The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade

by Virginia Smith

  The clinic door opened and Susan stood in the doorway, her face unreadable.

  “Please tell your husband how much I appreciate his work,” she said in a carefully even tone. “On second thought, I think I’ll hold off on the discount offer for the time being.”

  Though Millie didn’t know the girl well, the rapid convulsions of her throat spoke of tears being swallowed back.

  “If you change your mind, I can have them printed and mailed within a couple of days.”

  With another swallow, Susan nodded and disappeared back into the office. Millie stared at the door thoughtfully. The poor child. In many ways she seemed very young, regardless of her education and accomplishments.

  Millie’s glance fell on the fax machine and a hard knot settled in the pit of her stomach. How awful of her to take a dislike to a man she’d never even met.

  Chapter Ten

  The Goose Creek City Hall was situated in the ancient brick building that used to house the jail, back in the days when the town was responsible for dispensing justice on its own. Al figured the building was old even when the Updyke house had been built. The cells in the back of the building had been renovated into a conference room, and the second floor contained offices for the Mayor and Sally Bright, his secretary.

  The City Council met the first and third Thursdays of every month. Normally these meetings were attended only by the six Council members. Though the public was invited to attend any meeting, no one ever bothered. Al held the general impression that the meetings were spent going over complaint letters involving residents who failed to clean up after their pets or had noisy neighbors.

  But tonight’s meeting was different. After supper, Al donned his jacket, kissed Millie’s cheek, and headed for Main Street. He intended to maintain a cautious stance of noncommittal in the case of the water tower painting contract, but with the remote possibility that he might one day become a business owner in Goose Creek, he felt it prudent to at least stay advised on the issue.

  Apparently he was not the only one. When he turned the corner to Main Street he spied a crowd on the sidewalk outside of City Hall. Dividing lines had definitely been drawn. To one side stood a small group clustered around Norman Pilkington, who was expressing his opinion loudly and with much waving of his hands in the air. Instead of his usual worn T-shirt, he’d donned a blue button-up this evening and tucked it into a pair of relatively clean baggy denims. Al scanned the faces around him. No sign of Little Norm. Odd, since he stood to benefit the most if his father’s petition was successful tonight.

  A few feet away stood a slightly larger crowd with apparently no leader, since they stared off into space, shuffled on their feet, and appeared to put forth an effort not to meet anyone’s eye. Al spied a few familiar faces. Pete Lawson, the Cardwells, and Miles Stockton. Since they had all been vocal in their support of the Council putting the painting project out to bid, Al recognized that group as Norman’s opposition.

  A third group stood a noticeable distance away. He knew even more of these people, and gravitated toward them. He slid into place beside Bill Zigler, a friend from church with whom he had spoken the night before. Bill and the others in this group had decided to maintain a neutral stance in the painting contract dispute.

  “Quite a crowd tonight,” commented Bill.

  Al nodded. “Didn’t expect as many.”

  “Nobody wants to miss a good fight,” put in Fred Rightmeier from behind.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Al said over his shoulder.

  “From the looks of those guys over there,” Bill nodded his head toward Norman’s group, “I have a feeling it may.”

  A movement across the street drew their attention. Diane Hudson and Phyllis Bozart, both Council members, crossed to the center of the street and hesitated on the railroad tracks, their gazes sweeping the crowd. Al detected caution in both ladies’ stances. Diane clutched her handbag to her chest with both hands while Phyllis hugged herself tightly across her middle. The crowd noticed them.

  “Hey, there’s two of ’em now,” shouted Norman. “How you gonna vote tonight?”

  The ladies exchanged glances and Diane answered. “We have several issues on the agenda tonight.”

  An obvious stalling technique, and one that did not find favor with the crowd, who grumbled.

  Norman held a spiral notebook above his head and shook it. “I got yer issue right here.”

  The ladies were saved from answering when the City Hall door opened from the inside. Mayor Selbo appeared on the doorstep, his gaze fixed on the pair. “Ladies, come on in. The rest of the Council is inside and we’re about ready to start.”

  As they made their way across the street people began to press toward the door.

  Jerry held up his hands. “Were not quite ready to let the public in yet.”

  Norman marched up to him. “This here’s a public meeting, ain’t it? We aim to come in and say our piece.”

  “And you will have the opportunity, but first the Council has some things to discuss in private.”

  “Whaddya mean, private?” Norman turned toward the crowd. “They ain’t allowed to do that, are they?”

  Jerry raised his voice to be heard above the answering grumbles. “If you check the Council’s charter you’ll discover that we are within our rights to close some meetings to the public. Now, we don’t intend to do that tonight. We want to hear what you have to say. But first we need to establish some guidelines among the Council members.” The two nervous Council women arrived at the door and Jerry ushered them inside. “I’ll let you know when it’s your turn to speak. I promise I won’t leave you out here long.”

  He closed the door behind him, and a murmur arose from the people on the sidewalk. How in the world Jerry remained so calm Al couldn’t imagine. His estimation of the mayor rose a few notches.

  Lucy turned. “Any luck selling your house yet?”

  “None at all.” He tried not to sound cheerful. “Haven’t had a single showing.”

  Leonard, whose shoulders seemed even more stooped without his customary white pharmacy coat, sucked in his cheeks. The gesture made his narrow face appear even more gaunt than usual. “Tough market.”

  Several heads nodded agreement, but Lucy awarded Al with a bright smile. “I wouldn’t worry. As I told Millie, things will work out for the best. They always do.”

  Since that’s what Al was counting on, he nodded agreement.

  Fifteen minutes passed, and those waiting outside fidgeted. A note of irritation infected the mumbling, and Al’s patience began to evaporate. Maybe he’d just head on home after all. No doubt Millie would hear all about the meeting tomorrow and would report every detail. He opened his mouth to bid farewell to Bill, but snapped it shut when the door opened.

  The mayor appeared once again. “Thank you for your patience. Tonight’s City Council meeting is now declared open to the public.” He gave an apologetic grimace. “I’m afraid there’s not much room in here. Hope you don’t mind getting friendly with your neighbors.”

  A few in the center group chuckled as everyone pressed forward. Norman, clutching his notebook in a fist, pushed to the front. Al found himself swept along with the crowd.

  Instead of the back conference room, the Council members had arranged their chairs behind a couple of long folding tables on the far side of the main entry room. Al saw the wisdom of that immediately. This room was bigger, though not nearly large enough to hold the number of people waiting outside. There were no chairs, so he found himself squashed shoulder-to-shoulder between Bill and Jacob Pulliam, squarely behind Leonard. From this vantage point he could see Gary Vandergrift on the far left of the line of Council members, half of Aaron Southworth, and on the opposite end he had a good view of Lynn Bowers. Beside her, perched on the end, sat Sally with her pen poised above a legal pad. Someone pressed him from behind, and he dug his heels in to keep from having his nose shoved into Lenoard’s back.

  Jerry skirted the
table and took his chair in the center, completely hidden from view behind Leonard’s sweater-draped body. “Sorry about the wait, folks. Thanks for your cooperation.”

  Someone on the far side of the room shouted toward the mayor. “What’d y’all talk about while we was outside?”

  “Mostly we were rearranging the furniture.” Al heard a laugh in Jerry’s voice, which was answered by several in the audience. “And we called the meeting to order and checked a few things in our charter. You can read about it in the minutes, if you’re interested.”

  Norman, who stood front and center of the onlookers, brandished his notebook in the air above his balding head. “I got a petition here that says—”

  “Hold on there, Norman.” Jerry’s voice, polite but stern enough to be commanding, cut the man off. “This is an official meeting of the Goose Creek City Council. We have a published agenda, and we’re obliged to follow it. I’ll let you know when it’s your turn to speak.”

  From his vantage point, Al watched Norman’s mouth snap shut in profile and his cheeks bulge. He jerked a nod.

  “First order of business,” continued Jerry, “is a report from Kentucky American Water. Lynn, I believe you have that.”

  Lynn bent over a paper in front of her, her bangs falling forward. “I do. They report that the fence surrounding the meter pit on Junior Watson’s farm has been built and is now secure from livestock. Apparently it took longer than anticipated because the workmen had to be dispatched multiple times.”

  A voice from the back of the room piped up. “I reckon so. I wouldn’t go in that pasture either, with Junior refusin’ to round up that ornery bull of his. A feller could end up on the wrong side of a beefsteak dinner that’a’way.”

  Several people snickered, and Lynn’s lips twitched before she continued. “On a positive note, they say they’ve obtained the necessary easements to run a twelve-inch line to Goose Creek that ought to help the supply to several parts of town.” She pushed the paper forward on the table’s surface.

  “That’s fine,” said Jerry. “Any discussion on that issue?”

  Gary and Aaron, and presumably the rest of the Council, shook their heads.

  “Good. We’ll count that one closed. Next on the agenda is the complaint about Paul Simpson’s back deck. Aaron, you have that one, don’t you?”

  The sheet of paper Aaron picked up trembled visibly. Al felt a wave of sympathy for the reclusive man. He’d won his appointment to the Council last year when his mother, feeling he needed a shove into the public eye if he was to catch the attention of a suitable wife, asked her ladies’ group to write him in as a candidate.

  He cleared his throat. “Last year the Council approved an encroachment permit for Mr. Simpson to install pavers leading through his yard and out to the street to aid in water drainage. Turns out Mr. Simpson poured concrete instead of pavers. The complaint came from one of his neighbors.”

  “Somebody ought to tell old lady Emerson to mind her own business,” came a female voice from somewhere to Al’s right.

  Jerry ignored the comment. “What’d you find out, Aaron?”

  The man answered in a monotone, reading his response from the wavering paper. “Jim Maybrier and I inspected the path during a heavy rain. In Mr. Maybrier’s professional opinion, there is no difference in the way water runs off from concrete as opposed to the originally proposed pavers. I also checked the ordinance and discovered that there is no requirement for a citizen to file an amended request for a permit when the method or materials change, as long as the original stated intent is achieved. Therefore I move that the issue be dismissed without further action.” He set the paper down and sank against the back of his chair.

  “I second,” piped up Phyllis.

  “Any discussion?” asked Jerry. Silence. “Then all in favor?”

  The hands that Al could see all lifted.

  “Let the minutes reflect that the motion is passed unanimously.”

  A loud sigh sounded from somewhere behind Al. He cranked his head and caught sight of Paul Simpson mopping his brow with a red handkerchief.

  “And now to the issue that has brought us all here tonight.” Al detected a note of resignation in Jerry’s voice. “Next on the agenda is the painting of Goose Creek’s water tower.” Before anyone could say a word he continued. “First we will review the discussions from our previous meetings, and then we will open the floor.”

  “What previous meetings? Shouldn’t we have been involved in those?” The question came from Woody Edwards, who stood beside Norman.

  “The primary discussion occurred at our last meeting,” answered Gary. “Nobody attended that one, or any other Council meeting in the past six months.”

  “That’s ’cause they’re so boring,” piped up someone from behind.

  Jerry’s ever-patient voice rose over the answering laughter. “The minutes of our meetings are a matter of public record. If you want to know what happened at the last meeting, give us a call at the office and Sally will be happy to email you a copy. But to make sure everyone’s up to speed, let me recap.”

  Al edged sideways, though his shoulder pressed uncomfortably against Jacob’s, and angled his head so he could see most of Jerry’s face. Cool as a cucumber, though was that a sheen of sweat on his forehead? Might be the temperature, though. With all these people in the room, Al was starting to feel a bit warm himself. He’d shrug out of his jacket if he had the room. What would the fire marshal say about the capacity of this room to hold a crowd this size?

  The mayor put on a pair of reading glasses and scanned a document on the table in front of him. “Last month it was brought to the Council’s attention by a member of the community that the water tower’s peeling paint was unsightly and cast the town in a bad light to visitors.”

  “That’s true enough,” agreed Miles from the audience.

  Jerry glanced up over the top of the glasses, and then continued. “The Council discussed the complaint and agreed that it had merit, and unanimously approved the expenditure of having the tower painted. We also agreed that the job should be completed before our annual Fall Festival, in order to maximize the town’s appeal to outsiders.”

  He paused. Tension mounted among the onlookers as they waited for him to continue. The hair on Al’s arms actually prickled beneath his jacket.

  The mayor cleared his throat and kept his gaze fixed on the document. “There was a concern expressed by a member of the Council”—he looked briefly up—“that the existing paint job had not lasted nearly as long as should be expected.”

  “Been havin’ some nasty weather these past few years,” said Norman in a loud and defensive tone. A few murmurs of agreement answered him, but most everyone stayed silent.

  “The rest of the Council agreed. We also discussed the Council’s obligation to manage public funds in a conscientious manner.”

  Al considered that last remark. In other words, they’d probably talked about what a waste of money it had been to pay Little Norm for substandard workmanship. Not to mention the disturbing color.

  “Managing public funds is what we’re talkin’ about,” said Norman.

  Now Jerry showed the first signs of impatience. He removed his glasses and leveled a stare on Norman. “We haven’t opened the floor for discussion yet. You’ll have the opportunity to speak, so please save your comments until that time.”

  Nicely handled. Good for him.

  Norman cast an outraged glance to those in his immediate vicinity, but held his tongue.

  The glasses were put back on. “After much consideration, the council agreed that the most fiscally responsible action was to publish a Request for Bid. I undertook the task of drafting the RFB, which I have circulated and hope you’ve all had time to read.” He paused, and the Council members Al could see all nodded. Sally scribbled on her legal pad.

  “Did anyone have any questions?” He looked up. “Anyone on the Council, I mean.”

  “I do,” said Diane. “I
n section 12.a you said the bids have to be submitted by April twentieth. That gives prospective painters less than two weeks. Is that enough time?”

  Gary answered. “It’ll have to be. Summer is a busy time for painters, so we’ll probably run into scheduling conflicts. We need to give them as much time as possible to finish the job by the Festival at the beginning of September.”

  Norman apparently couldn’t let that comment pass. “Bull flookies. Don’t take hardly no time a’tall to slap some paint on a water tower.”

  Al exchanged a glance with Bill. Obviously, that was the problem last time. Little Norm completed the job quickly, and the town had suffered for it ever since.

  The mayor ignored the outburst. “I agree, Gary. Sally has assembled a list of potential painters, so in addition to filing the RFB publicly, we’ll also be sending a dozen or so directly. They’ll know about it within a couple of days, which should give them plenty of time to respond. Any other questions?” Jerry’s glance slid up and down both sides of the table. When no one answered, his chest inflated slowly. He stood, removed his glasses, and gazed at the onlookers. “Okay then. Let’s open this issue for discussion.” Before anyone could speak, he held up a hand. “This will be conducted in an orderly fashion. If you have something to say, please make your way to the front row and raise your hand. I will call on each of you in turn. We don’t have a microphone, so speak loudly enough to be heard by everyone. First please state your name so Sally can record it in the minutes.”

  Norman, already on the front row, shot his hand in the air. A few other hands also rose, and the crowd began to shuffle as some attempted to make their way forward. Al took the opportunity to edge sideways to take up a position behind Lucy. From that vantage point he could see the entire Council over the top of her head.

  Jerry pointed with his glasses at Norman, and then lowered himself to his seat.