He had told her he intended to add her name to the deed, but he hadn’t done it yet. The land, and the house they lived in, were Tom’s. He could sell it all and Rachel wouldn’t be able to stop him.
Ridiculous. Tom had just told her he would reject Packard’s offer, if one was made. Why was she inventing things to worry about?
Tom had turned his attention back to the crowd, scanning the bleachers on one side, then the other. “Try to keep Joanna quiet and in her seat. And the same goes for you.” His eyes met hers. “Please.” With that, he strode back to his position near the podium where he could watch the entire room.
As she rejoined Joanna and Holly, Rachel realized the crowd had divided the way fans of home and away teams usually did. They had further sorted themselves by social class, a tendency she’d noticed at the few local sports events she’d attended with Tom. On the opposite side of the room, several county supervisors clustered in front of the bleachers, deep in conversation with Robert McClure. Doctors, lawyers, and small business owners, most of them men, took up the first three rows. Behind them, less prosperous county residents crowded the benches at the top. At least two dozen people held signs with the single word JOBS handwritten on cardboard or white poster board.
Jake Hollinger, looking stiff and uneasy, and Tavia Richardson, detached and faintly amused, occupied a transitional zone with other owners of small farms, between the people in business attire and those whose clothing and general demeanor marked them as working poor or unemployed.
That was the pro-development side of the gym, and it was crammed.
Shifting to look behind her, Rachel saw an open space here and there but not as many as she’d feared. Most of the anti-development crowd was middle class, some were small farm owners, and she knew many of them as clients of her animal hospital and its vets. Tom’s aunts and uncles hadn’t shown up. They were better at following his wishes than she was. A sprinkling of signs, some hand-lettered and others printed, read NO TO PACKARD and HANDS OFF OUR LAND.
Rachel had publicly allied herself with the anti-development people, simply by sitting on this side of the room. And a lot of her clients were on the other side. Too late now to pretend neutrality. She wouldn’t desert Joanna.
Joanna poked her with an elbow. “Just look at that son of a bitch. So damned proud of himself for bringing this on us.”
For a second Rachel thought Joanna meant the Packard representative, then she realized the daggers shooting from her friend’s eyes were aimed at Robert McClure. He had joined the Packard man at the podium and took in the crowd with a smile of satisfaction. On the pro-development side, latecomers who couldn’t find seats jostled each other for space along the wall at the top of the bleachers or parked themselves on the steps in the aisles. Some people who had grabbed open seats on the anti side, apparently seeing they’d wandered into hostile territory, rose and stomped on a few feet in their haste to get out. They hustled across the gym to seek refuge with those of like mind.
When Brandon entered and closed the door to the gym behind him, the crowd quickly settled down. But even as the voices quieted, Rachel sensed a hum of tension and expectation in the air. Tom was right. This was going to be nasty.
Ellis O’Toole, the seventy-five-year-old chairman of the Mason County Board of Supervisors, stepped up to the microphone. The room went dead silent. O’Toole, a slight man with a rim of gray hair on an otherwise bald scalp, picked up the microphone and fussed with it. He flipped the on/off switch up and down. Tapping the head of the microphone, he set off a piercing feedback squeal that made him flinch.
Oh, for pity’s sake. Rachel wanted to yell at the man. Get on with it!
“Ladies and gentleman,” O’Toole began, his voice echoing, “thank you for coming out today. Our guest is vice president of Packard Development. As most of you know, Packard is a national company, and they’re interested in bringing a major project to Mason County. A project that could revitalize our county’s economy by creating a lot of new jobs.”
Somebody on the other side of the gym let out a shrill whistle, and a few people, including Jake Hollinger and Tavia Richardson, clapped. The anti-development side remained stonily silent. Beside Rachel, Joanna sat rigid, hands balled into tight fists and pressed together in her lap.
“I know you’re anxious to hear from our guest,” O’Toole continued, “but first I just want to thank Mr. Robert McClure, from Mason County’s oldest financial institution, for taking the lead in attracting development to our county. The Board of Supervisors is ready to work hand in hand with Packard to clear the way and make this happen.”
That was code, Rachel assumed, for the county board’s willingness to disregard zoning laws, permit requirements, environmental degradation, and other such pesky concerns. The developers would be given a green light to do anything they pleased.
“Now without any further ado, please welcome our guest, Mr. Lawrence Archer.”
The pro half of the crowd broke into applause, and many in the upper tiers of the bleachers stamped their feet and whistled. Glancing over her shoulder, Rachel saw that nobody on the anti-development side was applauding.
Archer smiled and patted the air to quiet the crowd. He took the microphone—he clearly felt more comfortable with the equipment than O’Toole did—and walked into the middle of the gym as he spoke.
“I know you’ve heard a lot of rumors about what Packard Resorts and Development plans to do in your county. I’m here to answer all your questions. By the time this meeting is over, I believe everybody here will agree that Packard is offering the citizens of Mason County an unprecedented opportunity for growth and prosperity.”
Archer waited for the reward of applause and cheers from one side of the room. Rachel glanced at Joanna to see her face pinched into a grim expression and her glare following Archer’s casual stroll around the draped table.
“What we plan to build,” he went on, “will be one of the nation’s premier mountain resorts, a destination that will attract an elite clientele looking for a restful place to get away from their busy lives. We’ll also offer conference facilities for corporations that want to combine business with a retreat for their executives.” He paused for a pregnant beat. “All of those people will be spending their money here in Mason County.”
Another round of applause exploded.
“Yeah, right.” Joanna lea
ned into Rachel, speaking into her ear. “They’ll spend it here, but it won’t stay here.”
As if he’d heard her, Archer went on, “I know you’re wondering how much of that money will stay in your community and benefit you and your families. Let me start at the beginning, with the construction. We’ll need workers, a lot of workers, and we’ll hire as many of them locally as we possibly can.”
Wild applause, hoots, and yells bounced off the high ceiling. Smiling, Archer basked in the approval for a moment before raising his hand to signal for quiet. “It could take as long as two years to complete all components of the plan, and in a minute I’ll show you exactly what we want to build here.” He gestured at the cloth-covered exhibit on the table. “Once the resort is open, we’ll need people to staff it and maintain it. Housekeepers, porters, cooks, wait staff in the dining rooms, gardeners and other grounds maintenance personnel.”
Minimum wage jobs, Rachel noted, with no opportunity for advancement.
“We want to build a small airport,” Archer continued, “and that will create jobs, too.”
Not on our land, Rachel thought. She reminded herself that none of this would happen if Joanna stood firm. Yet Archer’s confidence that the project would materialize stirred a deep unease in her.
After pausing when more handclapping interrupted him, Archer added, “But you won’t have to work at the resort to profit from it. We’ll buy vegetables, fruit, meat, and dairy products from local farmers. We’ll serve your homemade jams and jellies in our dining room, and we’ll sell them by the jar in the gift shop. We’ll sell the work of local craftspeople in the gift shop—handmade quilts, knitted items made from locally grown wool, wood carvings. If you have something of value to offer, we’ll help you reach customers willing to pay premium prices for it.”
A change had come over the crowd. Quieter but more attentive, they seemed completely caught up in Archer’s sales pitch. He was good, Rachel had to admit. He was handsome, he had a charming smile, and he painted a nice picture. A lot of people in the room were buying it. But Rachel didn’t believe a word of it.
“He makes it sound like a feudal society,” she murmured to Joanna.
“Exactly. He wants the whole county to work for Packard. They’d all be catering to a bunch of rich people at that fancy resort.”
Archer grasped the hem of the green cloth draping the display. “What I’m going to show you is a model, made to scale, of the facilities we’ll build if we’re able to secure the land we need. If you’re too far back to see clearly, please remain in your seats for now, and you’ll have all the time you want to take a close look after the meeting.”
With a flourish, he whipped off the green cloth and let it drop in a heap of folds onto the floor, revealing an elaborate cluster of buildings, parking lots, and what appeared to be two bodies of water. A smattering of applause rose from the other side of the gym, but it died down in seconds as people craned their necks to see the model and waited for Archer to continue.
“We’ll have swimming pools here and here.” Archer pointed to the two blue patches behind the buildings. He reeled off a list of other components: tennis courts, a children’s playground, a ballroom for weddings and other special events, a spacious center for business conferences, a sports club with its own cafe, a spa, a bistro, a bar, and a full-size restaurant. “Adjacent to the sports club,” he added, “we’ll have stables for people who enjoy horseback riding, and an eighteen-hole professional level golf course. We might even start our own annual tournament eventually. That would put Mason County on the map and bring in a lot of visitors with money to spend. Not to mention creating additional jobs for county residents.”
He was hitting the jobs button every two minutes, and Rachel felt sure that was all some people heard.
Beside her, Joanna choked out her words. “That’s my property. He wants to put all that right smack in the middle of my farm. He even wants my horses.”
“Just remember that they can’t force you to—” Rachel broke off to hear what Archer was telling the crowd.
“We have signed letters of intent to sell from several property owners in the part of the county we feel is optimal for development. We can’t move ahead until we have all the land we need. We’re offering top dollar. We hope you can all see the unprecedented opportunity that’s right in front of you.” Archer turned his back on his supporters and directly addressed the anti-development crowd. “You can choose to move forward and grab this chance to bring new growth and prosperity to Mason County, or you can choose to let your community sink deeper into poverty, and watch all your young people leave home to find work. I hope you’ll choose to revitalize your county, and that you’ll persuade your neighbors to do the same.”
The pro-development crowd rose as one, clapping and cheering. Rachel knew how they felt. Packard offered a rural, high-unemployment county the holy grail of jobs, jobs, jobs. Of course they wanted it.
Joanna jumped to her feet.
Rachel grabbed her arm. “Don’t, Joanna, please. Just wait it out.”
Joanna shook off Rachel’s hand and started speaking over the applause. Rachel could barely hear her, so she was sure no one else could. Joanna raised her voice to a shout that stretched across the room. “You’re not getting my land. I’ve put my heart and soul into that business, and I won’t sell it so it can be turned into,” she flung an arm toward the model on the table, “into that.”
“You ever been out of work, lady?” a man shouted from across the room. “You ever had to worry about feedin’ your kids?”
That set off a chorus of jeers directed at Joanna. “You ain’t even from here,” a woman screamed. “And you’ll get rich from sellin’ your land. Hell, you’re rich already. Take the money and go back where you come from.”
Joanna wouldn’t be silenced. Ignoring the whooping crowd, she focused on Archer. “Where do you get the right to tell me I have to give up my land and my business just because your company wants it?”
People around her rose in solidarity, and Rachel, then Holly, rose with them. Tom stepped forward into the center of the gym and raised a hand in a signal to the deputies at the rear of the bleachers. On both sides, the uniformed men began moving down into the aisles between sections, ready to act if the crowd got out of control. Archer looked on with a little smile, showing no inclination to help calm things down.
A woman yelled, “All you think about is keepin’ what’s yours. You don’t give a damn if the rest of us can’t find decent jobs.”
Decent jobs? Keep your mouth shut, Rachel told herself. Stay out of it. But these people had no idea what a predatory company they were inviting into their midst. Rachel knew. She’d done hours of research on Packard. Somebody had to force the citizens of Mason County to look at reality. But it couldn’t be her. She owed it to Tom to stay quiet.
To Rachel’s surprise, Holly spoke up. “If this place gets built here, nothing’s ever goin’ to be the same again. We’ll lose our peace and quiet. We’ll get a lot of traffic and all those strangers comin’ in. It’ll destroy our way of life.”
“What way of life?” a gravelly male voice shouted. “Bein’ dirt poor? Easy for you to talk, missy, after gettin’ all that money from your dead aunt.”
Holly seemed ready to shoot back a reply, but Rachel gripped her arm hard enough to stop her. “Don’t get into a fight with them. It’s pointless.”
A jumble of curses and accusations flew across the gym between the two groups, voices rising, fingers pointing, fists shaking.
Joanna had gone pale, her breathing rapid and shallow, and Rachel worried that she might faint. Placing an arm around her friend’s shoulders, Rachel felt Joanna trembling.
Tom grabbed the microphone from Archer. “Settle down,” he ordered the crowd, his deep, firm voice cutting through the racket, “or we’ll clear the room. If you can’t sit down and be quiet, you’ll have t
o leave.”
“She’s gonna keep this from goin’ through,” a red-haired woman protested. “Somebody needs to make her do what’s right.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Joanna cried. “You can’t tell me what to do with my own property.”
That provoked another storm of jeers.
Seeing Archer’s smug expression, Rachel realized this was exactly what he had hoped for: division in the community that would be strong enough to intimidate the holdouts into selling their land. He, or someone working for him, had made sure everyone knew Joanna was the primary enemy. The Packard representative had a job to do here, and when he’d achieved his objectives he would move on to disrupt some other community and never look back. He never had to stay and live with the animosity he’d stirred up.
When Tom succeeded in lowering the uproar to an angry mutter, Archer reclaimed the microphone and held up a hand like an evangelist exhorting the faithful. He was slick enough to justify the comparison, Rachel thought. A salesman, through and through.
“We’ve made firm offers for our initial land purchases,” Archer told the crowd, “and we hope we’ll be signing contracts soon. As I told you, whether we move ahead or not depends on our being able to purchase the acreage we need. The future of this project rests with the people of Mason County. Whether you choose progress or stagnation—the decision is in your hands.”
That was too much. Rachel had to say something. “Mr. Archer, would you mind answering a few questions about the way your company treats people?”
Without altering his smile, Archer opened his mouth to respond.
Rachel didn’t give him the chance. “Is it true that you hire half your employees as part-time workers so you won’t have to give them any benefits? And do you pay most of your employees minimum wage? Do you make them work on holidays without overtime pay? Is it true that if somebody gets sick, you fire them? If a woman gets pregnant, do you fire her as soon as her pregnancy starts to show? Is it true that more than two dozen major lawsuits by former employees are pending against Packard all over the country?”
Poisoned Ground Series, Book 6 Page 10
