Starvation Lake Read Online Free Page A

repair, the town had to find ways to help it.
    “You saw our editorial?” I said.
    “I did,” Boynton said, his face hinting at a scowl. The zoning board was scheduled to meet again the following Monday and, with the editorial fresh in their minds, the members were likely to demand more money.
    I propped a boot against my desk. “Well,” I said, “I doubt we’re going to change our view.”
    “We’d welcome that, of course,” Boynton said, “but that’s actually not why we’re here. Arthur?”
    Fleming jumped up and his glasses slid down his nose. He pushed them up with the heel of his left hand, set his briefcase on my desk, and pulled out a thick document sheathed in clear plastic. “We have some research we think might be enlightening, Mr. Carpenter, to the citizens of Starvation Lake,” he said. “We’d like to show this to you on an off-the-record basis.”
    I hadn’t heard that phrase since Detroit. Fleming must have fantasized that he was a big-city lawyer rather than a glorified notary public with a mercenary streak. “Sorry,” I said. “No off the record.”
    “Gus,” Boynton said. “All he means is, if you use this stuff, we’d prefer you didn’t say where you got it.”
    “Mr. Carpenter,” Fleming said.
    “Call me Gus.”
    “Gus, then. We’ve simply compiled publicly available information that paints a broader picture of the implications of the zoning board’s responsibilities—and, in fact, the
Pilot
’s responsibilities—to the community.”
    I looked up at the clock over Joanie’s desk. There had been a time, not so long ago, when I’d believed that things were either true or they weren’t, no matter where they came from. “Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll
look
at it off the record. But if we think it’s worth a story, we’ll have to say who put us onto it.”
    Fleming looked at Boynton, who shrugged. The document thudded on my desk. Beneath the plastic, the cover page was blank but for an identifying label, “Campbell/7364opp,” typed in tiny black letters. On the next page was a table of contents divided into four categories: (I) Recent Litigation, (II) Formal Complaints, (III) Affidavits, and (IV) Tax Liens and Related Matters. Beneath each were a variety of references to Starvation Lake Marina, Alden C. Campbell, and Angus F. Campbell. Alden Campbell was Soupy. Angus was his father, who had been the marina’s proprietor until Soupy found him lying faceup on a dock on the morning of July fourth, dead of a heart attack. I flipped through the document. There were excerpts of lawsuits, sworn statements by people who had business with the marina, copies of overdue tax bills, complaints filed with the Better Business Bureau. I’d known Soupy was having trouble running his father’s business, but not this much.
    “Looks like Soup’s got his work cut out,” I said.
    “The real question,” Fleming said, “is whether the young Mr. Campbell is cut out for the work. His record seems to demonstrate—”
    “He’s only been doing it for, what, not even a year.”
    “Come on, Gus,” Boynton said. “He grew up in the damn place.”
    Fleming quieted his client with a raised palm. “It’s true Mr. Campbell has been managing the property for slightly in excess of seven months. But it’s also true that in that short span he has managed to exacerbate the relatively dire financial straits the business was experiencing at the time of his father’s death. It’s debatable as to whether his father would’ve been able to right this sinking ship. Perhaps. But he is not with us. Under his son, this ship has done nothing but take on more water.”
    Enough with the nautical metaphors, I thought. “It’s not the
Pilot
’s job to make judgments about who is or isn’t a good businessman.”
    “Arguable,” Fleming said. “I would argue it is certainly your job to alert the public if a business’s lack of viability has the potential to impact the public interest. In the