“Paradise Neck is very elite. The streets are very narrow. The ocean impinges on either side.”
Jesse nodded.
“There is no opportunity for expansion of the present roadways,” Carr said.
“True,” Jesse said.
Blake the lawyer had a deep tan and snow-white hair worn longish and combed straight back. He was sitting quietly with his legs crossed, observing. It was an approach Jesse admired. Ms. Fiedler was impatient.
“For God’s sake, Walter, the point is simple. The neighborhood cannot support busloads of unruly children coming and going in so narrow a compass.”
“How about ruly children?” Jesse said.
Blake smiled faintly.
“Excuse me?” Ms. Fiedler said.
“Is it the number of buses?” Jesse said. “Or who’s in them.”
“Those buses will represent a huge traffic problem,” Ms. Fiedler said.
She looked at Molly, who was writing in her notebook.
“What is she doing?” Ms. Fiedler said.
“Her name is Officer Crane,” Jesse said.
“Whatever it is, what is she doing.”
Jesse smiled.
“I don’t know,” Jesse said. “Molly, what are you doing?”
“I’m a female,” she said. “I have a compulsion to sit near the boss and take notes.”
“Notes?” Ms. Fiedler said. “This is an informal discussion. There’s nothing here for the record.”
“What record is that?” Jesse said.
“Don’t be smart,” she said. “I do not want any notes taken.”
“Okay. But I’ll probably forget a bunch of stuff,” Jesse said, “without notes.”
“I want to hear what she has written,” Ms. Fiedler said.
“Miriam,” Blake said softly.
“No, I insist,” Ms. Fiedler said. “What have you written, young woman?”
Molly riffled back though the leaves of her steno pad for a moment, studied a page, and said, “No spicks on Paradise Neck.”
Blake looked down. Jesse’s face didn’t change expression. Ms. Fiedler was horrified.
“How…my God in heaven…how dare you.”
Walter Carr rose to his feet.
“We have said no such thing,” he said.
His pinkish face had gotten much pinker. He looked at the lawyer.
