“Come on, Mac, save your insults,” Simon said.
“But I’ll agree not everything is about money. But there’s not a man or woman in this room who doesn’t want a little bit more money.” A soft amen came from the gallery. “We’re just trying to leverage our options.”
“By destroying Sea Blue Beach?” Simon came from around the podium to confront Mac face-to-face. “What game are you playing?”
With that, the whole room was off to the races. People shouting and accusing, pointing fingers and blaming.
Finally, Simon returned to the podium, grabbed his gavel, and hammered the room to order. One of the sheriff’s deputies stepped up beside him, which really calmed things down.
“Now look, everyone.” Byeveryone, Simon meant Mac because that’s where he focused. “There’s a lot that goes into breaking off and incorporating into a new municipality. There’s feasibility studies, budget, and infrastructure to consider. Last, but not least, you need approval from the Florida legislature.”
“Certainly, certainly, all those things,” Mac said in a sweeping-it-under-the-rug tone. “I’ve already spoken to Congresswoman Abbott. She is more than willing to help us investigate this process.”
Caleb leaned to Emery. “Camille Abbott is an avid golfer. You can put the rest together.”
She made notes in her phone while letting the recording app play.
“Listen, folks, we don’t mean to cause dissention.” Mac again. “We love Sea Blue Beach, but if y’all are determined to maintain the old ways and the old town ... Listen, I just got word on an environmental study that we can build—”
“What environmental study?” Simon again, with a lead tone and steely glare.
“My company always does a study on potential property. I can’t pursue an investment only to find there are issues.” Mac walked toward the gallery. “People, we could have a luxury nine-hole golf course and sweet little clubhouse with a pool up and running by Christmas. I can give you numbers on then increased revenue to the East End.” A couple of business owners nodded, buying what he was selling. “The clubhouse, by the way, would be open to the public for a very small fee. Small enough for our lower-income folks.” He pointed at Caleb. “Ransom, we saw your sustainable design ideas on social media. That’s the kind of stuff we’re envisioning. You could be our architect.”
“Mac Diamond.” Simon slapped down the gavel. “Sit down. I’ll see you in my office first thing in the morning.”
Mac made a motion toward the mayor. “See, this is what I’m talking about, folks. If you can’t join ’em, you have to leave ’em.”
Simon never gained control of the meeting after that comment. Some citizens protested. Others asked questions. The council members argued. Caleb slipped out with Emery.
“That wasGazettegold,” she said, tapping more thoughts on her phone.
“You think? It’s coal for the town, Em.”
“You’re right, but do you think Mac, Alfred, and Bobby can actually pull off the West End becoming their own municipality??” She made another note in her phone. “That’s a huge ordeal.” She tapped out a message to someone. “Man, I can’t even shout, ‘Stop the presses!’ We’re already put to bed. Note to self: Change the freaking Wednesday deadline. And start an online edition.” She stopped for a breath. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be excited about the town’s troubles. I’m just excited to get into some hard news. I texted Jane to see what’s she’s heard from the West End.”
They walked down Salty Sea Street, away from the city hall lights, toward Sea Blue Way and the Starlight. Caleb churned with the sound of Mac’s voice, declaring his sustainable designs were right for this new course and clubhouse. No one had ever said that to him. Except Pierce, but Caleb never thought he was a hundred percent sure of the idea.
A contract to build a Diamond Dog golf course clubhouse would rocket-launch his career. Way more than refurbishing an old pharmacy-slash-soda fountain or a 1902 Florida Cracker home. Mac’s golf courses were legendary in the south.
When he looked around, Emery wasn’t with him. She stood a few paces back, looking all agog.
“What? Does Jane have more to the story?” he asked.
“No, you. Your face. Oh my gosh, you’re thinking about Mac Diamond gushing over your designs.”
“No—”
“You are. Caleb. He just Mr. Pottered you in front of everyone. You’re his George Bailey.” She puffed out her chest and strutted around. “‘How’s twenty-thousand dollars a year sound? You could have a nice house, go to Europe once a year.’” She grabbedhis shoulders for a good shake. “Snap out of it. Tell him he’s a scurvy little spider.”
“You tell him. You’re writing the article.” He walked off, toward the skating rink, his skin hot with the truth. He got Mr. Pottered. But in the end, he’d have woken up, realized he was being played. Probably. Hopefully. Oh man...
“I can think it, but I can’t write it. Well, unless you say it. Can I quote you? ‘Mac Diamond is a scurvy little spider, said Caleb Ransom, owner of Ransom Architects.’ Otherwise, I’m an objective observer. Just the facts, ma’am.”
“No, you can’t quote me.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let’s roller-skate.”
“Skate? Don’t you have to get home to Bentley?”
“Mom’s with him and his bowls of cereal. I need to move.”
