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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Monday, June 12

Low Tide 6:04
A.M.

Sunrise 5:00
A.M.
EDT

According to my phone, it had just turned eight o’clock when I pushed open the door of the Garden Cafe.

Apparently, my phone was slow.

It wasn’t a big place—maybe room for fifty to sit down and eat, including the five stools at the counter. Four of the tables had been shoved together just in front of the counter, where they’d interfere least with the waitstaff’s routes. All sixteen of those seats were full, and a table for two over against the wall. Five more folks holding coffee mugs stood behind the occupants of the chairs.

I recognized a good many of the faces: Jelly Lee, sitting at the head of the pushed-together long table; Joan Anderson; Brand Carver; Millie Bouchard; Henry Emerson, the Pepperidge family lawyer; Beth Abernathy, owner of Play Me; Tom Violette, owner of the Sweet Shoppe; Gregor of Gregor’s Electronics; Mr. Kristanos, from Dynamite; Janice Wing, the town librarian; Johnny Gardner, the second-man at Ka-pow!; Ernie Travis, who owned the hardware store; Bob . . .

“Kate!”

Jess Robald got up out of a chair midway downtable, and hurried ’round to clasp my arm, like I was a returning war hero.

“Brand, get off your can and let Kate sit down. Everybody, this is Kate Archer. Kate, I think you know every—well, here’s Michelle—”

A stocky woman with graying brown hair gave me a nod from behind Millie’s shoulder.

“. . . and Ahzan Dhar . . .”

A slight, brown man wearing tortoiseshell glasses, nodded to me from the chair next to Bob.

“Good morning,” I said, since it seemed like Jess expected me to say
some
thing. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Not late,” Brand said, leaning over my shoulder to put a nice thick white mug of coffee in front of me. “We’re all just early.”

“It’s Michelle’s fault,” said Beth Abernathy. “Not only does she open at five, but she said she’d stand coffee for the lot of us.”

“And then of course
some
of us,” said Millie, pushing a conspicuously empty plate away from her, “wanted our breakfasts.”

“So, if nobody minds,” Jess said, giving Brand an especially stern stare, “let’s begin this meeting of Archers Beach Twelve to Twelve.”

“What’s—wait.” That was Gregor. “Twelve to Twelve?”

Jess looked conscious. “Well, we had to call ourselves something, and I thought, we’re trying to go from a twelve-
week
Season to a twelve-
month
Season.” She looked around the table, and added, somewhat subdued. “Eventually, I mean . . .”

“I like it,” Joan Anderson said, and smiled at Jess.

“Sure, hell, yes!” Millie thumped her coffee mug on the table. “If we’re in, then we’re in. No sense getting half-wet.”

“So we’ll be all wet?” asked Tom Violette—and jerked, as if he’d been kicked. “Hey! That hurt.”

“Archers Beach Twelve to Twelve,” Michelle said. “That’s good.”

“The group has established a working name,” Henry said, with an urbane inclination of the head toward Jess. “Carry on, chairwoman.”

Jess gulped, then straightened her shoulders.

“So the reason we’re here is that we all believe that a twelve-week Season is too short, and that for the good of the town, and the good of—well,
us
, we should work together to expand the Season. The Chamber already proved that a Super Early Season can work. We missed a trick, there, us in the park. We shoulda gone to Marilyn and fought to go right into Early Season hours, instead shutting down for two weeks after we were up and running.”

“Well. Marilyn would’ve had to check with the Big Bosses,” Millie said, “and by the time they’d got back, would’ve been Early Season, anyhow.”

“Water under the bridge,” Bob said. “What’re you thinking, going forward?”

“The first thing I’m thinking,” Jess said, looking around the table, “is there’s no reason at all that Labor Day needs to be the last gasp. Sure, people go back to work, but you got your retireds, like came Early, and you got your folks who got jobs don’t let ’em take time during the summer, and”—she turned her hands palms-up—“there’s enough. Enough to stretch us out, what? Four weeks on either side.”

“Where’s President Dan by the way?” Henry asked.

“For that matter, where’s the town manager?” Millie added.

“Town manager got nothing to do with how we operate our businesses,” Bob said surprisingly. “So long’s we don’t violate an ordinance, and nobody’s saying anything illegal here, right, Henry?”

“That is correct. This is a group of business owners who have formed a task force in order to facilitate efforts to increase consumer traffic and legitimately maximize profit. Nothing for the town to care about. The Chamber, however . . .”

“Mr. Poirier felt that this meeting was in the nature of exploration, rather than affirmation,” Janice Wing said. “I wonder, Henry, if you would have time to stop by his office and share your impression of what we accomplish here today?”

“I would be delighted,” Henry answered promptly. “I owe Dan a cup of coffee, come to think of it.”

“Thank you,” Janice said, and looked to Jess. “Excuse me, chairwoman.”

“That’s fine,” Jess said, and added, “Thanks, Henry. Having the Chamber with us on this is going to be huge. Now, the first thing I’d like us to agree on, as a group, is that we’ll commit to staying open through the end of September.”

“Those of us who are in the park,” Jelly murmured, “though we may agree in spirit, may not be able to honor such a pledge. Our hours of operation are set by Manager Michaud.”

“Arcade’s in,” Johnny Gardner said. “Tell Marilyn that, an’ see if she can’t find the phone to call down south.” He nodded to Jess. “We believe there’s money to be made, and we’re willing—Ms. Belleville and me—we’re willing to stake a couple weeks’ operating costs to see if we’re right.” He raised his coffee cup, his forehead wrinkling, and looked back to Jess. “And, if we’re not, to see if there’s a way to
make
us right. All of us.”

“Problem’s getting the word out.” That was Bob again; downright talkative this morning, Bob. I wondered who was minding his restaurant while he came uphill to a meeting, of all things. “We can stay open all winter long, and if nobody knows it, nobody’ll come.”

“That’s exactly right,” Jess said, smiling at him. “We’re gonna talk about that in a minute, okay? Just let me—” She looked downtable to Jelly. “The ride operators, we’ll have a—a sub-meeting, figure out what we want to say and who’ll say it, then we’ll make an appointment with Marilyn. That sound good?”

“It does, thank you. The Lee family does want to be involved in this, please.”

“Sure,” she said.

“Send Anna to talk to Marilyn,” Brand said, from behind Millie’s chair. “Talking about convincing.”

“That’s not a bad idea, but first let’s talk ’mong ourselves and see what we wanna say,” Jess said. “I’ll come ’round to all of you and we’ll figure out a time. The park . . .” She frowned.

“The Fun Country subcommittee?” Henry suggested, and her face cleared.

“That’s right. Thank you, Henry.” She took a breath and looked around at the mob of faces. I was impressed, myself, both with Jess’ command of her meeting, and with the meeting’s air of serious, practical, intent.

“Okay. The next thing we have for—for Twelve to Twelve as a whole—and speaking to Bob’s point—is something Ms. Wing, our town librarian, found out about. I’ll just let her explain, if she would.”

“Thank you.” Janice leaned forward, her hands folded neatly on the table in front of her. “Some of you may know that the State of Maine government includes a tourism department. Their mission is to promote Maine to people from Away. It also offers assistance to towns wishing to . . . make themselves more attractive to tourists, or to, say, figure out how to expand a Season, or deepen an existing Season.” She smiled a slight, librarian smile. “It may be that we are overlooking something of interest—something that we don’t even think is notable, because we have it all the time.”

“You mean, like the Atlantic Ocean?” asked Bob, maybe half flippant.

“The Atlantic Ocean is one thing, yes,” Ms. Wing acknowledged. “Fun Country is another—it has a history, and is one of the few seaside amusement parks still operating. The carousel is another feature. Antique wooden carousels are notable, aren’t they, Ms. Archer? There are, I believe, carousel tours for enthusiasts.”

“That’s right,” I said, and, this being a brainstorming session, didn’t add that we weren’t really well fixed for a carousel tour, since those liked to have four or more within reasonable touring distance of each other.

“The Galaxi is also from another era; I believe that there are roller coaster enthusiasts, as well.” She leaned forward, looking from face to face.

“The point is that the Office of Tourism will help us identify our strengths, so that we can promote them—as Bob said, if no one knows that we have the Atlantic Ocean; a century-old, operating wooden carousel; a classic roller coaster; the Garden Cafe—we have
many
treasures! But, if no one knows those things are here, no one will come to Archers Beach looking for them.

“I propose to make contact with the Office of Tourism and find out what sort of assistance is available, the procedure for applying, and if there are any out-of-pocket costs involved.” She bit her lip and looked to Henry.

“The Chamber will, I think, need to be involved at some point, but I believe that no one can object to my mounting an exploratory expedition.”

“I think it shows initiative, and an understanding that President Poirier’s time is valuable,” Henry said seriously. “I’ll just mention to him, over that cup of coffee, that Twelve to Twelve is making sure it has all of its ducks in a row before calling on the Chamber’s assistance.”

Ms. Wing looked relieved.

“Thank you, Henry.”

“Anybody have any objection to Ms. Wing touching base with the tourism office up in Augusta, to see what kind of help they can give us?” Jess asked.

Nobody said anything.

She nodded. “Okay, then. Ms. Wing—that’s yours to do. Anybody else have something to say?”

“Just something to keep in the back of your mind,” I said, and paused when all eyes turned respectfully in my direction. That wasn’t how it usually went in the meetings I was used to, and it caught me off-balance for a second.

I sipped my coffee, buying balance, then addressed myself to Jess.

“The new midway manager, up from Fun Country, Jersey, is Peggy Marr. She’s the woman Management sends to solve its tough problems. She has a lot of flexibility and she’s not, as far as I’ve seen, afraid to use it. She might be a resource.”

Jess nodded, and made a note on the pad.

“Thanks. Anybody else?”

“I hear a rumor,” Ahzan Dhar murmured, “that the former site of the Lonely Loon is for sale.”

The Lonely Loon had been a . . . seedy even for Archers Beach . . . motel directly across from Ahz’s Market. It had burned down, so I’d heard, two winters ago. Suspicious circumstances, said the fire marshal, and everything froze in place until that got proved, or didn’t.

Sounded now like one or the other had happened.

“Be good if somebody bought that land, and put in something useful,” said Bob. “Place is an eyesore, even as a vacant lot, and it don’t do you one bit of good.”

“No, it does not,” Ahzan agreed. “I hear another rumor.”

Jess raised her head and looked at him, hard.

“What’s that, Ahzie?” she asked.

“That there is a company, from Massachusetts, that has inspected this site, and considers it would be a good location for a condominium building.”

The assembled Twelve-to-Twelvers blinked.

Often enough,
condominium
is fightin’ words. It carries a freight of bad stuff. Condos are usually purchased as second homes—as
summer homes
—by people from Away. The places are empty for that part of the year that isn’t summer; the folks who own them don’t vote, or volunteer, or do much of anything at first glance, except clutter the place up during the nice weather.

Second glance, though—that reveals some details.

The summer owners use services—water, sewer, electricity, so on—for which they pay. They pay town property tax on their summer house. During the weeks they live here, they buy wine and groceries at places like Ahz’s Market. They hire local folks to clean, to fix their cars and to keep an eye on their places during the months they’re not around. They shop in town. They eat out. They occasionally need this or that from the hardware store. They go to Neptune’s for a beer, and to listen to the music; the kids go to the arcade, and to the amusement park.

Kind of a double-edged sword,
condominium
.

Condominium projects built by out-of-state firms, that added another level of freight, because the condo fees and the purchase price would be siphoned right out of town, to someplace Away, just like Fun Country’s profits went to Jersey, and precious little trickled back up to Maine.

“I’ll just do some research, if Madame Chair will approve,” Henry said, “and see if I can substantiate that rumor.”