In the Bleak Midwinter

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’ve provided you with their environmental impact statements, which, if you bother to read, clearly state 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, 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 close, 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 booed at this. Several others cheered. The mayor frowned. “I said keep it down! Look, our lawyer tells us we don’t have the authority to stop properly permitted projects unless the state rules it is, in fact, violating DEP standards.”

“What about the possible release of more contaminants by the development!” Mrs. Van Alstyne said. “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 into the town and the river!”

“Who’s going to pay for the clean-up?” 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 rule 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?”

The mayor looked pathetically grateful that someone was sticking to Roberts’ 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 sunburned skin of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors. He looked more like a plumbing contractor than a luxury spa developer to Clare’s eye, but then, she had never really met any luxury spa developers. “My partner and I—stand up, John, let the folks here get a look at you—” A smoothly 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 skiing 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 them into town and loosen their purse strings.”