Elected for Death

by Valerie Wolzien

  She mused, also not for the first time, that it was an even rarer person who coupled the qualities of a natural campaigner with the dedication, intelligence, morality, and empathy that made a great leader. A person unlike Bradley Chadwick, she thought, noticing the man himself walking toward her.

  “Mrs. Henshaw.” He beamed, apparently thrilled that he had remembered her name. “First we meet at the high-school soccer game and now here. Do you have a daughter who plays on one of these teams?”

  “I have a daughter, but she’s in college,” Susan said.

  Bradley Chadwick, she noticed, did not say that she looked much too young to have a daughter in college. Perhaps plastic surgeons weren’t accustomed to telling lies of that nature about age. “How nice,” he muttered, looking out across the field.

  “Are you watching your daughter?” Susan asked politely, turning to see if she recognized one of the blond Chadwick daughters. But Bradley, she realized, wasn’t watching the players. He was watching his wife.

  And Cassandra Chadwick was watching Tom Davidson.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “She was staring at you.”

  “I gather you don’t think it was my animal magnetism,” Tom said, dropping two tapes on the floor of her car and bending down to pick them up.

  “It’s not that. It just seemed a little strange.… She looked so … like she was concentrating so hard.” She wondered if he thought she couldn’t drive and talk at the same time.

  “She’s a real piece of work—a very tense woman.”

  “Everyone involved in the election is tense these days. After all, the election is only three days away. Look at Theresa Martel—she’s probably going nuts at this point.”

  “She hasn’t been around much recently, has she?”

  Susan frowned. “Did you see her at the debate last night?”

  Tom shook his head. “Nope.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “There was a huge crowd there. I might have missed her. Not all the family members sat in the front like you did.”

  “True.” Susan steered her car into the parking lot and put on the brake. “Is there a phone around here that I can use? I should let my family know I’m going to be late.”

  “You’re not attending any last-minute cottage parties?” Tom asked, getting out of the car.

  “There aren’t any—thank goodness. And the last mailings have gone out. I’m supposed to be spending the weekend on the phone calling up supporters to make sure they vote. I think it’s a pointless task myself, but it’s one of the duties of a candidate’s wife.” She followed him into the station and to his office, stopping to use the phone on his desk to leave a message for Jed, before entering a tiny room furnished with two folding chairs, five television monitors, and two tape machines. A gigantic metal cabinet covered one wall and Tom opened this. Susan peered over his shoulder at its contents. What looked like hundreds of tapes were stacked on shelves. Some had peeling labels hanging from them. “These are the tapes of the town meetings?” she asked, hoping the answer was no.

  Fat chance. “Sure are.” He started to take tapes out and toss them across the room onto a ledge above twin tape machines.

  “How do you know what is what?”

  “Simple. Town council meetings on the top shelf. Then it goes down in alphabetical order. So these are the Landmark Commission.” He grabbed a couple more tapes and added them to the pile. “And the Zoning Board is here on the floor.”

  Susan looked at the rising towers. “Are you sure I can’t take these home?” It was going to take forever—even if she fast-forwarded through most of the meetings.

  “Station policy,” Tom repeated. “There are two tape machines. Maybe you could call your husband to help out?”

  Susan thought for a few minutes. She didn’t think Jed would want his every word recorded by the enthusiastic reporter. “He’s busy … but maybe Kathleen could help out.” It was an inspired idea. “Do you mind if I use the phone again?”

  Tom motioned to one hanging on the wall. “Feel free.”

  Kathleen answered and listened as Susan made her request for help. “What’s Jed doing this evening?” she asked when Susan had ended.

  “Well, he needs a break,” Susan began, glancing at Tom.

  “Good. Then maybe he can go to the new Arnold Schwarzenegger movie with Jerry and I’ll come help you. Jerry’s mom arrived for the weekend, so I don’t have to worry about getting a sitter.”

  “That bad, is it?” Susan knew that no matter how wonderful the mother-in-law, it could be a stressful relationship.

  “We’ll talk when I get there,” Kathleen promised. “Which should be soon. Jerry can take everyone out to dinner someplace. See you soon.”

  “She’s on her way over,” Susan said.

  “Fine. Do you want me to teach you to use this thing?”

  Susan stared at the large tape player. “That’s fast forward?” she pointed to a button with an arrow printed on it.

  “Sure. Do you want to start with the Landmark Commission or the Zoning Board?”

  “Well …”

  “Or you could alternate between them in chronological order. You know, first the Zoning Board meeting the first week of the month and then the Landmark Commission meetings in the same month.”

  “The Landmark Commission meets more than the Zoning Board?”

  “The Landmark Commission meets and meets and meets. And, believe me, they accomplish as little as possible in the longest time possible. That Penelope Thomas sure loves to listen to herself talk—in fact, they all do.… Well, you’ll see for yourself in a few minutes. First the Zoning Board?”

  “But how do you know where we should start?”

  “I thought it made sense to start the week the Landmark Commission was created.” He popped a tape into the machine. “You’ll see. It didn’t go unnoticed by anyone on the Zoning Board.”

  Susan leaned forward as one of the small meeting rooms down at the town hall came into focus. People were walking in the door, greeting each other, and finding seats around the table set up before a couple of dozen folding chairs. The camera panned to the left and focused on a board announcing the date and the name of the group meeting. Then it wandered into the audience, recording for posterity (or whenever this tape was erased) two women she knew critically discussing another friend’s new hairstyle. Susan relaxed. This might turn out to be fun.

  When Kathleen arrived, less than half an hour later, she had changed her mind.

  “Hi! I brought sandwiches from the deli,” Kathleen announced, walking into the room with a large paper bag in her hand.

  “Great!” Tom Davidson said enthusiastically. Then he looked at the two women with an embarrassed expression on his face. “I mean …” he began.

  “I brought some for you, too,” Kathleen hurried to assure him. “Roast beef on rye, corned beef on rye, ham and cheese on whole wheat with mayo. Take your pick.”

  The food was passed out and Susan began to eat without pressing pause on the machine she sat before. Kathleen leaned over her shoulder and peered at the screen. “I recognize Penelope Thomas, so this must be the Landmark Commission,” she said.

  “Nope. The Zoning Board. Penelope is on both. You can tell the difference if you watch for Lyman Nearing. He’s on both, too—but he only attends the Zoning Board meetings.”

  “That Penelope Thomas is a busy woman,” Kathleen commented, sitting down by Susan. “Does she run the Zoning Board with as firm a hand as she does the Landmark Commission?”

  “Not at all. This is only the second Zoning Board meeting I’ve watched, but so far she merely seems to be a thorn in the side of the rest of the board. Her view that nothing, absolutely nothing, should change in Hancock is consistent.”

  “I wonder why,” Kathleen said.

  “Some people just don’t like change,” Tom Davidson suggested. “They find it threatening.”

  “Sure,” Susan agreed slowly. “But what exactly does Pen
elope gain if she actually manages to stop all change in Hancock?”

  Tom Davidson stopped eating and looked at Susan. “That’s a very good question, but I still don’t understand why are you so sure this has something to do with Ivan Deakin’s murder.”

  “I don’t know yet. But there must be a connection somewhere. There just isn’t anything in his private life that would cause anyone to kill him,” Susan said, pushing the image of Erika Eden to the back of her brain. Brett had good instincts. If he said Erika wasn’t guilty, she wasn’t guilty. Probably.

  “Perhaps he had extensive land holdings that would be affected by the election?” Tom suggested.

  “Apparently the man was almost destitute. He was renting his home here actually,” Susan answered. “And his current restaurant isn’t in town.”

  “Oh, that’s where Jerry is taking his mother and the kids tonight,” Kathleen said. “I thought someone should check it out and suggested it to him.”

  “Great idea,” Susan said. “Is it still open?”

  “They were taking reservations when Jerry called—but they may be desperate for business. Jerry said that they claimed it was fine to bring two small children.”

  “Maybe it’s a family restaurant,” Tom suggested.

  “Maison Catherine? I doubt it,” Kathleen said.

  Tom appeared mystified. “Why not?”

  “Family restaurants never have French words in their names,” Susan explained. “If it’s a chez something, maison de something, or the something bistro, they probably don’t have high chairs waiting.”

  “Except in France,” Kathleen added.

  “Funny that things should be slow at Ivan’s restaurant,” Tom commented. “Usually any notoriety brings in the customers rather than keeps them away. Except for something like a salmonella scare, of course.”

  “Good point,” Susan said.

  “I guess you don’t know much about Maison Catherine, do you?” Kathleen said. “It’s gotten one of the worst reviews the Hancock Herald ever gave. I was going through old papers looking for someplace to hold the spring fashion show for Alex’s school and I was astounded by the review. It all but said go to McDonald’s before you go here.”

  “Must be pretty bad,” Tom commented.

  Susan wondered if Kathleen had learned absolutely nothing from the years of their friendship. The first rule of remaining sane in Hancock was “Avoid organizing charity fashion shows.” She pressed the fast-forward button and sped through a plaintive plea for an exemption to the zoning laws by a man who wanted to add a four-car garage to his substandard property. The rest of the meeting was taken up by a developer asking to subdivide some land for sale on the river. Susan was flashing through the request when Tom reached out and stopped and rewound the machine to the beginning of the man’s speech.

  “Why did you—?” Susan began.

  “Look at that.”

  Both women leaned into the screen—and then exchanged looks.

  “Look at what?” Kathleen asked.

  “Look at Penelope Thomas!” He pointed at the screen with his pen. “Watch her while the developer is talking.”

  The threesome watched closely. Susan was frowning, Kathleen puzzled, and Tom triumphant. “That’s what we were looking for!” he said as the speaker resumed his seat.

  “What?”

  The women asked the question together.

  “That man is talking about subdividing land down on the river.”

  “That’s right. By the old gristmill,” Susan said, leaning forward. “I heard something about that last summer.”

  “And Penelope Thomas looks happy about that—which is weird,” Kathleen said. “That’s a particularly historic part of town. Almost anyone would want to preserve it.”

  “And it’s near her house,” Susan added.

  “But the board hasn’t voted on it yet. She’s sitting there happy as a clam listening to a man who is asking to do something she would find absolutely unacceptable if it were allowed to happen.”

  “And there’s no way she can be sure his request will be denied, is there?” Kathleen asked.

  “It will be denied,” Tom insisted. “I’ve been through all these tapes already. It was denied at the next meeting of the board.”

  “And Penelope knew that would happen?” Kathleen asked.

  “I don’t see how.… Why don’t we skip to that tape and maybe we can find out,” Tom suggested.

  “Good idea,” Susan said. “If we can find it.” She stopped, seeing that Tom was still able to put his hand right on the item that was needed.

  “Here you are.” He cheerfully ejected one tape and popped in another. “Let’s see.…”

  He reached out and pressed the stop button just as the same man they had seen at the earlier meeting stood up to speak. Tom turned up the volume and they all listened to the man’s impassioned plea for free enterprise in Hancock. It was a good speech. Susan found herself wondering if he was a citizen—and could be convinced to run for office sometime in the future.

  The point the man was making was that his project would be good for Hancock. An architect had apparently found a way to build three single-family homes on the empty three miles north of the old gristmill without impinging on the building. In fact, the plans would also include control of the flood plain that would keep the mill from being flooded each spring. Thus, the man argued, not only would the project expand the tax base for Hancock, but it would actually preserve the historic structure.

  “His request is going to be denied?” Kathleen asked Tom.

  “Watch,” he insisted, pointing at the screen.

  There was some general discussion of the request. Two members of the board had done their homework and precedents were brought up and explained. Another woman, apparently an expert in the laws regarding wetlands and the environment, expressed a lot of positive feelings about the project. No one watching could doubt that the man was going to be given permission to begin his project. Until Penelope Thomas took the floor.

  She didn’t waste any time arguing with the board members. She didn’t even bother to address the man who had made the request. She simply explained that this particular property fell under the jurisdiction of the Landmark Commission and that, as chairperson of that commission, she was sure the request would be denied. The Zoning Board could do what they wished, of course, but an approval of this project would only be a waste of time—for the man making the request. She smiled at him and sat down.

  The camera was at the rear of the room and only the back of the man’s head was visible. But there was an unobstructed view of the members of the board. Some looked unhappy. Some looked furious. But all of them voted to turn down the man’s request for a variance.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Well, what do you know? That woman has the most amazing power.” Susan said, leaning back in her chair—and smacking her head against a pile of tapes, knocking them to the floor.

  “I’ll get them,” Tom insisted. “That was some performance, wasn’t it?” he added, stooping down.

  “I told you so,” Kathleen reminded her. “It’s just like you said. The woman has the most amazing powers. How else would she ever have talked the Hancock Environmental Commission into having a booth at the Fall Festival?”

  Susan looked at Kathleen, a puzzled expression on her face. “How did that happen exactly?”

  Kathleen thought for a moment. “I’m not sure really. I heard that Penelope badgered the planning committee until they just couldn’t say no.” She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “Maybe I could make a few calls and find out a little more than that.”

  “Sounds like a pretty good idea,” Tom said, sorting through the tapes that had fallen.

  “Is there anything else here that you think I should see?” Susan asked. “Because I don’t think there’s any way I’m going to get through all this tonight.”

  Tom started to answer when Kathleen interrupted him.

  “Anyon
e want to get dessert at the Hancock Inn?”

  “Dessert?” Susan looked at the piles of tapes and back to her friend. “Are you still hungry?”

  “That’s where the answer to our question about the Fall Festival is. The steering committee is celebrating a birthday party there tonight,” she explained. “I thought maybe we could go over and have dessert and coffee—or a glass of brandy—and ask a few questions.”

  “I was going to say that you’ve already gotten the gist of what is happening on these two committees by the tapes you’ve seen,” Tom added.

  “Then maybe we should get going,” Susan said. “You’ll come with us, won’t you?” she added to the young man.

  “I have some things to do here,” he said slowly.

  “You might miss a good story,” Susan urged, thinking that he would like to accompany them if only she could assuage any guilt he might be feeling about leaving the station.

  “Well, I’ll probably be here late tonight,” he said. “I do have more work to do.”

  “Then you can probably use the caffeine. And the inn makes great chocolate cheesecake,” Susan added, knowing it was a favorite with people young enough and thin enough not to be worrying about either cholesterol or calories.

  “We should get going,” Kathleen urged them.

  “I’m ready.” Tom stood up.

  “Shouldn’t we clean up?” Susan asked, realizing, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, that she sounded just like a mother.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do it when I get back.”

  He sounded just like a son.

  Susan led the other two from the building to the parking lot. They got in her car and, less than fifteen minutes later, were driving up to the inn.

  “The lot’s full,” Kathleen said, looking around.

  “It’s Saturday night. They might not be able to take us,” Tom said.

  “There’s always a seat for Susan here,” Kathleen assured him, getting out of the car.