Читать книгу The Last Honest Man - Lynnette Kent - Страница 8

HEADED DOWNTOWN ON A SWEET May morning, Adam DeVries whistled as he waited through the stoplight at the top of the hill, enjoying the warm breeze that reached inside the open window to ruffle his hair.

One second—one classic double take—later, his world started spinning in the opposite direction.

He let his jaw drop as he stared at the ravaged parcel of land to his left across the street. All the newly leafed trees he expected to see there had vanished, not to mention every last blade of spring-green grass. And the old stone chimney, a landmark of sorts, was gone.

The traffic signal above his truck turned green, red again, then green, and a honk from behind prompted him to get out of the way. Adam swung left at the next corner, wheeled into the first driveway he came to and backed out just as fast. He paid lip service to a stop sign, pulled out onto Main Street and headed up the hill. Approaching the traffic light from the other direction, he turned right on red and screeched to a stop beside the razed lot. Once out of his truck, he strode around the front end but then pulled up short, his stomach constricting and his knees suddenly weak. The sight before him was even worse than he’d imagined.

One of the most beautiful pieces of land in all of New Skye, North Carolina, had been reduced to an ugly square of brown dirt, pitted and peaked by truck tires and bull-dozer treads. A two-legged wooden sign lay flat on the ground, informing those who stood over it that this site had been rezoned for commercial use. Coming soon was a Speedy Spot convenience store and gas station, built by LaRue Construction.

Adam swore loud and long. Then he mourned.

Mourned for the childhood hours he’d spent here under the magnolias and poplars and oaks, some of them more than a hundred years old. When the 1880s house on the site burned down in the 1950s, the Brewer family had moved to a newer, safer home, but they’d cleaned up the lot, leaving the sturdy chimney standing among the trees. All the years since, they’d kept the weeds and grass mown for kids—like Adam and his brother and sister and his best friend Tommy—who’d brought balls and bats, books and games of make-believe to play in their special place. Teenagers sometimes hid under the trees in the dark to make out, though the police tended to keep a close eye on this unofficial “park” at night. Sunday afternoons, a family might wander down with their dog and their baby in a stroller, just to take in the fine weather and the view of downtown New Skye.

Adam could enjoy that view from where he stood now—not at the edge of the slope on the back of the lot, but on the street side—because the trees were gone. To his right, Main Street descended the Hill, as they called it, to the green circle of lawn that separated the grand old Victorian courthouse from traffic. Beyond the courthouse, the street with its new brick pavers stretched between tall crepe myrtle trees and giant planters filled with colorful flowers, which stood in front of renovated shops and offices. Anchoring downtown at the far end of Main were the new town hall and police department buildings.

There the trouble lay. Being in the construction business himself, Adam closely followed the rezoning notices for New Skye and the county. This case, though, had flown in under his radar. He’d missed the motion, the discussion and the vote that changed the use of the Brewer land from residential to commercial, forcing the owners to sell. Had he been sloppy? Or had the whole transaction been camouflaged to avoid public notice? A number of powerful people in town would have protested the conversion of this property…if they’d been informed.

“I s-spent an hour in the r-records office yesterday afternoon,” Adam told his best friends during breakfast the next morning. After a couple of hard and fast hours of basketball, they were settling in for a decent meal at Charlie’s Carolina Diner, where they’d been coming for more Saturdays than they wanted to remember. “M-Mayor T-Tate slipped the m-motion into a city c-c-council m-meeting with no prior notification to the p-public.”

“The council went along without a whimper, no doubt, ’cause they’re his buddies.” Tommy Crawford shook his head. “I bet L. T. LaRue sat there the whole time, just grinning. He got what he wanted out of the deal—another building site.”

“Kachink, kachink,” Dixon Bell added. “All that scumbag ever thinks about is money.”

They all stared glumly at their plates. “It’d be nice if they mayor and the city council gave some thought to the ordinary people in this town,” Pete Mitchell said after a minute, “especially when there are real problems to be addressed.” As a highway patrolman, Pete ran an after school program for juvenile offenders; he knew the hardships imposed by funding cuts. “I suppose that gas station will increase the tax base, but if it makes the town a less desirable place to live, then people won’t move here and the tax base’ll go down…” He shook his head. “I’m not sure there’s a solution.”

“We could murder the incumbents,” Dixon suggested, with a wicked lift of his eyebrow.

Pete shook his head. “I don’t want to go to prison on account of Curtis Tate and L. T. LaRue.”

“The solution,” Tommy said, pointing with his knife, “is to get some honorable people in the government, men and women who’ll care about what’s right, not what’ll make them rich.”

This was the very conclusion Adam had drawn late last night, when he made his big decision.

Tommy glanced around the table. “This is an election year, gentlemen. We’ve got the chance to make a change. So which of us is gonna run for mayor?”

Amidst the muttering of the other guys, Adam took his stand. “I w-w-will. I’ll r-run f-for m-mayor.”

Tommy looked at him with raised eyebrows. “DeVries?”

In the silence, Adam looked at each man in turn—the boys he’d gone to school with, the friends he counted on when he needed help. “Wh-what d-do you th-think?”

Their hesitation lasted for a blink of an eye. Then they were all over the plan, giving advice, predicting success. Mounting a campaign would require money—they’d be sure he had enough—and time, which they offered freely. To hear them talk, the votes had already been tallied, the outcome secured.

Only when the others had left the diner and Adam sat alone with Tommy did the real impediment to their plan come up.

“So…” Tommy rolled his iced tea glass between his palms. “You’re gonna run for mayor. You don’t have a wife or kids to worry about. That’s convenient. And you’re the perfect candidate—good looks, good reputation, good family, everything we could want.”

“B-but…” Adam didn’t have to ask what Tommy was thinking. He had no problem putting every aspect of his life on the line in order to be the mayor of New Skye.

Every aspect but one.

Before he could eject Tate from the mayor’s chair, Adam would have to abandon his closest companion of more than two decades.

He would have to learn to speak without the stutter.