Cathy Anderson stepped to the front of the room and consulted a manila folder containing a few sheets of paper. Lucy had struck up an acquaintance with Cathy over the years and knew she hated speaking in public, even in front of the handful of citizens who regularly attended the selectmen’s meetings. Cathy flipped back her long blond hair and nervously smoothed the blue pants of her regulation police uniform. That uniform didn’t do a thing for her well-upholstered figure, thought Lucy.
“The way I see it,” said Cathy, taking a deep breath, “the problem isn’t the dog—it’s the owner.”
Hearing this, White exchanged a glance with Pete Crowley. Crowley was a heavyset man who tamed his thick white hair with Brylcreem so that the comb marks remained permanently visible. Also a board member, Crowley was Police Chief Oswald Crowley’s brother and a strict law-and-order man.
“Mr. Nolan has refused to license the dog,” continued Cathy, “in clear violation of state and town regulations. He also lets the dog run free, which is a violation of the town’s leash law. If the dog was properly restrained we could avoid a lot of these problems.”
Crowley beamed at her and nodded sympathetically.
“Can I say something?” Nolan was on his feet. Without waiting for permission from White, he began defending his pet. “Like I told you before, Kadjo is practically a wild dog. He’s closely related to the Dingo dogs of Australia and other wild breeds. He needs to be free—it’d be cruel to tie him up. And licensing him? That’s ridiculous! We don’t license bear or moose or deer, do we?”
“You’re out of order!” White banged his gavel, startling his fellow board member Bud Collier.
Collier, a retired gym teacher, slept through most board meetings, rousing himself only to vote. Lucy often debated with herself whether she should mention this in her stories for the paper, but so far she had refrained. He was such a nice man, and so popular with the townsfolk, that she didn’t want to embarrass him. Nevertheless, she wasn’t entirely comfortable about covering up the truth.
“Ms. Anderson has the floor,” said White, raising a bristly white eyebrow. “Please continue.”
“Thank you.” Cathy glanced at Nolan and gave him an apologetic little smile. “I’d like to call a witness, if that’s all right with the board.”
White nodded.
“I’d like to call Ellie Martin, who lives at 2355 Main Street Extension. Ellie, would you please tell the board members what happened last Monday?”
Ellie Martin stood up, but remained by her chair in the rear of the room. She was a pleasant-looking woman in her forties, neatly dressed in a striped turtleneck topped with a loose-fitting denim jumper. She was barely five feet tall.
“We can’t hear you from there,” said White. “Step down to the front.”
Clutching her hands together in front of her, Ellie came forward and stood next to Cathy.
“Just tell them what happened,” prompted Cathy.
“I don’t want to make trouble,” began Ellie, glancing back at Nolan. “I only filed the report because I want to get the state chicken money.”
“What state money is this?” demanded board member Joe Marzetti. Owner of the IGA and a stalwart of the town Republican committee, Marzetti was strongly opposed to government spending.
“It’s to reimburse people whose livestock has been destroyed by dogs,” explained Cathy. “It’s actually town money mandated by state law—it comes out of the licensing fees.”
“But you said Nolan hasn’t licensed the dog.”
Lucy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Trust Marzetti to find an excuse—any excuse—that would save the town a few dollars.
“That doesn’t matter,” said Cathy. “It’s a state law.”
“Well, if it’s a law, how come I never heard of it?” Marzetti had furrowed his forehead, creating a single fierce black line of eyebrow.
“Well, it hasn’t come up in a long time. Not many people bother to keep chickens or sheep these days.”
“What kind of money are we talking here—how much are the taxpayers going to have to cough up?”
“Thirty dollars.”
“Thirty dollars for a chicken!” Marzetti’s face was red with outrage. “Why, I sell chickens for a dollar nine a pound in my store! That’s ridiculous.”
“Thirty dollars total,” said Cathy. “Mrs. Martin had a dozen hens and she’ll get two dollars and fifty cents for each one.”
“Oh, that’s more like it,” said Marzetti.
“The dog killed the chickens? Is that what this is about?” demanded Pete Crowley, who was growing impatient.
“You’d better tell them,” said Cathy, giving Ellie a little nudge.
“Well, it was like this,” began Ellie. “I was busy inside the kitchen, cleaning the oven, when I heard an awful commotion in the yard outside. I went to look and saw the dog, Kadjo, chasing the chickens. They’re nice little pullets, Rhode Island Reds. I raised them myself from chicks I got last spring. They’d just started laying and I was getting five or six eggs a day. That is, I used to. The dog got every one.” Ellie’s face paled at the memory. “It was an awful sight.”
“Every one?” Sandy Dunlap, the newest board member and the only woman, was clearly shocked at the extent of the carnage. She was also sympathetic. When she’d run for election last May, she’d promised to be sympathetic and she’d stuck to her word. Nobody with a problem got short shrift from Sandy. “That must have been awful. I think the least we can do is vote to reimburse you for the chickens. I’d like to make a motion.”
“That’s not the question,” snapped White. “She’ll get the money. What we’re here to decide is if the dog should be destroyed or banished or what.”
“Hold on a minute,” said Nolan, jumping to his feet. “I haven’t heard anything here about it being my dog. How can you be sure it was Kadjo?”
White banged down his gavel. “Mr. Nolan, I’m warning you.”
Nolan sat down, perching on the edge of his seat.
Lucy gave Nolan points for trying, however. In
