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Ruffling Feathers Chapter 8 - Phase Two
Amy opened the door and her heart sank again. It wasn't Paul. Each time the phone rang that long morning, she held her breath, hoping that it was him. Calling to check on her, making sure she got home all right, just wanting to say how sorry he was that the night had ended so badly after it had started out so well. Looking for some way for them to start over, again. Looking for some way to show her that he wasn't a ruthless self-centered businessman. But he hadn't called...seemed as though he was the only one who hadn't. First, Ed Hutchins called to say that Lisa hadn't been arrested. Her father knew that Amy was half-expecting that her sister would be, and what's more he assured her that he knew for a fact that Lisa wasn't involved in the explosion at the Donovan building. He also invited himself over for dinner on Sunday. He wanted to take a look at the house and see what it was going to take to get it rewired and safe for her and Jenn to live in. Then, he asked her if she still thought Paul Donovan was on the right side of the green line. Instead of answering, Amy asked him if he knew who had bought Donovan's South Platte water and South Park land. He didn't. He asked her when she was going to ask Paul that question. Amy didn't want to think about it. Lisa called to say she hadn't been arrested for bombing the building and she didn't know who did, but it wasn't Shannon and her boyfriend because they were still under house arrest for the building in Golden. She also wanted to know how long Amy had been dating Paul Donovan and whether he was really as boring as he looked and could she borrow Amy's black silk jumpsuit to wear to a cast party. Amy's patience was starting to wear thin when Lisa then wanted to know whether Amy thought all actors were gay or just the ones in musicals. Amy closed the conversation by asking Lisa over for Sunday dinner too, and then warned her to stay clear of the eco-terrorists she so admired. Being arrested wasn't nearly as glamorous as dating an actor, so she could borrow the jumpsuit if she promised to stay out of jail. Amy could almost hear Lisa grinning. Jenn called between tutoring sessions to find out why the hell Greg Hansen had been asleep in their living room and whether Amy had thrown him out yet. Amy assured Jenn that Greg was gone, reluctantly, but gone and not after pulling out that infuriating wounded puppy look that used to work but had lost its charm with time. Jenn also wanted to know whether Dave Landry had called. He hadn't. Jenn tentatively asked how Paul was. Amy was forced to admit that she didn't know, and could they please talk about this tonight because she had a lot of work to do, by which Jenn knew she really meant that she wanted to keep the phone line open. So, when the doorbell rang instead of the phone, Amy
nearly jumped out of her skin. She tidied the newspapers and shoved the sleeping
bag and pillow into the closet. Unconsciously, she ran her fingers through her
hair as she opened the door. There, instead of Paul, stood a muscular,
middle-aged man with thinning hair and Type-A written all over him. It was the
man Paul had strategized with last night; the man called Dennis.
Be cool.
Just be cool. She smiled at him, "Hello?" The man flipped open his credentials badge and handed it to her. "Dennis Brown. I'm an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'd like to talk to you about the explosion at the Donovan Foundation Building last night. May I come in?" Amy looked at the badge and then Dennis, and handed it back to him. "Nice picture," she said softly. She smiled at him again as she drew the door open widely. "Please, come in." "I understand you were with Mr. Donovan last night at the time of the explosion." Amy looked at him steadily, "Yes, I was showing him Piñon's Peace Garden." Dennis blinked. "And did you talk to him at all after the explosion." "No, he was occupied, of course." She paused, then added, "As you well know. Mr. Brown..." "Dennis," he interjected. "Dennis," she began again, "Was there something you don't already know that you wanted to ask me? I've got a lot of work to do this morning..." "Miss Hutchins..." "Amy." "Amy, the explosion last night was not the result of a bomb. Gasoline had been poured into the kitchen area of the building and then ignited, possibly with a cigarette. Gasoline vapors in the ductwork caused the explosion. On the lobby floor we found the words "Hands off our water—ELF." He paused and looked into her eyes. "That message mean anything to you?" "Again, you're asking me what you already know." He didn't break his gaze so Amy decided to humor him. "Donovan Industries just got the contract to build and operate a system that will store and regulate the water under Douglas County. Paul Donovan announced this at a press conference last week…" Amy took a breath and blushed slightly as she allowed herself to briefly recollect their lunch at the governor's mansion after the press conference. She continued, "ELF stands for Earth Liberation Front. I wrote a column a couple of years ago breaking the story from the U.K. when ELF splintered off from Earth First. Essentially, they're eco-terrorists who chose to continue to use criminal acts as a tactic when others decided to 'mainstream' Earth First. To quote their propaganda, if I remember it right, they want to 'speed up the collapse of industry, scare the rich, and undermine the foundations of the state.' They took responsibility for the Vail fires two years ago." "Do you know any members of ELF?" "I write on the environment. So, of course, I've interviewed ELF members and sympathizers. They're not exactly very far underground, you know. You can go on the Internet and get phone numbers." Amy smiled sweetly to mask her irritation, "But, then, you know all this, don't you?" "Is your sister Lisa an elf?" "No, she joined Earth First six months ago, but she's really just..." "Is your father?" "No, and neither am I, if that's your next question." "What time did Greg Hansen arrive here last night?" "Excuse me!" Amy stood up, and then sat down again quickly. Dennis had succeeded in ruffling her, but she didn't want him to get the upper hand. Stay cool. Stay nice. "How did you know Greg Hansen spent the night here?" And then a light went on. "This is a set up, isn't it?" "I don't follow." "Paul didn't just meet you last night. You're a Fed...excuse me, an FBI agent, yet you just happen to be one of the first people on the scene of a textbook eco-terrorist act. And, you know the guy whose building just got blown up. Not just know, you're working for him, or do you call everyone 'sir,'" the sneer escaped before Amy could catch herself. "Just my training, ma'am," Dennis deadpanned. "You're right. I've known Paul Donovan for some time now. We've been concerned for his safety because of the heavy eco-terrorist activity in this region." "His safety? His life isn't in jeopardy. Just the buildings he puts up where trees used to be. And some people don't think that messing with the aquifers is such a good idea either. But that doesn't explain how you knew Greg Hansen was here last night." "I have my sources." "But you don't have a warrant..." Dennis' voice went cold and low. "You tell your friends that a murder charge is a hell of a lot more serious than a dirty tricks felony." "No one is going to commit murder over water." Amy said slowly and deliberately as she fought to keep her voice under control. "Even the elves know that murder doesn't garner much public sympathy. They may be radical, but they're at least that savvy." "Already three murders..." Amy jumped as the phone rang, piercing the air like a siren. Amy stared at Dennis, her heart pounding. "...Have been committed." Ring. "And I don't want Paul..." Ring. "...To be next." The answering machine broadcast Kris's shrill voice, "Amy, you there? Amy? Pick up if you're there. They're about to bulldoze the Gibson house and Martin has barricaded himself inside..." Amy picked up the phone. "I'm here, Kris. Where are you?…stay there. I'm on my way. And tell Martin not to be stupid, please." She put down the phone and pointed to the door. "Now, get out of my house. Whatever you and Paul Donovan are up to, you'll have to do it without me. If you want to get to the ELF ringleaders, don't come knocking on my door with some cock-a-mamie story about murder. Now, get out." "Thank you for your time, Miss Hutchins," was Dennis' cool response. "You've given me a great deal of information." The Gibson house was on Second Avenue, next door to the skeletal remains of the Donovan Foundation Building and across the street from Donovan's software building. By the time Amy got there, the crowd from the previous night had gathered again to witness the latest spectacle in the sideshow that Piñon had become. Amy found Kris next to a cop with a bullhorn. The bulldozer driver was lounging on his pedestal. The wrecking ball operator was drinking coffee. Heads of a swat team bobbed behind car doors. "Is Martin alone in there?" Amy asked. "We think so," Kris said. "Ernie here," she nodded to the cop next to her, "has been trying to talk him out. He says he's got a gun." "Oh, for crying out loud," Amy threw her hands up, "Martin has never held a gun in his hands in his life. Here, let me have that thing." Amy grabbed the bullhorn and addressed the house, "Martin, this is not performance art. These guys believe you really have a gun. I'm glad you're taking a stand, but maybe there's another way to make your point. You want to talk about it?" The door opened. Martin stepped onto the porch, a sheepish look on his face. "Hey, Amy, what took you so long?" He stood at the top of the stairs. "If I didn't stop them, this house would be rubble and then you'd really be mad at me." Amy walked through the police line and across the yard and up the steps. At the top she gave Martin a hug and then sat down. "So what's going on?" Martin explained that he had been hanging out in the coffeehouse that morning working on his poetry, when Mayor Cox came up to him and just started talking. "You know the way he does." The mayor told him that Donovan Industries owned all the houses the fire department had been condemning all spring, and they were going to start demolishing them that morning. Amy could have kicked herself. "I knew there was something fishy with all those houses being condemned." But I got sidetracked, she mentally scolded herself. "So, why does Donovan want to tear down our houses?" "I have no idea. I didn't stick around to find out. You know how hard it is to get any sense out of Bill Cox. I knew you would yell at me if I didn't try to stop them. I know how you are about these old houses. So I just ran until I found a wrecking crew gearing up and got inside and started hooting and hollering." Amy smiled through tears at her slender, pale brother and took his hands in hers. "You did good, Marty. Real good. I'm proud of you. That took guts. And I take back what I said—that was performance art." She looked out across the weed-ridden yard. The sheriff motioned to her to wrap up the gabfest. The driver of the bulldozer started his engine. The wrecking ball operator threw out the last of his coffee and put on his gloves. Kris was chatting up the cop with the bullhorn—she had probably already scored a date for Saturday night. "We can't stop them, Martin." Amy shook her head sadly and put an arm around her brother. "If Donovan owns these houses, he can tear them down and we can't do anything about it. When I was fighting to save Hutchins House, I discovered that it's the only house of real historical significance in Piñon." Amy stood up and then pulled on Martin's hand until he stood up too. They walked across the yard to the waiting sheriff, "But you know what we can do? We can find out why he's pulling down our houses and fight whatever project he's got in mind for our town." Amy put her arm through the sheriff's and smiled up at him sweetly. "Now Lester, there was just a little misunderstanding about these houses, and Martin was just doing what he thought was right. You and I both know he wouldn't hurt a fly, so can we all just call it a morning and let bygones be bygones?" "I'll let him go, Amy, if you keep an eye on him. I've had more trouble in this pissant town in the last twenty-four hours than I've had in the whole damned county all year." An hour later, Amy sat in Mayor Bill Cox's office in total and complete disbelief. The office of mayor in Piñon is nine-tenths sinecure. The tenth part gives total jurisdiction over street zoning to the mayor, but since Piñon stopped growing thirty years ago due to county land use laws, no streets ever required zoning or rezoning. That is, until Donovan Industries bought up The Delisle Development Group out of California six months ago and allowed Liz Delisle to turn her sights on pretty, little Piñon. Amy knew Liz Delisle by sight. In environmental circles, she was easily the most hated woman in the West—the queen of the strip mall, she could turn farmland into a Dairy Queen-Starbucks-Borders hub faster than you can say 'parking lot.' Again, Amy could have kicked herself for not reading the clues. Bill Wyatt, the real estate agent who had sold her Hutchins House, worked for the Delisle Group. But the implications of a Delisle Group agent working out of Piñon didn't register. Bill Cox proudly showed her the town map with three of the four condemned houses lining up neatly in a row, parallel to Second Ave, with the fourth house situated on Second and completing an L-shape that was adjacent to the Courtland College campus. Donovan and Delisle were going to gut the heart of Piñon's Old Town and put up a strip mall that would serve college students. Her own little house, that she already loved so dearly, was at the bottom of the L. Most likely, the bright lights of a Wendy's or a KFC would flood her garden mercilessly every night. What was the point of berating poor Mayor Cox? He honestly thought he had pulled off a major coup for Piñon, "bringing it into the twenty-first century" he had said. Let his wife and children and the rest of the town burst his bubble. Amy felt too sick at heart to yell anymore. Instead she walked home, kicking pebbles and grinding her teeth. Why on earth was Paul Donovan trying to ruin her town? She had reconciled herself to the fact that she was horribly attracted to an industrialist. She chalked up the attraction to a mutant gene in her DNA coils. She might even have forgiven him his heritage and absolved him of his past. But this? This was incomprehensible. Donovan had walked the streets of Piñon holding her hand last night, all the while knowing that his company, the Delisle arm of it anyway, was going to cut out its heart in the morning. Had all of last night been a lie? Had his kiss been a lie? Never again, Amy promised herself, I will never again let my guard down like that. This is the worst thing that could happen. Amy was wrong, of course. She reached her house to find Jenn home from morning tutoring, her face ashen and her mouth drawn and tight. "What is it, Jenn?" "Jay's been calling you every ten minutes. He couldn't even reach you on your cell phone…" "What's going on?" "Paul Donovan and Liz Delisle held a press conference this morning in Boulder. Donovan Industries has purchased Delisle Development…" "I know, I know. And Piñon is history…" "They didn't mention Piñon. Amy, he's got a permit to build a pipeline so he can pump his South Platte water from the Douglas County aquifer back over to South Park. Delisle is using the water for a hunting and fishing resort they're going to develop in South Park—they're going to name it 'Donovan Park.'" Any feelings of ambivalence toward Paul Donovan were
wiped away as Amy's stomach lurched at the news.
The old sickening feeling of being used, being seen as so feeble that she
would be distracted by sexual attraction and not be able to do her job, made her
swallow hard. "Can they do
that?" she asked her sister. "God, Jenn. Don't be so dense?" Amy yelled. "Can they send the water all over the state like that?" "I don't know, Amy. Ask Dad. Some other reporter probably asked them about it at the press conference. Jay is furious that you weren't there…" And then Amy finally wised up. All the pieces fell into place. Like father, like son. Paul Donovan was completing the circle. He was going to carve up South Park and exploit its beauty, executing the plan his father had begun. He had found a way around South Park's natural defense against development. Lack of water wasn't about to stop him. It took him ten years to find the technology, but the aquifer storage well in Douglas County that Donovan Industries was going to build and manage gave him the means to store and send the water he needed where he needed it. It was a beautiful plan. Donovan had bribed the state with a ten-million dollar gift for the parks department, cozied up to the one reporter who would hate the plan and could have helped derail it with her column. Then he had taken her town hostage. Donovan and Delisle didn't want Piñon. They were going to trade Piñon for South Park. If Amy wanted to save her hometown from becoming a strip mall, then she would simply have to endorse Donovan Park. She knew for absolute certain that Paul Donovan had ordered the houses bull-dozed that morning so that she wouldn't be at his press conference. Later, he would make her an offer. He might even try to kiss her again. Slapping his face wouldn't even begin to express the rage she felt. He had lied to her at the governor's mansion and he had tricked her into betraying herself. That charming man with the gorgeous smile and the soulful eyes who looked so good in an Armani suit as well as jogging shorts; who kissed her with such passion; who laughed at her jokes; who made her feel funny and sexy and smart and pretty all at the same time. A man who maybe, just maybe, could have brought out the best in her. Paul, how could you? Well, Piñon would just have to be collateral damage. If they thought she, Amy Hutchins, would sell out South Park to save her own town, then they thought wrong. Amy remembered the conversation she had overheard last night, so this is Phase Two.
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