Page 89 of Impurrfections

“Just asking Joffrey how he sees this working out.”

Van Doren eyed her down his nose. “If they can afford property in town, they can surely afford a more rural site.”

The mayor scribbled a note on the pad in front of her. “Why six blocks from any houses, Joffrey? That seems like a lot.”

“Dog barking is the most common noise complaint our officers get. The sound carries quite some distance.”

“Six blocks from single-family homes, you said,” Quentin drawled. “But not apartment buildings?”

Van Doren shrugged. “Single-family homes have outdoor yards that homeowners want to enjoy without local noise and odors. Apartment residents are indoors where those things are less annoying.”

“Uh-huh.” Quentin didn’t comment further.

The gray-haired woman said, “Six blocks makes no sense as a measurement. There are no blocks outside the town proper. You’d want a distance in feet. A thousand feet, for instance.”

“That’s a lot less than six blocks,” Van Doren returned.

Quentin cleared his throat loudly. “How about we stop talking in generalities and discuss the actual site that’s being proposed?”

The mayor stared at him, then at Van Doren. “There’s an actual site?”

Van Doren sniffed. “I might’ve heard rumors of a location, but they were only rumors. I thought a general ruling would be more useful in case the site changed.”

“Rumors of a location adjacent to property you own,” Quentin said. He turned to the mayor. “The proposal is still in the works, which is why no permit application is on file. But a local resident is offering to donate a property worth over seven million dollars. I don’t think we want to block that kind of generosity blindly.”

“No, indeed not,” Mayor Jacks agreed. “Shall we table for a future date, or do you have more specifics?”

“I object to tabling the motion,” Van Doren snapped.

Quentin spoke past him. “Either way, Your Honor—” I heard him put a bit of emphasis on Jacks’ title. “—I arranged to have people in attendance today who can speak about this proposal in more detail if we wanted to move forward.”

“Let’s proceed to opening the floor for public comment, then,” Mayor Jacks said. “Quentin, since you seem to know what’s going on, why don’t you call on people?”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Quentin gestured to the recording guy, who went and turned on a mic on a stand below the dais. “I’m going to call on Theo Lafontaine first since the property in question is his.”

My hands were shaking. Shane nudged me and murmured, “Go kill ’em.”

That support let me get to my feet and shuffle to the mic. I folded my arms, hands tucked under so no one could see them tremble.I hate public speaking.I cleared my throat.

The mayor said, “Please state your name and address for the record.”

I gave the rental address, and Van Doren frowned, touching the tablet in front of him. I imagined he was mapping it or something, to make sure I was really a resident.

Quentin prompted, “Please tell us about your generous proposal.”

I began, “My family’s owned property in Gaynor Beach since the 1970s.”Not even slightly newcomers.“I’ve personally been away a long time, but recently inherited several parcels of land from my grandparents, who passed of COVID two years ago.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” the mayor said.

I’m not.“Thank you. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my local town property. The venue was barely recovering from the 2020 closures, and after their death it was boarded up, sitting there unused as the will worked its way through probate. As I was considering its fate—”Like fire versus a wrecking ball.“—I met people trying to care for the local homeless animal population with very limited funds and space. It occurred to me that, by donating the property to a local rescue organization, I could help the town solve a pressing problem and create a valuable resource for Gaynor Beach.” I stopped and coughed, trying to remember what came next in my prepared speech. My mind had gone blank.

“That’s very generous of you,” the gray-haired woman pointed out. Van Doren looked like he was sucking on a lemon.

“Um, thank you. I would love to see my grandparents’ legacy go to benefit the town.” I’d had other words planned but couldn’t dredge them out of my brain. “Mr. Harris, could you put up the first of the slides I sent you?”

“Of course.” Quentin slid his laptop closer to him and called up my first picture on the screen at the end of the room. The council members all turned to look.

“This is my grandparents’ wine-tasting venue, sadly now in disuse.” The first picture was the ugliest photo I’d achieved, with the boarded windows dull and stark and the dead landscaping visible. “And this is my proposal for the animal shelter. Next slide please.”

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