A Dawn of Death (10 page)

"Thanks."

Dale went back to the filing cabinet and pulled open a middle drawer. She rifled through its contents until she found the paper she was looking for. "Even if you don't grow all the food yourself, you can support local farmers and get organic produce. Wharton has some good resources for a locavore if you're ready to join the trend toward eating only locally produced foods."

Helen took the paper, which turned out to be a flyer for the Wharton Farmer's Market. At the bottom was an acknowledgment that the market was a joint project of the Wharton Park and Rec Department and the Wharton Community Supported Agriculture Association.

"Paul Young seems really committed to gardening."

"Oh yes," Dale said, returning to the chair behind her desk. "And it's not just because of his Native American heritage, either. He's a descendant of the Mahican tribe that was living here before Columbus, you know, but he doesn't always follow the party line. He got some grief a few years back when he opposed legalizing gambling in the state. Regardless, we're lucky to have someone in the Park and Rec Department who's a real environmentalist."

"What did he think of Sheryl's construction projects?"

"It's hard to tell," Dale said. "Paul is a natural-born peacemaker. He's always so darn cheerful, and whenever he mediates a problem, he can usually find a way to convince both sides of the argument that they've won. One of Sheryl's projects last year generated a lot of resistance from the neighbors who thought she was proposing too many units on too little land. Paul suggested giving up one building lot and turning it into a shared garden just for the people on that street. Sheryl agreed, the neighbors were happy, and the project sailed through the permitting process."

"There doesn't seem to be that much room for compromise over the community garden's land," Helen said. "If Sheryl or any other developer had bought it, a lot of gardeners would have been displaced."

Dale nodded. "Even Paul's cheerfulness was strained during the selectmen's meeting when they discussed the possibility of selling the garden. I've never seen him look quite that angry. He's definitely opposed to the sale. Whether it went to Sheryl or to the retirement community across the street."

"So what's the vote count?"

"It's hard to tell," Dale said. "I thought I had the votes to keep it from even being discussed, but I was betrayed at the meeting. Now I'm not sure how reliable my information is."

"There are five selectmen, right?" Helen said. "So you need three votes?"

"I'm pretty sure we've got two on each side. The deciding vote, and the one I can't read, is Cory O'Keefe. He's the chair of the board, and he's refusing to say which way he'll vote. I think he's hoping one of the others will switch and he won't have to make the decision himself. Meanwhile, there's nothing I can do to sway him. I can usually put some pressure on the board members through a spouse, mother, or significant other. But he doesn't have any close relatives, and he never seems to be in a committed relationship."

Odd, considering how good-looking and good-natured he was. Very different from Tate but every bit as handsome and a great deal more cheerful and outgoing. "A bit of player, then?"

"Not that exactly," Dale said. "Just doesn't seem ready to settle down."

Since Cory was close to Helen's age, it seemed unlikely that he'd ever settle down if he hadn't by now. She herself was enjoying life as a single person, and it seemed likely that the longer she experienced the freedom, the less likely she'd be to ever want to give it up.

"Maybe someone should seduce Cory into revealing how he'll vote."

"Are you volunteering?"

"I don't know him that well." Admittedly, she'd fallen head over heels for her ex-husband at first sight, but she'd been a great deal younger and more foolish then. "It could take weeks before I'd be ready to jump into bed with him."

"We don't have that much time," Dale said, as if she'd taken Helen's suggestion seriously. "But that's okay. I don't think we need to get quite that drastic. I'm still working on one of the other selectmen to vote in our favor, and if not, well, Cory knew Fred and how much the garden meant to him. The land has always been a community garden, and it always will be. That's what Fred wanted. I think Cory will do the right thing. It's just…"

"What?"

"Nothing, really," Dale said, looking down and reaching for a file on her desk. "I've got a meeting in a few minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No." Helen hefted the canvas bag filled with
GreenPrint
magazines. They might be small, but in the quantity Dale had stuffed into the bag, they were every bit as heavy as the hardcover gardening books Helen had gotten from the Wharton Library. "Thanks for your time. And the magazines."

Helen slung the handles over her shoulder and headed out of the office. It felt good to be able to carry the weight without worrying about the strain on her hip and her back.

As soon as Helen came through the building's front door, Jack jumped out of the car and jogged over to take the canvas bag from her. She wasn't foolish enough to insist on carrying it herself. She might have if her nieces had been around, but she didn't need to prove her independence to Jack.

It was annoying, though, to realize just how out of shape she was. By the time Jack took the bag from her, it had started to feel like it was filled with bowling balls, not just a stack of magazines. Fortunately, she could work on getting her strength back by working in her garden all summer. At least she could if the land didn't get sold to a developer. And that depended on how Cory O'Keefe voted. Maybe she could do something about that. He had seemed interested in getting to know her better after all.

As soon as Helen was settled in the passenger seat, she asked Jack, "Do you know where Cory O'Keefe's office is?"

"Everyone knows that," he said, completely missing the fact that Helen didn't know. "It's on the outskirts of town but on one of the main roads."

Helen wasn't planning to seduce O'Keefe but could simply ask him straight out how he planned to vote. "I've got a few questions for him about the garden land."

"He won't tell you anything," Jack said. "Nice guy but a politician through and through. Never gives a straight answer."

"No problem," Helen said. "I'm an expert at making sense out of twisted answers."

*   *   *

Jack pulled into a strip mall on the outskirts of Wharton. A monument sign at the entrance proclaimed it to be the
Work 'n Play Zone
. The eight storefronts definitely had
work
covered, from a uniform shop at the near end, to an insurance agency in the middle, and the Cory O'Keefe Real Estate office at the far end, but Helen wasn't sure where the
play
came in.

Cory's smart car was barely visible in front of his storefront, despite its glowing lime-green color. It was overshadowed by a herd of SUVs, vans, and trucks. The bright blue pickup parked next to the smart car had the Toth Construction logo printed on the tailgate. Business in the strip mall was brisk, and there weren't any open parking spaces, so Jack let Helen out and double-parked behind the smart car.

Through the real estate agency's floor-to-ceiling storefront windows, Helen could see easels propped up to display poster-sized pictures of local houses for sale. Inside, there were more of the pictures hanging on the walls. On one side of the reception area that ran the entire width of the agency's unit in the strip mall, there were three computer stations for viewing listings online. Filling up most of the other side was a massive antique trestle table with nothing but a computer monitor and a multiline business phone in that awful yellowish-beige that manufacturers hadn't used for electronics in at least ten years. Behind the table sat a black-haired, olive-skinned girl who looked to be in her late teens. She wore the white blouse and plaid skirt of a private school uniform.

"Is Mr. O'Keefe in?"

The girl nodded. "But he's with someone."

"Maybe you can help me."

The girl sighed. "I'm just an intern, and I'm not allowed to do anything except answer the phone and make copies."

"I can come back later if there's a better time to see him."

"He won't be long." She glanced toward the central hallway as if expecting someone to emerge even as she spoke. "Cory isn't with a client. It's just Marty Drumm from Toth Construction."

"I've met Marty. What's he doing here?"

"He's probably asking about Crescent Street again."

"Crescent Street?"

"It's this really adorable bungalow from the 1920s, and it's been on the market for a few years, and Sheryl Toth wanted to knock it down and build another row of her boring town houses. It would be such a waste to do that." She froze for a moment, apparently realizing she might have insulted Helen's home since the girl had no way of knowing where Helen lived. "Some town houses are great, of course, but Crescent Street just isn't a good location for the kind of homes that Sheryl builds. Or used to build, I mean."

"What's so bad about Sheryl's homes?"

"They're not bad exactly. It's just that if you saw the bungalow, you'd understand why it shouldn't be torn down." She went over to pull a file from the cabinet in the corner behind her desk. "I'm Gloria, by the way."

"Nice to meet you."

Gloria opened the file and pointed at a picture clipped to the inside. "See? Isn't the bungalow just wonderful? I know it needs some work, but there's so much potential. It would be perfect for a first time home buyer. It just needs a little paint, a little landscaping, maybe an addition in the back."

Plus, a new roof
, Helen thought,
along with a total revamp of the plumbing, electrical, and heating systems
. No wonder the only interested buyer thought it should be razed. "I'm not in the market. I already have a home."

"You wouldn't have to live there. It could just be an investment," Gloria said. "Or maybe you know someone who is looking for a dream house. Someone who could appreciate a place like this, someone who'd like to create some sweat equity."

Helen realized she was actively considering the possibilities, and she already had far too much to deal with between growing her vegetables, volunteering at the library, and crocheting chemo caps. Fixing up that house wouldn't be a hobby. It would be a full-time job, better suited—much as she hated to even think the words—to someone physically stronger than she was. If she could get the house renovated simply by being pushy and nosy, that was one thing, but she couldn't wield a jackhammer or even a regular hammer for long without potentially triggering a lupus flare.

Maybe Tate's niece Stevie was looking for a house to flip. "I'll let you know if I think of anyone who might be interested in it."

The inner office's door opened, and Marty Drumm emerged. His face looked even more strained than when she'd seen him an hour ago, and his eyes were flitting wildly from spot to spot as if constantly on alert for danger. He probably wasn't used to management and was wishing he could be back in the cab of a bulldozer, which might take considerable expertise, but at least there, he didn't have to juggle a large number of conflicting demands and could focus on a narrow goal of moving dirt from one spot to another.

"You know what's in everyone's best interest." Marty seemed oblivious to Gloria's and Helen's presence as he passed them. At the door, he paused to give Cory a meaningful look. "A lot of people are counting on you to do the right thing."

"I always do," Cory said amiably.

"You'd better." Marty swept out, apparently believing he'd made his point.

Helen wasn't so sure. She knew an evasive answer when she heard one. Cory was going to be every bit as difficult to get answers out of as Jack had claimed. Even her skills might not be enough.

Cory remained standing at the glass doorway with a smile that was either genuine or a remarkably good artificial one until the bright blue pickup truck had backed out of the parking space and headed for the road.

Cory took a deep breath and turned around. "You already own a lovely cottage, and I can't imagine you want to sell it, so I assume you're here about the community garden. Come on back to my office."

It didn't surprise Helen that he knew where she lived. It was his business to keep track of that sort of thing, after all. She was a little surprised, however, that he didn't even try to convince her she needed a bigger and more expensive home.

Helen followed him to the end of the hallway, past the picture window that looked into a small conference room. Inside Cory's office, three of the walls displayed pictures of half a dozen mansions—the real thing similar to the one that had been transformed into the Wharton Nursing Home, not cheap, modern knockoffs—that were presumably among his biggest sales. The remaining wall beside the doorway had been transformed into a massive, green-felt-lined rack to hold golf clubs. Two horizontal shelves ran the entire width of the wall, one at waist height and one near the ceiling, with slots cut into them for hanging the clubs. On the floor in the corner was a bucket of golf balls.

Helen's ex-husband had been an avid golfer, but even he didn't have that many putters, and he certainly didn't keep them quite this close at hand. Of course, as governor, Frank had to maintain a certain image, and he had to contend with reporters who weren't anywhere near as kind to their subjects as Geoff Loring was.

"I figured Dale would drag you into the controversy," Cory said as he closed the door and headed over to settle behind his desk. "What did you want to know?"

"Before I start planting my garden, I just want to be sure I'm not wasting the effort," Helen sank into the faded but well-built and comfortable guest chair across from him. "I'm hearing rumors that Sheryl's death wasn't an accident, and if she was murdered, it might tip the scales in favor of selling the land."

"I can't believe anyone would kill Sheryl for doing her job," Cory said. "Besides, she wasn't the only person interested in the land. The owner of Wharton Meadows wanted it as badly as Sheryl did. More, perhaps. The place is at peak capacity with a lengthy waiting list, and there's nowhere else to expand nearby."