Matinees With Miriam. Vicki EssexЧитать онлайн книгу.
time and resources to assuage their fears was paramount to their success. A small investment early could save them huge headaches later.
And so, it was with a big smile and a huge spread of locally purchased treats from the various small businesses in town that Shane opened the doors to the B. H. Everett High School’s gymnasium. All week, he’d put up flyers around Everville inviting folks to find out more about the new downtown development.
He’d hoped for a good-sized turnout. He hadn’t imagined the place would be packed by eight o’clock.
“If you feed them, they will come,” Arty Bolton said with a chuckle. The grocer had provided numerous catered trays of deli meats, similar to the one Shane had ordered for Miriam last week. She’d accepted it grimly, so he considered that progress.
“I’m glad for all the interest,” Shane said, though he kept an eye on the wrinkled brows and scowls circulating around the professionally done display boards. A couple of strong, dissenting voices could turn a crowd against the project. “Do you know if Ms. Bateman is coming?”
“Mira? I doubt it. She doesn’t get out much. Always working, that one.” Arty cleared his throat. “Course, this does all concern her, so it’d make sense if she did show up. Then again, if she’s not selling to you, then none of this matters, does it?”
“I hope to change her mind,” Shane said confidently.
“Been talkin’ to some folks,” Arty ventured, scratching his nose. “Seems your people have been working on this deal awhile.”
“It began almost four years ago, just as I was joining the firm,” Shane confirmed, wanting to ensure Arty understood Sagmar had nothing to hide. “But I didn’t take over this project until about two years ago when Mayor Welks was elected. Soon as I heard they were considering Everville for the location, I fought to have it placed here and took the project on.”
“Means something to you, then?”
“A lot. I loved this town when I was a kid. We only came for the summer, but I looked forward to it every year. I want to see it thrive. I’m willing to put money on it, too,” he admitted. “I have my eye on one of these units so my parents have a place they can escape to during the summers. Maybe I’ll retire here myself one day.”
“You’ll have to build it first.” Arty studied him. “You wouldn’t consider moving it to another location in town?”
Shane glanced away, keeping his cards close to his vest. He didn’t want to reveal too much. Sagmar already owned the properties on either side of the Crown; Miriam’s theater was the lone holdout. While the project could technically be moved to another location, it would mean months if not years before he could proceed, and even then, there was no guarantee the same situation wouldn’t arise with any other property. No, this development would be built where the Crown stood. He just had to make Miriam Bateman see its benefits. “If there were better venues, we would’ve taken the project there.”
He excused himself as people waved him down. He spent the next hour or so fielding concerns from the locals—most of them perfectly sensible questions about the environmental impact, the property values, how the new build would affect traffic and so forth. He could see, though, that despite his answers, people weren’t altogether convinced.
“I just don’t think this project is suited for Everville,” one man said boldly. “It doesn’t fit with the rest of the town.”
Shane turned toward the bombastic voice. “I assure you, Mister...?”
“Bob Fordingham, former mayor.” The beefy, balding man with a ruddy complexion and prominent paunch put out a meaty hand. Shane shook it, clenching his teeth as the man squeezed unnecessarily hard.
“Mr. Fordingham, yes, of course, my Sagmar colleagues mentioned your involvement in the initial stages of planning.” He kept his tone light, reminding himself that the current mayor, Cheyenne Welks, had trounced the man in the last election. “I thought you supported this project wholeheartedly.”
“Things have changed.” He pointed a fat finger at the display boards. “Now I’m not so sure this is what we need, what with all the money we’ve already spent on the water mains and such.”
Shane was pretty sure the man’s objections were more about ego than the development. “I’d think it was in the interests of any town to provide affordable quality housing to draw in new residents, and Sagmar can do that. As for commercial space, I’ve always believed in small businesses being the heart of any town. Let me show you the floor plans and I think you’ll agree the space can more than adequately accommodate any business type...”
He spent some time chatting with the former mayor, but could tell the frowning man wasn’t listening. Bob Fordingham had made up his mind, and whatever his agenda, he was going to fight Shane and Sagmar. Eventually, the ruddy man left, muttering just loud enough to be heard. A few of the townsfolk went to chat with Bob and shake his hand. Shane would have to watch out for that group.
Out of the blue, his skin lifted with goose bumps. He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but his eyes were drawn toward the lone woman hovering by the side door. She must have slipped in from a different entrance, unnoticed by anyone else. In black jeans and a dark blue hoodie drawn up around her face, Miriam Bateman skulked around the perimeter of the gymnasium away from the bulk of the crowd gathered at the food tables. Thick-framed glasses rested on her face—they would’ve almost seemed comical, the way she kept pushing them up her nose, as if they were part of a disguise. She was trying very hard not to be detected.
He excused himself and made his way through the crowd. “Ms. Bateman,” he called.
Her head whipped around, eyes wide as he approached. She flinched away from his extended hand. “I’m glad you could make it.”
She looked from his hand to his face, her lips a thin line. Conflict flickered in her cobalt-blue eyes. She cleared her throat. “Yes. Well. I thought I’d come to at least say thank you for the orchid.”
Shane continued smiling, but he had no idea what she was talking about. “You’re welcome.” It wasn’t in his nature to take credit for other people’s work, but this was the first tiny smile he’d seen from the Crown’s owner. Small, tentative, a minor puckering of rosebud lips, but a smile nonetheless. If only he could coax a laugh out of her. “Please, come enjoy some food. I’d love to give you a personal tour of the project—”
“That’s not necessary.” She glanced around nervously. “I thought it’d only be polite to tell you in person that as much as I appreciate your efforts, you shouldn’t waste any more of your time or money here.”
“I hardly think supporting local businesses is a waste of money,” he said smoothly.
She flushed, her gaze darting to her toes. “Of course not. But when it comes to the Crown, I’ve made myself clear. One day, I’ll reopen the theater. I made that promise to myself and to my grandfather. I intend to keep it.”
Shane regarded her thoughtfully. The conviction in her eyes was clear, but he wondered if she understood the magnitude of what she was proposing. It wasn’t just a matter of taking all those boards off the doors and flipping some switches. New building codes and safety standards would have to be adhered to. The investment needed for capital costs alone would be astronomical. As a business, a small second-run theater simply wasn’t sustainable. Even if she did reopen, how long would that last? Would she hold up progress in Everville just to satisfy her own ego? “I understand your position,” he said cautiously, “but I’m hoping to change your mind.”
She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “You won’t. I’ve made myself as clear as I possibly can. Why can’t you accept that?” She was growing more agitated by the second, her voice rising. “I’ll never sell the Crown, not to you, not to anyone.” People started to turn and stare. “The theater is my grandfather’s legacy, and I won’t see it torn down for a bunch of yuppie condos!”
“Ms. Bateman—”