"Our latest store, opened in Patienceburg, Arkansas, two months ago, allowed the town to fund three additional full-time deputies and purchase three new police cars," Craven said smoothly.
"He didn't even have to check his notes to pull those figures out. Either he's got a great memory or he's making stuff up as he goes along," Lucky muttered.
"We can ask Dallas and Austin to confirm," I said, pulling out my phone to text them to do just that.
Craven wrapped it up with more rose-colored blather about the Great Opportunities of "inviting UltraShopMart into our community" and sat down amid a scattering of applause. More than I'd expected, though. A lot of what he'd said must have resonated with people. The part about the clinic and schools, certainly.
Aunt Ruby returned to the microphone. "Many of you have submitted written comments that the council is reviewing to prepare for making our decision. But we'd like to invite those of you who've requested to speak to the stage to offer your comments."
Judd was the first to rush up the stairs. He told us how UltraShopMart would crush our small businesses and turn entrepreneurs into low-paid employees, and he was very convincing. I was absolutely against giving up the pawnshop and my independence to stock shelves at a massive megastore.
Then Lauren and Mellie walked onstage together and talked about the effect the proposed store would have on their businesses. Their points were both thoughtful and well-coordinated and made a real impression on everyone, as I could tell from the murmurs I overheard.
"In conclusion, my deli and Mellie's bakery will no doubt both go the way of the Floridian dodo if we allow UltraShopMart to build its store here," Lauren said defiantly.
Mellie leaned forward and spoke into the mike. "And free donuts at my place in the morning for anybody who wants to talk strategy to stop them."
The biggest cheer of the night went up from almost everybody, with the pointed exception of Delvaney Craven, who looked like he'd just swallowed a hedgehog.
Jack leaned over and murmured in my ear. "Floridian dodo?"
"I'll tell you later."
A couple of other people walked up to give brief comments, both in favor of the UltraShopMart. It surprised me to see that one of them was Julio Martinez.
"But he works for Dave," I whispered.
He stood at the podium, twisting his hat in his hands, and cleared his throat a couple of times before he spoke. "Well, I guess I just wanted to say that the jobs would be good for Dead End. I work for Wolf Construction, and Dave is a great boss. But construction is a seasonal gig, even in Florida, and my family has to eat all year long. Plus, I've got some cousins who need work. When you're voting, just remember that not everybody is a small business owner in Dead End. A lot of us just want to work and feed our kids."
He got a cheer, too, and his words made me rethink my knee-jerk hatred of the idea of a megastore.
Because he was right.
Not everyone was lucky enough to have a business drop in her lap like I'd been. Not that the circumstances had been lucky; I'd give up my shop in a heartbeat to have Jeremiah back. But the fact was, he'd died and left me half of Dead End Pawn, and Jack had shown up in town soon after and forced me to take his half in exchange for the right to build an attached office for his new private investigations business.
Saying yes had been one of the best decisions of my life.
But if it hadn't been for that, or if Jeremiah had sold the shop or left it to someone else, I'd be looking for work too. Would a job stocking shelves or as a cashier at UltraShopMart look good then?
Definitely something to ponder.
Aunt Ruby went to the podium after that and wrapped things up. "If there's nobody else who wants to speak, we'll—"
"Reckon I want to speak, Miss Ruby."
Everybody turned to stare at the owner of that rumbling voice, and Rooster made his way down the aisle toward the stage.
"Oh, boy," I muttered, my hands involuntarily clenching.
"His notes were excellent, remember?" Jack took my hand and gently stroked the back of it until I relaxed my fist.
"Yeah, but not everybody is going to know that he has an alibi, and—"
A woman I didn't know, but who looked familiar—maybe one of Susan's distant cousins?—stood, punched a fist in the air, and started shouting.
"Murderer! We don't want to hear from a murderer!"
Pandemonium ensued.
