“Main Street initiative?” This from Bobby Brockton, a contemporary of Caleb’s, and part of the beach-trashing cabal. “Our main street is stellar. Recently paved, new lights and foliage. We need to talk about development and expansion of our infrastructure. The West End needs room to grow. We’ve been talking to a developer who—”
“Bobby, the West End is not separate from the East End,” Simon said. “We’re all Sea Blue Beach. We’ve got to stop thinking like we’re two different entities with one budget.”
“Maybe we’d like to change that too,” Bobby said with a look toward Mac Diamond, who gave a slight head shake.
“Who is that guy?” Emery whispered.
“Mac Diamond,” Caleb said. “A renowned golf course developer. Moved to Sea Blue Beach in the early 2010s.”
Emery tapped notes on her phone.
“We’ve been talking with Thorndike Alliance about development on the East End.” This observation came from Alfred Gallagher, real estate mogul.
“Excuse me?” Simon morphed from defeated to determined. “I’ve not talked to anyone from Thorndike.”
“We’re going to bring you in, Simon,” Mac said. “So hold onto your horses.”
“Hold onto my horses.” Simon slammed down his gavel. “I’m the mayor of this town, and if anyone is driving the horses, it’s me.”
“Exactly.” Mac’s patronizing tone was grating. “Go on with what you and this architect want to do.”
This architect?
Simon shot Mac a couple of visual daggers and returned to his agenda. “If we’re to preserve our town, our culture and history, we need funds to fix up the streets, paint and beautify, reclaim and reuse. I’ve invested my own money into purchasing Doyle’s Auto Shop and other properties. Caleb, do you want to bring your presentation for the Org. Homestead?”
He whispered to Emery as he stood. “Welcome to Sea Blue Beach, eh?”
While he set up his presentation, Simon reminded the citizens and the town council that those old homes were built by town founders Prince Blue and Malachi Nickle.
“If we do any refurbishing of those homes, or anything on the East End, we’ll go with JIL Architects, Simon,” Bobby said. “They’re proven and—”
“Owned by your brother-in-law,” Caleb added.
Bobby fancied himself the “mayor” of the West End. He owned the largest lawn and landscaping business in the region. His ads and billboard said,If BBLawns & Garden isn’t caring for your yard,you’renot caring for your yard.
“All right, Caleb, show us what you got, but really, those old homes need to go. Sea Blue Beach is a modern town with modern amenities. People don’t want to stay in a fixed-up Florida Cracker home when they could live in a brand-new build.”
“Sorry, Alfred,” Caleb said. “I couldn’t hear you over your wallet talking.”
“There’s not a wallet in this town that doesn’t talk, young man.” Alfred looked around for approval. “Well? You just going to stand there or show us what you got?”
Was it okay to loathe that guy? Arrogant and rich, trying to rule the town with his greed. Caleb was all for capitalism but not at the expense of everything that made this town the gem of the north Florida coast.
Meanwhile, Emery sat in the meeting expressionless, like a good stoic, objective reporter.
His presentation was short and sweet, getting to the bottom line and the wow factor of how beautiful those old homes could be.
“We can use sustainable and reclaimed materials,” he said, “which I’ve done before. It will cut cost and waste. Still, the cottages are old and will need to be updated for today’s codes, including foundation work, new plumbing, and electric.”
He also presented Main Street ideas for the East End—new Victorian lamps, fixing the brick portion of Sea Blue Way, buying new planters and plants, maybe a few banners, and painting the storefronts. “Like Simon suggested, a Main Street initiative will help bring in new business for the East End.”
Caleb advanced to the last slide—the budget slide—and Alfred, Bobby, and Mac laughed.
“Where are you going to find that money?” Mac asked.
“We have some reserve,” Simon said. “It will get us started.”
“That money has been earmarked for easements on the West End for the new rec center.” Alfred’s voice boomed through the room. “You know we’re becoming a destination for pro tennis players and golfers, which opens doors for service and support jobs. They can’t afford country club fees, so we need the rec center.”
