Once in a Blue Moon (34 page)

“Face it,” she went on, “they have me boxed in. Even if I come out ahead tomorrow, it won’t end there. They’ll keep on.”

Randall’s expression remained thoughtful, and he commented cryptically, “There may be another way around it. Don’t forget, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

“True. But frankly, I’m out of ideas.” She sighed and gathered up her jacket and purse.

“Maybe I can help. I don’t suppose you’d consider having dinner with me,” he said, eyeing her hopefully.

“Not a chance.”

He looked disappointed, if not exactly surprised, but only said, “In that case, I’ll have to settle for a good-night kiss.” Before she could stop him, he had his arms around her and his mouth was closing over hers. She stiffened, but could no longer contain the feelings she’d been struggling to keep at bay, and for a beautiful, terrible moment she gave in to him. God, how she’d missed this! His mouth was warm and minty; he smelled of aftershave and of his own unique scent that seemed redolent of some old, happy memory. She kissed him back and went on kissing him until the feeble voice of reason in her head finally asserted itself. Even then it took all the strength she possessed to withdraw from his embrace.

“That,” she said, pulling in a breath, “wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Maybe not, but it did.” He put a finger under her chin and tipped her head up to meet his gaze. “There’s no use denying it. Admit it, you missed me. Maybe almost as much as I missed you.” He gave a wistful smile. “Would it be so terrible if you were to give me another chance? I promise I won’t let you down again.”

She considered it briefly before slowly shaking her head. For some people, trust was something to be negotiated, but for her it was black and white: You either trusted someone or you didn’t. Once a person had broken that trust, there was no going back. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just don’t see how it could work.”

“What would it take to change your mind?”

Seeing the pain in his eyes, she felt the crack in her own heart widen. “Even if I could learn to trust you again, I don’t know that I could get past the fact that you’re his son. Every time I looked at you, I’d see
him
. It’s hard enough as it is. How will it be when he’s robbed me of everything I own?”

Randall’s jaw tightened. “He’s my father; there’s nothing I can do to change that fact. But he’s not part of my life.”

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s ruining mine.”

“Lindsay. . .” Randall reached to put his arms around her.

This time she pushed him away before she could give in. “No. I can’t. Please, just go.”

The following morning at nine o’clock, Lindsay arrived at the courthouse, flanked by Ollie and Kerrie Ann. The courtroom was packed. The usual suspects, she thought, glancing around her. There were those who had been following the case since the outset and were fairly evenly divided into two camps: local business owners like Jerod Dorfman—a general contractor, who viewed the jobs and tourism the resort would generate as a way to boost their bottom line—and those who were firmly against any development that would spoil the rugged beauty of the coastline. In back stood a handful of reporters: John Larsen from the
Blue Moon Bay Bugle
, Melinda Knight from Channel 4 News, and several others Lindsay didn’t recognize. At the respondent’s table up front sat the attorneys for the county, a pasty-faced man named Newt Howland and a heavyset, middle-aged woman named Ann Wolf. They were accompanied by a pair of young associates and backed by representatives of the Heywood Group. At the plaintiff’s table Dwight Tibbet sat alone, calm and in control as usual but looking seriously outgunned.

The judge had yet to show, but the bailiff, a balding, lantern-jawed man whom Lindsay recognized from previous court appearances, was on hand. The court stenographer, a pretty, curly-haired young woman was also a familiar face.

The only one missing was Grant, who’d phoned a little while ago to let Lindsay know he was running late.

She’d been a nervous wreck since she’d gotten up that morning, but now a strange calm descended over her. She had to face the fact that whatever the outcome, she wouldn’t walk away a victor. Win or lose, the battle would go on. Were she to win, she would have the strength to forge on, knowing she’d have the advantage in the likely event of an appeal. But if she were to lose? She wasn’t sure she would have either the strength or the resources to carry on.

She would just have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

She felt an elbow nudging her in the rib cage and turned toward Kerrie Ann, who muttered darkly, “If this doesn’t work, we can always put out a contract on them.” She cast a murderous glance at Heywood’s posse. “I know people.”

“Bite your tongue,” Lindsay said. But it felt good knowing someone had her back.

Lindsay took her seat up front next to Dwight just as the bailiff called out in his booming voice, “Hear ye, hear ye! All rise for the Honorable Judge Davis! Court is now in session!”

The judge emerged from his chambers and took his seat: a not unattractive man in his mid- to late forties, with a full head of wavy brown hair going gray and intelligent brown eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses. She’d noticed on previous occasions that he had a habit of removing those glasses whenever he was making a point, usually in censuring one of the attorneys, as if he wanted nothing to stand between him and the full thrust of his gaze. It was one of the many little signals she’d learned to pick up on over the months he’d been presiding over her case. It was strange because she’d never sat down and had a conversation with the man, but she felt as if they were old acquaintances.

Once the formalities were dispensed with and the lawyers had made their opening remarks, witnesses for the county began taking the stand. The county assessor, a dour man in a dark gray suit, produced an impressive array of calculations regarding the projected tax benefits of the resort. A so-called scientist talked about the “minimal impact” on the environment. The COO of the Heywood Group, a svelte blond woman around Lindsay’s age, gave an account, aided by growth charts and glowing testimonials, of the positive impact on other communities where Heywood resorts had been built. Even the plainspoken Jerod Dorfman testified, speaking of the need for the jobs the planned project would generate.

“I got guys depending on me, all of ’em, like me, with mouths to feed. I don’t see how a handful of tree huggers,” he glowered at Lindsay, “should come ahead of working stiffs just trying to get by.”

The burly contractor’s words were met with a round of cheers from his cohorts, which brought the judge’s gavel cracking down in an effort to maintain order.

Then it was Dwight’s turn to call witnesses. They seemed pitifully few in comparison. A bearded environmental studies professor from UC Santa Cruz discounting the earlier testimony of his colleague by speaking of the potential harm to marine life by contaminants in the water supply. Local business owners, one of whom was Ollie’s dad, weren’t eager to see the town overrun by tourists. Alfonse Oliveira, looking as sturdy and weathered as a pier piling, talked about what it would mean to his livelihood to have the waters he fished clogged with kayaks, Jet Skis, and pleasure boats. “Got enough of that as it is,” he groused. “Some days there’s more folks out there than fish.”

“So you’re saying you’d be opposed to anything that made the problem, as you see it, worse?” Dwight clarified.

“Damn right.” Alfonse’s dark eyes, so like Ollie’s, sparked in the rugged terrain of his face. “Fish are smart, see. Smarter than some people. They have the sense to stay away when something doesn’t look right.” He cast a pointed glance at the Heywood Group’s blond COO, who clearly hadn’t impressed him with her glorified charts and testimonials.

A ripple of appreciative laughter went through the courtroom, though there were those, including Jerod Dorfman, who were none too amused by the inference that they were mere lemmings lured by the promise of a better life.

Lindsay was the final witness. After being sworn in, she climbed onto the witness stand and sat down, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze sweeping the packed gallery before settling on her sister and Ollie, who sat holding hands in the front row. Kerrie Ann looked almost as nervous as she. She flashed Lindsay a small smile, and Ollie gave Lindsay a thumbs-up. It was just the boost she needed. She squared her shoulders. This was her Waterloo. . . her last chance to make a stand. She had better make it count.

“I moved here with my parents in the early ’80s, when I was just thirteen,” she began in response to Dwight’s questioning. “Before that I lived with my mother and sister in a motel just outside Reno. It wasn’t anything like the life I have now, believe me. There was never any money, and whatever we did have went to feed my mother’s drug habit. My sister and I were put into foster care when I was twelve and she was just three. I was lucky and got adopted by a wonderful couple—the Bishops. They’re the ones who brought me to live here. Sadly, they’re both gone now, but they left me the land they loved and that I came to love just as much.” Lindsay, who in the past had been loath to tell her story, couldn’t believe she was doing so now to a roomful of people, many of them strangers. “So you see, to me it’s not just a deed to a piece of property. It’s all those memories. Each time I look out my window or take a walk on the beach, I’m reminded of my parents.” She choked up a little. “If I were to lose that, it would be like having to bury them a second time.”

A few spectators were dabbing at their eyes by the time she climbed down from the stand. Even the judge seemed moved. Maybe, just maybe, this would go in her favor after all. . . .

“Court will reconvene at one o’clock,” the judge announced when the morning’s proceedings drew to a close. “I’ll have a decision for you then.”

Lindsay spent the next hour nibbling halfheartedly at the sandwich she’d ordered from the lunch cart, while Ollie and Kerrie Ann did their best to keep her spirits up. She was too tense to respond with more than a nod or a murmur here and there. It didn’t help that there was still no sign of Grant.

Before she knew it, they were all trooping back into the courtroom. The judge settled in at the bench and cleared his throat.

“Ms. Bishop, you argued very persuasively on your own behalf,” he began, his benign gaze falling briefly on Lindsay before moving on to her attorney. “And Mr. Tibbet, I quite take your point that this isn’t typical of most cases pertaining to eminent domain. However, it’s not unprecedented, either. And Mr. Howland and Ms. Wolf made some excellent points. In a perfect world, we could preserve all the natural beauty we enjoy today without restricting any of the services we take for granted. And frankly, while I enjoy a good game of golf as much as the next man, I myself would choose such a world over the one we’re in. But unfortunately, we don’t live in a utopian society.” He paused to remove his glasses, sending Lindsay’s already racing heart into overdrive. “Like it or not, communities like this one depend on tax revenue. Schools, libraries, public works, social services all need it in order to survive. . . and thrive. Which means that inevitably we have to make some compromises. Which is why,” he concluded, not without an air of regret, “I’m ruling in favor of the respondent.”

Lindsay felt the room tilt a little to one side like a boat about to capsize.

Minutes later, the words of the judge still ringing in her ears, she made her way out of the courtroom in a daze.

“I’m sorry, Lindsay. I did everything I could.” Her lawyer caught up with her in the corridor, placing a hand on her shoulder. With his grave expression, he looked more like a funeral director in his dark suit and polished black shoes.

“I know.” Her voice seemed to come from very far away.

“I warned you it would be an uphill battle,” he reminded her. “For once I wish I could say I was wrong.”

“Me, too.” She managed a small smile.

“It’s not over, though. We’ll file an appeal. I can start on it as soon as I get back to the office.”

“Why don’t you hold off on that for now?” she said. At the moment she didn’t know what she wanted except for this to be over. Was anything worth all this grief?