A Fountain Filled With Blood

“I was saying it back in ’seventy and I’ll say it now: Allowing that PCB dump was a big mistake. They said it was airtight and leakproof and they waved a chunk of money in front of the town council until the aldermen rolled over and said yes. Then they put the blasted thing in the old shale quarry, even though a high school geology teacher, which you were at the time, Jim Cameron, could have told them shale was a highly permeable rock!” She turned her head to address her neighbors. “That means it leaks!”

“I protested against it, too, Mrs. Van Alstyne,” the mayor said.

Clare’s mental fog cleared away. That wasn’t Russ’s wife. “It’s his mother,” she said under her breath. Paul Foubert looked at her curiously. She felt her cheeks grow warmer.

“The state cleaned up that site in ’seventy-nine,” Mayor Cameron continued. “Last tests show traces of PCB in the quarry, but they’re at acceptable levels.”

“Of course they are! The blasted stuff leaked away into the bedrock. Now along comes BWI Development and gives us the same song and dance, this time promising lots of money from the tourists and lots of jobs, and what does the Planning Board do? Roll over and hand ’em a permit to start plowing and blasting over fifty acres of Landry property. It’s been three months they’ve been working, and suddenly we find PCBs in the Dewitt Elementary playground. This stuff causes cancer, and it’s in our playground!”

“Can we just stop the hysterics and stick to the facts!” An angular blond woman stood near the front row. In contrast to the Wednesday-night casual dress of the rest of the crowd, her suit was so sharply cut, it looked bulletproof. “Before we ever started construction, we had to get a permit from the state Department of Environmental Protection. It took them two years to grant it. Two years! They tested the quarry. They tested the water. They tested the damn trees, for all I know. The PCBs are at acceptable levels at the resort site. Acceptable. Levels. There may be more of the stuff in the river, but there’s no reason to act as if my property is some sort of Love Canal!”

“Damn it, Peggy, will you just wait your turn!”

She rounded on the mayor. “I came here tonight because I was told there was a motion to suspend construction due to the so-called PCB crisis.” She pointed toward the aldermen’s table. “My property was certified by the DEP. I have provided you with their environmental-impact statements, which, if you bother to read them, clearly say the development is within parameters approved by New York State. I have also provided you with copies of our zoning approval and our construction permits. Which documents you, gentlemen, issued only six months ago!”

The mayor turned away from the microphone and leaned over the wide wooden table. The four aldermen shoved in closer to hear whatever it was he was saying. They were shuffling papers like blackjack dealers. Clare nudged Paul. “Who’s the woman?” she whispered.

“Peggy Landry. She owns a huge chunk of land northwest of the town. She’s been trying to develop it for years, but she never had the wherewithal to do anything more than plow a few roads in. The only money she made off it came from paintball groups and back-to-nature nuts. You know, people who scoff at amenities like toilets, showers, or cleared land for pitching tents.” He rolled his eyes. “She got a group out of Baltimore interested in the parcel a year or so ago. Before you came. They do spas, luxury resorts, that sort of thing. It was big news at the time because of the prospect of jobs for the town, of course. I didn’t realize they had already—”

Jim Cameron straightened up. “Application papers of Landry Properties, Inc., and BWI Development, a limited partnership,” he read from a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Okay, Peggy, the town isn’t going to suspend your construction permits.” Several in the crowd yelled angrily at this. Several others cheered. The mayor frowned. “Keep it down! Look, our lawyer tells us we don’t have the authority to stop properly permitted projects unless the state rules they are, in fact, violating DEP standards.”

“What about the possible release of more contaminants by the development?” Mrs. Van Alstyne asked. “How much of that poison is stored in the rock, waiting to be let out when they start blasting? Anything they let loose is going to wash straight down the mountain and into the town and the river!”

“Who’s going to pay for the cleanup?” someone asked from the crowd. “Seems like the Landrys will be making a pretty penny and we’ll be left holding the bill.”

Jim Cameron held up his hands. “People, if we can’t stick to the rules of order, I’m calling this whole meeting off!”

A man stood up next to Peggy Landry, who was glaring at Mrs. Van Alstyne with enough venom to have caused a lesser woman to collapse back into her seat. “Mr. Mayor? May I say a few words?”