A Fountain Filled With Blood

The mayor looked pathetically grateful that someone was recognizing Robert’s Rules. “Yes. The chair recognizes…”

“Bill Ingraham. BWI Development.” Cameron gestured to him to continue. Ingraham was thickly set, of middle height and middle years, with the sunburnt skin of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors. He looked more like a plumbing contractor than the developer of a luxury spa to Clare’s eye, but then, she had never really met any luxury-spa developers. “My partner and I—stand up, John, and let the folks here get a look at you.” A smartly dressed corporate type stood, waved unenthusiastically, and vanished back into his seat. “John and I are here to create a new resort, the best cross between the old Adirondack mountain retreats and an up-to-the-minute health spa. We want to build this because we think it’ll make us a whole lot of money.” There was a snort of laughter, quickly stifled, from the crowd. “I also think it’ll make your town a whole lot of money, because we see this as a destination resort, not a place to stay overnight while your visitor heads over to Saratoga during the day. This is gonna mean money spent in your town and jobs for people who live here, year-round jobs, because this is gonna be a year-round resort.” There was a scattering of applause across the town hall. “John and I are putting our money where our mouth is in more ways than one. We’re sponsoring the Fourth of July road race this year, and we’ve got plans for a ski meet at one of the local mountains this winter. Eventually, we want to support a special event in each of the four seasons.” He rubbed his hands together theatrically. “Give those tourists a little incentive to get into town and loosen their purse strings.”

There was even more laughter than there had been applause. Ingraham paused for a moment, then went on. “I like this area. Don’t want to see it polluted any more than you do. And I’ll be frank with you. Our budget for the Algonquin Waters Resort and Spa does not include the costs of coming into compliance with the DEP. We had a run-in with them once before, when we were cocontractors on a Georgia project that had PCB contamination. We’re still paying folks to dig sludge down there. It was a total loss. Now, we bought into this project based on the work Peggy had already done with the permits. So here’s how we’re gonna handle it. If you all want to call in the state to retest our site because PCB levels have been rising several miles away, go ahead. But if the ruling goes against us, we’re shutting down. In my experience, once the government gets its teeth into things, it doesn’t let go until you’ve gotten a spot cleaner than it ever was originally. We don’t have the time or money to spend the next ten years chasing down stray leaks.”

“What?” Peggy Landry turned to Ingraham, clutching his arm. “You can’t—” The rest of what she had to say was lost as she sat down, hauling him down with her.

“Huh. It’ll certainly spoil her plans if the deal falls through,” Paul said. He shook his head. “Being an Adirondack land baron just isn’t what it used to be.” Throughout the room, rule-abiding citizens waved their hands in the air and rule-ignoring ones called out questions.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clare caught the movement of the big double door swinging open. A tall man in a brown-and-tan uniform slipped through. He paused by the door, unobtrusive despite his size, and scanned the crowd. Clare quickly looked back at the front of the room, where a redhead in a nurse’s jacket was talking about the health effects of PCBs. Clare had seen Russ Van Alstyne rarely, and mostly from a distance, since last December, when they had first struck up a friendship while unraveling the mystery surrounding an infant abandoned on the steps of St. Alban’s. It had been so easy to talk and laugh and just be herself with him, without worrying about that man-woman thing, because, after all, he was married. Very married, as she had told her church secretary. It still smarted that she had been so completely unaware of her own emotions all the while. She had been Saul on the road to Damascus, oblivious until a moment’s revelation struck her and she realized she had fallen for him but good. It was embarrassing, that’s what it was. It was embarrassing and something she was going to get over.

When Clare glanced back at him, he was looking straight at her. Even from across the room, she could see the summer-sky blue of his eyes glinting beneath his glasses. Her face heated up as he continued to look at her, his thin lips quirking into something like a smile. She pasted a pleasant expression on her face and gave him a small wave. He glanced next to her, frowned, and then looked back at her. He pointed and mouthed something. What? She shrugged. He pointed again, more emphatically. She raised her eyebrows and jerked a thumb toward Paul Foubert, who was absorbed in whatever the nurse was saying. Russ nodded.