Read Online Trouble in the Town Hall by Jeanne M. Dams - Free Book Online Page A

red hair positively bristled. She raised her voice.
    â€œLord Mayor, may I speak?”
    â€œCertainly, certainly, everyone must have a chance to be heard—if you will please be seated—your attention, please!”
    The woman at the microphone began to speak before all the noise had abated, but her angry tones cut through.
    â€œAnd what about me, I’d like to know? Me and all the other shopkeepers in town? Where do we fit into this lovely scheme? It’s all very well to save a building, but what’s the point if there’s nobody to use it?”
    The Mayor interrupted her. “For the record, will you identify yourself, please?”
    â€œMavis Underwood, as you know. I keep the gift shop in the High Street, and three more in Seldon, Watsford, and King’s Abbot, and you all know that, too.
And
you know how business is in Sherebury High Street. Or if you don’t, I’ll tell you. It scarcely exists. This month my receipts won’t meet my rent, and not for the first time, and the other merchants will tell you the same. How much longer can we operate at a loss?” There was a little murmur of agreement from various quarters of the room.
    â€œAt the end of the day, the Sherebury shop is an albatross, dragging the rest down. I need—we all need—new clientele, and a new mall will bring them. The Town Hall Mall—that’s different than the rest; it’ll draw the punters. What’ll an empty building draw? Flies!”
    She took a deep breath, audible over the sound system, and was clearly prepared to go on in the same vein, but the Lord Mayor cut her off neatly.
    â€œThank you so much, Mrs. Underwood. Your point of view is a valuable one, which I’m sure represents the thoughts of many here.” He turned toward a microphone on the other side of the room. “Mr. Farrell, have you something to say?”
    â€œWilliam Farrell, contractor.” He spoke in a deep growl that boomed out over the loudspeakers and set up an excruciating shriek of feedback. While someone tried to adjust the volume, I studied the man with interest. He was standing at a microphone near the back of the room, and although I couldn’t see most of his face, I could see the tension in his prominent jaw. He was altogether a formidable-looking person, tall and powerfully built, with dark hair and a hulking sort of squareness to his shoulders that reminded me uncomfortably of Boris Karloff.
    â€œI’m so sorry, Mr. Farrell,” said the Lord Mayor. “Would you like to try again?”
    â€œWhat I’ve got to say is soon said. There’s no need for all this talk. I’ve had a proposal on the table for nearly a year now to build a proper mall, with proper parking and access, at the old hop farm on the A28. There’s your new clientele, Mavis. There’s your traffic; you all know how much traffic the A28 carries every day of the week. No need to put the Town Hall to a silly use that was never intended. Preserve it; take the shopping out of town, where people want it nowadays. Everyone’s pleased.”
    Mr. Pettifer didn’t look pleased at all, and jumped up to reply, but the Lord Mayor motioned to him with a frown, and he sat down, folding his arms across his chest, the alarming color rising again in his face.
    There was a stirring in the group of workmen and then a middle-aged man with sparse gray hair, evidently chosen as their spokesman, forced his way out of a tightly packed row of seats and moved to the microphone.
    â€œI’m Jem ’Iggins, Yer Worship,” he said, grasping the mike stand uneasily in gnarled hands. “And like a lot of us ’ere tonight, I’m out of work. And what me mates and me got ter say is, we don’t none of us care where they builds whatever they’re goin’ to build, so long as we ’as a part in it. But it ’pears to us as if the work would be double, like, if they was to do them