63.

Jim Cameron was waiting for them at the door of the town hall. “This isn’t good,” Lyle muttered.

“Congratulations, Russ. Lyle.” The mayor pumped their hands as if he thought water might gush out. “That was some top-notch work. Closing three murder cases at once.” In fact, it had been on the front page of the Glens Falls Post-Star for two of the last three days running. Ben Beagle had pestered Jack Liddle for his three-generational view; Russ had been grateful to have the spotlight on someone else for a change.

Jim ushered them down the hall, past the clerk’s office. “I think the good publicity is behind the Algonquin Waters asking for this meeting.”

Russ stopped Jim in the conference room antechamber. “When you say ‘Algonquin Waters,’ who, exactly, are we dealing with? Because the owner is in federal prison.” Russ had helped to put him there, in fact, an arrest he still considered one of the highlights of his career.

“The court-appointed board of trustees is the ultimate authority for BWI, but right now we’re talking with Danielle Howe. She’s the lady picked by the board to manage the day-to-day operations—the temporary CEO, if you will—until John Opperman, um, returns.”

“She was one of Opperman’s VPs,” Lyle added.

Russ’s mouth twisted. “You’ll excuse me if I’m not wild about the idea. Captains of industry aren’t high on my list right now.”

Jim turned to face him dead-on. “If the biggest employer in town throws its weight behind the Save Our Police campaign, it could make all the difference come November.”

Lyle’s bushy eyebrows went up. “I didn’t know you cared, Jim.”

The mayor gave him an exasperated look. “I keep telling you two I want to keep our independent police force. It’s the best thing for the town. Even if it is busting our budget.”

“Okay.” Russ gestured toward the door. “Let’s see what Ms. Howe has to say.”

Every one of the aldermen was at the table. Jim introduced them to Ms. Howe, a tall, trim woman about Russ’s age, with swinging hair right on the halfway mark between blond and silver. Lyle gave her one of his most charming smiles and murmured something Russ couldn’t hear; when Lyle released her hand, Russ noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He gave his deputy chief a sidelong look.

“Thank you all for agreeing to meet me on such short notice.” Howe opened her briefcase and removed a stack of folders, which she handed to Bob Miles on her left. He took one and passed the rest along. “The BWI board of trustees has been concerned about the proposal to replace the Millers Kill Police Department with the state police for some time. As I’m sure you’re all aware, tourism is on the rise throughout this area. The Algonquin Waters has seen an eight to ten percent increase in visitors each year since it opened. We know from our internal polling that one of the things that attracts our guests to the area is its feeling of safety and security.” The handout reached Russ. It was several pages inside a tinted plastic presentation folder. The top page was titled A PROPOSAL TO MAINTAIN MILLERS KILL’S EXISTING POLICE FORCE.

“If you look on page two, you’ll see some quotes from our guests. One mentions enjoying the small-town atmosphere where they can let their children ‘off leash.’” Howe smiled. “Another comments on how a visible police presence has encouraged her to keep returning to our area as a woman traveling alone.”

Next to Russ, Lyle’s shoulders tensed. Yeah, I know. It didn’t help Gabrielle Yates.

Harold Collins leaned back in his seat. “Ms. Howe, I’m sure I speak for us all when I say we want to keep the Algonquin Waters resort happy. The problem is the cost to our taxpayers.”

“Which is what our proposal addresses. As you all know, part of the agreement with the town of Millers Kill during BWI’s siting of the Algonquin Waters Spa and Resort was a ten-year tax abatement. In laymen’s terms, the resort gets a pass on property taxes. The board of trustees has directed me to offer to amend BWI’s agreement with the town and to begin paying the resort’s property taxes in full, starting retroactively with the beginning of this financial year.”

Jim Cameron blinked several times. “We’d get a property tax payment. This year.”

“And next year, and so on and so forth. If you look on page four, we have an estimate of our taxes due based on your current mill rate. Obviously, you would want to do an independent assessment.”

“Obviously,” the mayor echoed.

Garry Greuling gave Russ a surreptitious thumbs-up from across the table. “Ms. Howe, thank you. This is exactly the miracle we need to save our police department.”

“Wait.” Bob Miles held up a hand. “Can we get the measure off the ballot at this point?”

“No.” Jim frowned. “But we can certainly get the word out to everyone that the circumstances have changed.”

“Let’s ask the county election board if we can include a handout at the polls,” Greuling said.

“A voting guide? Maybe not at the polls, but we could do a mailing—”

“Gentlemen.” Danielle Howe’s voice cut across the rising debate. “BWI does have one stipulation to this offer.”

Russ leaned forward. This is it. Unlike Mr. Greuling and Clare, he didn’t believe in miracles. He had been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Road widening,” Lyle said under his breath. Russ nodded. That was the next logical step after the new light. Widen the Sacandaga Road and put in an interchange.

“The board of trustees would like you to replace the current chief of police.”

The room went silent. Everyone stared at Russ. He moved his mouth. “What?” he finally said.

Howe nodded toward him. “Chief Van Alstyne, I mean no disrespect to you as an individual. But over the past several years you’ve been involved in personal scandal and have been the subject of a state internal affairs investigation.”

“Russ was cleared,” Jim snapped.

“In addition, the department had an officer accused of excessive force last year and two more named a week ago in a suit for false imprisonment and tampering with evidence.”

“How do you know—”

“I’m sorry, but the BWI board of trustees has lost faith in Chief Van Alstyne. Obviously, our organization cannot and should not pick the next person to head your police department. But we can say our funding is contingent on your finding that person.”

“This is bullshit!” Lyle stood up, his chair rocking away from him. “Russ led the investigation that put your sleazy boss away, and this is payback!” He glared at the aldermen. “Are you going to let her get away with this?”

“Lyle, sit down.” Russ kept his voice even.

“It’s not an offer, it’s a goddamn stab in the back!”

“Lyle. Sit down.”

Lyle thumped into his seat, red-faced.

The mayor stared at his hands for a moment. “Ms. Howe.” He looked around the table at the aldermen. His eyes slid over to Russ. “Thank you for presenting your board of trustees’ proposal. We will consider it and get back to you.”

Howe let herself out. There was a moment of profound silence. Jim wiped his hands over his face.

Harold Collins cleared his throat. “I move we vote—”

“We’re not voting on the proposal.” Jim pushed the glossy folder away. “We’ve already agreed to let the public decide if they want to maintain the police department. It’s on the ballot.”

Bob Miles cut in. “Don’t you think our taxpayers have the right to know there’s a potential funding source that would allow us to keep the department and balance the budget? It’s a win-win!”

Garry Greuling stared at him. “Really, Bob? A win-win?”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck. “Well … for the public.” He looked toward Russ. “Nothing against you, Chief.”

“Exactly,” the mayor said. “Our entire issue with the police department has been funding. No one at this table has ever suggested Russ Van Alstyne isn’t the right man for the job.”

“He did say the actions of his officers are his responsibility,” Collins pointed out.

Russ stood. Lyle immediately got to his feet as well. “They are,” Russ said. “I’m the person responsible for the men and women of my department.”

Jim Cameron held up his hands. “Stop. Right there. Russ, before you say another word, you have to go home and think it through. Think about it long and hard. Talk to your people. Talk to your wife.” He looked at the aldermen. “And we need to consult with our lawyer before we proceed on any of this. Ms. Howe raised a lot of issues that directly affect our legal obligations; election law, contract law, and tax law just to start.”

“We could—” Collins began.

“Harold, are you an attorney?”

“No.”

“Then I’d like you to hang on to your opinion until we get her offer vetted by counsel.” The mayor pushed his chair back and crossed to where Russ was still standing like a pillar of salt. “I’m serious,” he said, dropping his voice. “Take a couple days off. Take your wife up to the lake. Think things over. And keep in mind, we could still win this at the ballot box.”

“Exactly,” Lyle said. “I think we’ve got a lot of support.”

Except, of course, they’d be in the same spot they were now. Understaffed and underfunded. “Sure.” Russ forced himself to turn, to shake Jim’s hand, to nod toward the aldermen, looking at him with expressions ranging from calculation to concern. “Yeah. I’ll think about it.”