Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Garrett can’t so easily dismiss this.
I hazard a peek over my shoulder. He’s pacing inside his little sales center, his phone pressed against his ear, his jaw tense. Who’s he talking to? If I had to guess, Richard. He hasn’t dared come out and address the crowd, though.
What’s he going to have to say to me after this? The thought of our next altercation has my adrenaline pumping.
“There’s Colin.” Shirley nods toward a balding man with black earmuffs casting a look both ways before trudging across the street. “Your developer friend called him to do a piece on his condominiums.” Shirley’s cackle is downright wicked. “We’ll give him a piece, all right.”
Colin stops in the middle of the street and lifts his camera, the lens aiming directly at me.
So I do the only thing I know how to do well—smile wide.
Chapter Fourteen
“I cannot believe you!” Scarlet howls with laughter, unfolding the local paper to get a better look. “When was this?”
“Tuesday.”
“You were protesting on Main Street on Tuesday and didn’t tell me?”
I stretch out on the living room couch. “Oops. I forgot.”
“Bullshit. You knew this was coming, and you wanted to shock me!” She playfully kicks my leg before her attention returns to the page. “‘David Takes On Goliath.’ I take it you’re David?”
“Yeah, making me the poster child was not the plan.” At least not my plan. Colin showed the pictures to Shirley the night of the protest, and she insisted on the close-up of me for the front page. According to her, it’d be more impactful to see a young face fighting for Polson Falls’ identity than her sour old one. “Read the article. It’s pretty good.” It stretches across pages two and three, with plenty more pictures, including one with Ned, sitting alone in Murphy’s window, the “Please don’t erase me” sign I made gripped in his fists, his face somber as he looks on.
It’s a gut-punch of a shot. Colin has skill.
“They must have rushed this to print.”
I watch quietly as Scarlet reads.
“‘Rather than utilize the historical bones of a building that has fed, clothed, and housed Polson Falls families, including Pulitzer Prize winner Hugh Whitman, for a century, HG is rushing to flatten it without public input, resident Justine MacDermott claims.’”
“I practiced that one a few times.”
Scarlet keeps reading. Her eyebrows pop. “‘Polson Falls mayor Ferris Gump acknowledges that while property development group HG is working with the town planning office for their building design, permits have not been issued. Residents’ response to these plans have not gone unnoticed, and the council will be meeting with the heritage commissioner next week to discuss.’ Oh my God, does that mean they might stop the build?”
I offer a one-shouldered shrug. “Shirley says it’s political doublespeak and they’re just buying themselves time until things settle down. But she also said it’s an election year, and Gump’s going to run again. The last thing he wants to do is piss off the people who come out to vote.”
“Wait, our mayor’s name is Ferris Gump? How did I not know this?”
“You’re not the only one. All these young families moving into these new homes? They may want development, but they get their news off social media headlines, not the Polson Falls Tribune. They’re not following this stuff. They don’t come to town meetings.” But Shirley and her crew do. “Gump may use the heritage commissioner as an excuse to delay approving building permits until after the election for fear of losing votes.”
“But they’d risk pissing off a developer who’s investing a ton into this town?”
“The town will blame the historical committee and noisy residents.” Like me. “It’s probably just lip service, but it has to be making HG sweat.” I know for a fact Garrett reads the local paper.
“Listen to you.” Scarlet studies the article another moment before tossing the newspaper to land on my head. “We’re framing that, you anarchist.”
“Damn straight. It’s one of my best pictures yet.”
“In fact …” She grabs her phone and types out a message.
“Who are you texting?”
“Shane. I asked him to go find as many copies as he can. We’re sending a copy to your parents, and to Joe.”
“Speaking of which, ugh.” I groan, smoothing my hands over my face with the reminder. “Joe texted me the invitation to their engagement party next weekend. They wish to seek the pleasure of my company at the Waltons’ residence on the thirteenth of February in the eve,” I recite in a mock British accent that conflicts with my Bostonian twang. “On Valentine’s Day weekend. Like hell I’ll be there.”
“You’re not going?”
“Of course I’m going,” I mutter. “I’ll put on a dress and pretend I don’t care, and hate every second of it with a big, fat smile.”
Scarlet’s face pinches with sympathy. “You could say yes and then bail. Say you’re sick.”