Lucy went up to the front of the room to congratulate Franny. “I guess that was your maiden speech,” she said, smiling. “Well done.”
Franny was a very small woman well into her sixties, who’d had a remarkably successful career creating a profitable jewelry business. She’d begun by making the pins and earrings out of nuts and bolts and other hardware and selling them at craft fairs. She turned out to be a canny businesswoman and the company had grown and evolved through the years as major department stores began carrying the line. Now she was retired, and although she was probably the second richest person in Tinker’s Cove, after Ed Franklin, she still lived in the modest house she’d grown up in and drove an ancient Honda Civic.
“Thanks, Lucy. I had to speak up. We simply can’t tolerate this sort of intolerance in our town.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Franny bent closer, whispering, “Have you seen his wife? She’s young enough to be his daughter!” Her eyes widened. “And she’s pregnant!”
“They’ve suffered a terrible tragedy,” Lucy reminded her.
“The wages of sin, no doubt,” said Franny with a knowing nod. “Have a nice evening,” she added, making her serene way out of the meeting room.
Intolerance was a funny thing, thought Lucy as she gathered up her things. People rarely seemed to recognize their own prejudices, even when they were quick to condemn another’s failings.
When she climbed the cement steps to the parking area, she was yawning, looking forward to a hot bath and bed. Hearing raised voices, she paused at the top of the stairs where she saw Matt angrily confronting Ed Franklin. The two were clearly illuminated by a street light, and a few bystanders were watching.
“We’re not Mexicans,” he yelled, face-to-face with Ed. “We’re Americans. My father, his father, and his father going back for hundreds of years. They were all born in California.”
“Get out of my way,” growled Ed, attempting to edge around him. “I don’t care who you are.”
“Well, you better care,” snarled Matt, blocking his way, “and you better call off your racist buddies . . . Becker and ProServe and Curtis Cleaners.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” insisted Ed, attempting once again to make his way to his huge Navigator SUV.
“You know, and it’s gotta stop!” yelled Matt, raising his arm.
“That’s enough,” said Rey, stepping between them. “Go home, Matt.”
Matt stayed in place for a long moment, glaring at Ed, then marched across the parking lot to his Corvette. The car roared into life and he sped across the parking lot, swerving widely at the exit and zooming off down the road.
“I must apologize for my son,” said Rey. “He’s young and hotheaded.”
“Like all you Mexicans, I guess,” said Ed. “What do they call it? Latin blood?”
Rey looked like a man who’d been slapped in the face. He stepped back, shook his head, and walked slowly to his car.
“I have a feeling this isn’t over,” said Joe Marzetti, who had climbed the stairs and paused beside Lucy. “And it’s not going to be pretty.”
“I think you’re right.” She had noted the names Matt had mentioned, presumably outfits that had refused to do business with the Rodriguezes, and was jotting them down in her notebook.
* * *
Next morning at the office, she put in calls to ProServe and Curtis Cleaners, but both went straight to voice mail. She dutifully left messages, but doubted very much they would bother to return her call. Walt Becker, a local trash hauler, answered the phone himself.
“Hi, Lucy.” His voice came booming through the phone. “What can I do for you?”
She had recently interviewed him for a story on recycling and he’d been extremely helpful, even taking her to the regional single-stream recycling facility for a tour. She didn’t want to offend him by accusing him of racism, so she proceeded carefully. “Funny thing, Walt. I was at the selectmen’s meeting last night.”
“I’m sorry,” he joked. “Nobody should have to go through that.”
“I know,” laughed Lucy. “It was pretty awful. But the reason I’m calling is that, well, Matt Rodriguez accused Ed Franklin of pressuring local businesses to refuse to contract with them and your name came up.”
“Look, I know full well that it’s against the law to refuse service because of race, color, religion, sexual preference, age . . . you name it. You call Becker Hauling and we’ll haul it, as long as it’s not toxic or radioactive or something like that.”
“But did Ed Franklin pressure you in any way?”
“Sure. That’s what Ed Franklin does. Thinks he’s king of the universe. Said he’d fire me if I contracted with Rodriguez and wouldn’t use my trucks anymore.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Lucy.
“Look, nobody tells me how to run my business. If Franklin’s unhappy with me, well, that’s too bad. I’ve got plenty of happy customers.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Lucy.
“That’s not to say that I’ve got to like everybody. Personally, I don’t get that transgender thing at all, but I don’t really care what bathroom anybody uses as long as they don’t leave a nasty mess. And I’m not crazy about these Latinos or whatever they are. Did you see the news? Those three guys? The drug dealers?”
“Actually, I covered the arraignment,” said Lucy.
“Well, then I don’t have to tell you that those guys are bad guys. They’re trouble and we don’t need any more trouble. We’ve got enough of our own. But that said, business is business and I’m in the business of hauling trash from anybody and everybody who asks, just as long as they pay their bills.”
“Then why did Matt Rodriguez name you as one of Franklin’s buddies?” asked
