“I guess two more won’t matter,” said Lucy, glancing anxiously at the clock.
“Great! Thanks, honey.”
* * *
By the time Lucy got to the pie sale, which was held in the fellowship hall of the community church, it was in full swing. Several long tables at the front of the room were covered with an impressive array of homemade pies, which customers could buy whole or by the slice. More tables were set up in the rest of the room, where people could eat their pie along with a cup of coffee or tea. As always, business was brisk and the room was crowded and noisy. Lucy finally found Pam in the kitchen, filling a coffeepot from a huge urn.
“Looks like you got a crowd,” said Lucy by way of greeting. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No problem,” said Pam, giving her a big smile. “Did you bring your pies?”
“Sure did,” affirmed Lucy, pleased to have gotten something right. “Six pumpkin.”
“Bless you. I’ve been worried about running short. Patty Wilson came down with the flu and you know she always makes a dozen.”
“What can l do to help?” asked Lucy.
“Here, take this coffee around and see if people want refills,” said Pam.
“Aye, aye, Captain. Will you save an apple for me and a mince one, too, if you have it?”
“Sure thing.”
As she made her way among the tables, Lucy saw many people she recognized. Oswald Crowley, the chief of police, gave her a wave and she went over to his table. As she went, she heard snippets of conversation. Everybody seemed to be talking about the same thing: the casino.
“Here you go,” she said as Oswald held out his cup to be filled. “Who else wants some more coffee?”
She looked at the faces gathered at the table and fought the impulse to flee. It seemed the entire board of selectmen, minus Sandy, was sitting there.
“If it isn’t our own little newshound,” said Joe Marzetti.
“I just write it the way I see it,” said Lucy, keeping her voice light. “More coffee?”
“I’ll have some,” said Bud Collier, looking at her somewhat curiously. It suddenly dawned on Lucy that he didn’t know who she was; he hadn’t connected her face with her byline, which was the way she wanted to keep it.
“I’ve got no complaints about Lucy,” said Howard, surprising her so much that she almost dropped his cup. “She’s a good reporter. And I’m sure we can count on her to cover all sides of this casino issue fairly.” He put great emphasis on the word fairly.
“Absolutely,” said Lucy, passing his cup back to him. She gave Bud a big smile, just in case he was following the conversation. “And anything I hear today is off the record.”
“So, Howard,” she heard Fred Smithers ask as she filled his cup, “is it true that town zoning regulations don’t apply to the Indians?”
“That’s nonsense,” said Howard, setting his fork down. “We have very strong zoning regulations in this town. I don’t think the Metinnicuts are going to find they can just ignore our bylaws.”
“That’s right,” said Jonathan Franke, who was sitting at the same table. “The zoning bylaws were revised just last year and passed with a large majority at a town meeting. It was a long, hard battle but I think we finally have an effective tool for controlling development.”
“Any court is going to have to take that vote into account,” agreed Bob Goodman, dropping a lump of sugar into his coffee and stirring it with a spoon. “I’ve noticed in quite a few recent decisions that the courts have given community character quite a bit of weight.”
Someone snorted at the far end of the table. Lucy was surprised to see Curt Nolan digging into a big wedge of blueberry pie.
“It’s amazing,” he said, hoisting his fork and popping a piece in his mouth. “You see what you want to see.”
“Out of jail so soon?” asked Jonathan Franke, glaring at him.
“On my own recognizance,” said Nolan. “It’s a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to stay there.”
“I wouldn’t be so cocky,” said Crowley, giving him a nod. “You might be going back . . . for a while.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said Nolan, looking at Franke.
“I’d like nothing better,” replied Franke, shoving away his empty plate.
“Now, now, don’t get all excited,” said Nolan, looking over the rim of his cup. “I’m just as against that Mulligan proposal as you guys are, but I don’t see how you can stop it with the zoning bylaws. Not when you let Andy Brown put up electric signs and that mechanical talking pumpkin. And a train ride. How come the association didn’t have any problems with Mrs. Lumpkin, the Talking Pumpkin?”
As Lucy watched, Howard White’s face grew quite red. “I can assure you that Mr. Brown went through all the proper channels,” said White. “He obtained variances for those improvements.”
“If you say so.”
“Just hold on,” said Franke. “You saw that model, and there was no sign of any museum. It looks to me like Canaday and Mulligan Construction are taking the tribe for a ride.”
Lucy held her breath, waiting for Nolan’s reaction.
“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you,” he said, clenching his fist.
“If I were you, I’d listen to him,” said White. “What he’s saying makes sense.”
“We don’t need him to explain things to us,” said Nolan, pointing at Franke and rising to his feet. “We’re not a bunch of dumb Indians who can’t look out for own interests, you know.”
“Now, now, I didn’t say that—” began White.
“Well, I’ll say this,” said Franke, standing and facing Nolan. “The tribe used to be strong advocates for the environment. In fact, quite a few were APTC members. But now that you all stand to make a lot of money from the casino, well, I guess the environment takes
