The Devil's Palm Page 7
From the rear of the room the floor sloped down to the judge’s bar. Oak doors behind each side of the raised bench led to the judge’s chambers and the jury room. The jury box at one side held large comfortable seats comparable to the counsel’s, which faced the bench.
Three Madison County deputy sheriffs had been posted, two at the main entrance and one at right front. Hanover, pausing to take in the view, stood behind the two deputies, Orlando León and Chet Waxter, as they watched Candy Melowicz enter and sashay down the aisle, her dress swinging in rhythm with her hips.
Waxter elbowed León. “Did you see that, Orlando? She looked right at me. That's my kind of girl.”
“You're not her kind of guy, Chet. I'm more her type—classy.”
“No. She smiled at me. I think she likes me.”
León pointed at Waxter's mid-section where chocolate donut stains embellished his shirt. “Look at your shirt. Your belly popped it open. She was laughing at you, Chet.”
Waxter buttoned his shirt. “When she leaves, you'll see,” he said, and combed his oily hair.
Hanover felt his blood boil as he listened to their comments. She wasn't that kind of woman. But what was that to him? He was married. His insides burned with guilt.
Men rose to allow Candy to get down the row, their eyes fixed upon her until she found a seat. As she sat, she turned to smile at Hanover, who quickly returned it, then mopped his brow with his handkerchief. He tried to persuade himself that his walk to the courthouse had overheated him.
Yet, to get his mind off of Candy, Hanover looked for Becky, saw her at the front in a crowded row. He chose one of the few remaining seats at the rear. The seats, with padded bottoms that could be raised to aid passage down the row, also had comfortable curved wooden backs. He sat down and relaxed in the refreshing coolness of the air-conditioned auditorium, relieved to get out of the heat that had not let up, even with the approach of autumn.
Fowlkes, looking polished in his sheriff’s uniform, strode from the lower entrance to one of the folding chairs facing the audience. Hanover glanced at his watch. It was precisely eight o’clock.
Slim Gates followed Fowlkes in. He wore a dark blue suit (the only suit Hanover had ever seen him wear—it must not be easy to find a suit when you weigh 450 pounds) and a white shirt with an unbuttoned collar. Gates waddled to the podium placed in front of the center aisle. Pounding his gavel, he spoke into the microphone. “Everyone, please find a seat.”
He waited while the room quieted. Hanover took the opportunity to glance behind him. A couple dozen people were left standing for lack of seats–attesting to the importance of this meeting.
“The Madison County Forum is now in order,” Gates said. He cleared his throat. “We’re meeting here today to discuss a proposed zoning change for the old Mehrhaus Property,”—Gates ignored the boos—“part of which is known as 'The Jug'.”
He looked at Fowlkes. “It is incumbent upon the property owner to show cause as to why the zoning should be changed. We have had the required four weeks notice to consider this proposal. To make its decision, the County Council will review all arguments presented here, in addition to this assembly’s vote.
“First, Sheriff Terrance Fowlkes, the owner, will present his case. Afterward, if anyone has something to say in rebuttal or in support of the sheriff, they may take a turn at the mike.” Gates nodded to Fowlkes. “Sheriff Fowlkes.”
Hanover watched expectantly as Gates, in his search for a seat, paused in front of a folding chair. The entire audience sighed with disappointment as he took one of the sturdy counsel chairs instead.
Fowlkes strode to the podium and smiled as he scanned the audience. Hanover felt a wave of anger as Fowlkes’ eyes paused on Becky. The sheriff had been visiting the store two or three times a day and seldom bought anything. When Becky wasn't there, or not at the counter, Hanover had seen Fowlkes strolling the aisles as if looking for something. He was—Becky.
Hanover couldn't see Becky's reaction to Fowlkes. He suspected she was smiling at him. Hanover felt his cheeks and ears reddening. If she's interested in that clown, she can take a hike.
“As you know, I am a public servant,” Fowlkes began. “When I bought the Mehrhaus property, I considered the welfare of my fellow citizens.”
A few people snickered, but they were immediately shushed by the audience.
“What I have in mind will enhance the beauty of the property's setting, while at the same time bring jobs and money into our county.” At the mention of money, Hanover noticed the crowd sit up in their seats.
Fowlkes flipped a page on a large flip chart to reveal a map. “Currently the property is zoned, ‘Agriculture and Wildlife.’” He brushed his fingers across boxes drawn on the map. “May I point out to you the number of residences found in this area, in a ‘nonresidential zone?’ Many of you live here. At least half of your homes have no agricultural connection—none whatsoever.” He waited as this information was absorbed.
“So, why are you there?” He went on. “Because of the quiet, the beauty, the opportunity to be close to nature.”
Part of the crowd nodded.
“And why hasn’t the Sheriff of Madison County ejected you?” Fowlkes smiled. “Because now you are part of the scenery—the wildlife.” He laughed at his own joke. A number of people joined him.
Fowlkes turned the chart to the next page—another map revealing a larger portion of the area. He ran his forefinger along a jagged red line. “The new extended Interstate 68 from Morgantown will cut across north of Sistersville, just a few miles above the Jug Handle—but without an exit. Then 68 will join Interstate 70 and Interstate 77 near Cambridge, Ohio. Route 68 is scheduled to be completed next fall.”
There was murmuring.
He paused to stare at his audience. “Where do you want these thousands of thirsty, hungry, bored travelers—from D.C., New York, Philadelphia—to stop for rest and relaxation with their money?” He checked the effect he was having on his audience. “Ohio?”
Someone coughed.
He turned to a local map. “Here is where the new highway cuts through above the Jug Handle. I consulted with Governor Kirkpatrick. The governor supports an exit right here.” Hanover could hear Fowlkes’ tapping on the map from his seat in the back of the room. “It would lead to Route 18 and the Jug Handle.
“And what would our vacationers find at the Jug Handle? A resort—a luxurious hotel, fine dining, live entertainment, outdoor recreation, and state-of-the art convention facilities—all in, if I may paraphrase from the state, ‘Wild, Wonderful, Beautiful, Madison County.’ Even in a down economy, people are on vacation. We'll be the Greenbrier Resort on the Ohio River. And we’re gonna need people to run the resort. Jobs and money for you! Then this drought won't hurt us. We can get started right away—with your support, to change the zoning code to: 'Commercial- Resort.'
Fowlkes placed his hands on the podium and scanned the crowd. “Anyone like to comment?” He pointed at a microphone.
Hanover saw heads lean toward each other and whisper.
While Fowlkes waited, he added, “All our plans—for utilities, access, building structure—will be up to code.” He held up a sheaf of documents. “You’re welcome to examine the preliminary plans. And of course they will be available to the council.”
Fowlkes scowled as Hanover walked to a microphone that was placed halfway up the center aisle. Hanover felt confident, having ditched his grocer's white apron in favor of a light brown sports jacket. He knew that with the dark brown shirt, it brought out his striking dark features.
“Wouldn't it be nice if this all were true?” Hanover began, feeling unexpectedly calm. “Fortunately, for us, I learned that the centerpiece of Fowlkes’ 'resort' is a casino. The big attraction will be gambling.” He looked hard at the audience to make sure they realized the importance of what he had said. He knew it to be true because a month ago Deputies Waxter and León had come into his store for their usual soft drink and chewi
ng tobacco. He had overheard them talking about Fowlkes’ plan to open a casino at the Jug Handle.
The crowd murmured. They believed him. He heard a shuffling up the aisle behind him, but continued to speak. “Perhaps you consider a casino in our community a good idea.”
“Right on!” someone called out. “No, no!” shouted a loud voice.
“But let's think about some of the consequences—other than it making us a moneyed community.” From the corner of his eye, Hanover sighted the shuffler reaching for the microphone. It was an elderly gentleman with a cane, Sandy Heavner.
“Sorry, Michael, I just can't stand in line any longer. Let me ask the good sheriff a question, then I'll go sit and let you finish.” Hanover stepped to the side as the man grabbed for the microphone stand as a second support. Hanover held the elder's arm to steady him. “Sheriff Fowlkes, I'd like a casino. Kick up my heels a bit. You going to have any of them 'girly shows'?”
There were a few laughs.
“You mean ‘Show Girls',” Fowlkes said. “We will accommodate everyone, but the resort will reflect the standards of the community,” Fowlkes said. “The entertainment will be under your watchful eye and that of the state. All will be done with good taste.”
Everyone waited while Hanover walked the man to his seat on the aisle.
“I can see we have differing viewpoints,” said Hanover, acknowledging the last speaker. “Let me be frank. Anywhere casinos are built, crime rates rise and criminal organizations settle in. Expect to see prostitution, violence, drunkenness, robberies, drug abuse, and even murder. Will customers drawn to a casino prefer wholesome entertainment, or want to see half-naked women dance on stage? Would you want to work in such a place? Or have your daughter become one of the dancers? I urge you: vote against this zoning change.”
Fowlkes glared at Hanover as he took his seat. “Thank you for bringing the question of a casino to our attention.” The smile that Fowlkes displayed for the crowd was like a jack-o'-lantern's. “But you made an unfounded assertion, Mr. Hanover. It will be a family resort that enhances the community, not destroys it. It will reflect the wonderful, down-home goodness of native Madisonians. You, as employees of the resort, will bring your values to it—determine its atmosphere. Madisonians will be proud of the resort, glad it is in Madison County.”
The crowd rustled like dry leaves blown by the November wind. It seemed to Hanover that Fowlkes’ long-winded response was a tacit admission. More people got to their feet to stand in line at the mike.
Becky Hanover, wearing tight-fitting designer jeans and a sleeveless sweater, followed on the heels of her husband. She flashed a bright smile as she stepped to the front microphone and then turned to Fowlkes. “Sheriff Fowlkes, thank you for choosing to work for our community. We appreciate the help you are offering us.” Becky turned to the audience and led it in a smattering of applause.
“Tonight we confront a serious question,” she said. “How we answer will have a profound effect on our futures and our children's. Do we want to continue our antiquated lifestyle and marginal existence, or do we want to interact with the rest of the world and offer a robust income for our families?
“Friends, Hanover's Store makes money. We thank you for that.”
“You deserve it!” someone yelled.
Becky smiled. “Now it's your turn. Opportunity knocks. Take advantage of Sheriff Fowlkes’ offer of good jobs.
“Improve your life. Not just with what money can buy. Open up to new experiences, learn new skills, meet people from other places, listen to new ideas, put some excitement into your life.” Her eyes found Hanover then glanced away. “Aren't you tired of your same old job? Your same old hus-”
Hanover's head jerked up and his jaw muscles worked. He saw Fowlkes’ eyes rivet on Becky while red crept up her neck and onto her cheeks. A few people laughed at Becky's slip, but then hushed-up.
Recovering, Becky said, “This drought has already reached into our pockets. If it continues, it will have some permanent consequences. We need an infusion of money. With the resort here, we'll have some stability and our incomes can rise. Please, for your own sakes: vote 'yes' to zoning Uncle Andy's—the Mehrhaus property—commercial.”
She moved from the mike, then came back. “And don't forget, we would have an exit from Madison directly onto the interstate.” She thrust her finger at the door. “And then we could go places!” She turned to smile at Fowlkes and mouthed, “Thank you.”
All eyes, especially Fowlkes’, followed Becky as she took her seat. He sat gazing while the audience waited, staring at him. He wiped the grin from his face. “Who could disagree with that?” he managed.
Next, Candy stepped to the microphone, giving Becky a half smile in passing her. Becky made no response.
In spite of himself, Hanover found Candy alluring. Her dress was modest, and as usual, she was warm and friendly. She smiled broadly and tossed her head before speaking. “Hello, everyone. As many of you know, I recently returned to Madison after seven years in Charleston. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to be back in my hometown.”
The audience gave brief but enthusiastic applause.
“Being away gives a new perspective. Life moves—changes—so quickly in Charleston. It's like living alone. It's hard to get to know your next-door neighbor. Here, in Madison, everyone is your friend; we care about each other. We grew up together, went to school together. Now we're raising our families and going to church together. We don't just lend someone a hammer; we help them repair their roof. We sit on our neighbor's porch on a warm summer evening listening to crickets and watch the kids catch fireflies. When someone is sick, we prepare them a meal. We share the good and the bad times. We trust one another.
“I just want to say, be careful, let's not give up what we have here. In Madison, everyone is an individual, yet a part of everyone else, like a big family. It means so much to be recognized, accepted, and loved everywhere you go. You are very special people. Stay that way. I love you all.”
There was a hush as Candy returned to her seat. Hanover was stirred by how she had reached everyone. Her eyes again sought Hanover's as she turned into her row. This time his did not release hers.
“Yes, I also have an outsider's perspective, and I agree,” Fowlkes said quietly into the microphone. “I don't want you, Madison County's residents, to change anything about yourselves or the way you live—and love. You are what makes this a wonderful place to live. And you will make it a wonderful resort.”
A buxom woman with graying hair pulled into a bun took the microphone. It was Helen Wagner, the clerk whose desk was near the sheriff's office at the courthouse. “You know what happened to Barry, my cousin Jolene’s husband. They live out in Texas. He won a pile of money at what they called a resort hotel in Atlantic City. A thief followed him going back to his hotel and robbed him. Hit him over the head with a gun. We’re just glad he didn’t shoot him.”
Fowlkes’ eyes shot darts at Helen before he held up his hand to stop the next person. He spoke into the podium microphone. “Allow me to make a promise: as long as I am Sheriff of Madison County, there will be no increase in any sort of crime!”
Hanover, his blood boiling, his jaw muscles visibly working, hurried to the mike. “After the sheriff's comment, I must remind you that two months ago we were shocked by the first murder in Madison County, ever, since the Civil War! Has the killer been found yet?”
Fowlkes’ eye twitched beneath his blue sunglasses. He taunted loudly from his seat, “Hanover, did you fight for the North or for the Confederacy?”
“I'm fighting for Madison County. We have, or had, the lowest crime rate in the whole state—in the state with the lowest rate in the country. We like it that way.” Hanover's face was red, his fists clenched, and he glared out at the audience. “Hasn't it been quite a coincidence that, since Fowlkes became sheriff, the crime rate has rocketed?” It was all he could do to not speak directly about his parents.
A few nervous l
aughs rippled across the auditorium, followed by dead silence.
“All the evidence indicates that Andy Mehrhaus’ death was an accident,” Fowlkes said, in a strangely calm voice. “Our investigation will soon be concluded. Our crime rate is and will remain the lowest in the country.”
The crowd buzzed like a huge hornet's nest knocked from a tree.
Gates came forward and pounded the gavel on the lectern. He stared at Hanover. “People, folks, let’s keep our comments relevant!” He pounded again. “Let’s move on with tonight’s agenda. Who’s next?”
The crowd slowly quieted as a man in neatly pressed slacks and a knit shirt stepped into the aisle. Gates nodded his head, “Mr. Tuckett,” then backed away from the microphone.
From his visits to the store, Hanover knew Tuckett well. He recalled that about twenty years earlier Arnold Tuckett had been sent from Pittsburgh by PPG Industries to rescue a failing PPG chlorine plant at Natrium, north of New Martinsville—at least according to Tuckett. Everybody knew him to be a generous man of few words, and one who encouraged and supported his employees. Insiders said that he saved the facility, thus preserving jobs for many in Mills Valley. He could easily have afforded a grander house in one of the larger cities on the river and been closer to work, but decided that Mills Valley was the homey place where he wanted to raise, what was then, three children, now four. Tuckett was serving his fifth consecutive term on the Madison County Council.
The congregants returned Tuckett’s broad toothy smile. “Neighbors, I love the same West Virginia, this Madison County, all of the Mills Valley, that you love. But allow Sheriff Fowlkes some slack. He's been with us for a relatively short time, hasn't had the opportunity to absorb our culture. Give him a chance. However, however—reject his zoning proposal. We know that it's an insult to us, but he needs time to see that. He doesn't realize how family and neighbor oriented we are.” Tuckett started to leave but stopped. “But however you feel, the council will vote accordingly.”
Tuckett found his seat. Hanover watched as a prim woman, whose gray suit and high-heeled shoes perfectly matched her gray hair, clicked her way to the front. She stood erect with her chin up. She waited for perfect silence.