Development Department. Still, every morning the bulldozers arrive at eight sharp.”
“Since the condominium complex is already allowed outright by the zoning code, even if these officials were sympathetic, they have no legal recourse to stop it.”
“I know. When I called the mayor’s office, I was told his hands are tied.”
“This complex would be thoroughly welcomed in other Bremerton neighborhoods, inasmuch as it would bring the promise of jobs and new industry. But your neighborhood is such a poor place to put it. Have you mentioned that fact to the Scrooge?”
“I called him as soon as I heard about the condo complex. But he wouldn’t listen. He hung up on me.”
“Feeling secure in his legal rights, no doubt.”
“I don’t care about legal rights, Octavia, only what is right. I’m going to raise the money to meet the Scrooge’s rent demand. Our little corner of Bremerton is made up mostly of seniors. We know one another. We help one another. We’re holding on to our life-style and our neighborhood. We’re not letting ourselves be shoved aside.”
Octavia rested her hand on her grandmother’s arm and gave it a supportive squeeze.
“You say you’ve been running your broadcasts against Scroogen this last week?”
“Once, sometimes twice, a day, I plead for a call to arms—phone-calling and letter-writing ones, of course. The radio station is our communicator, the only immediate information and entertainment line I have to many nonambulatory seniors. They count on me, Octavia. That’s why this business about an FCC complaint is so disturbing. I originally called you hoping you could suggest a legal way to fight the Scrooge’s astronomical rent demand. But this FCC complaint is more serious. I can’t lose my radio license. The seniors’ communication lifeline can’t be cut off. What can I do?”
Octavia sent her grandmother a reassuring smile.
“Mab, don’t worry about losing your license. This FCC complaint is a joke. Merlin never really thought there was anything lewd or improper about your ‘Senior-Sex-Talk’ programs. Nor does he expect the FCC to take the complaint seriously, much less revoke your license.”
“Then why did he do and say what he did?”
“My educated guess is that he staged that scene this morning for the sole purpose of getting the photographer to shoot some pictures to go along with a local newspaper story.”
“How do you know that photographer was from the newspaper?”
“Because this ridiculous, trumped-up charge is just the kind of sensational story a newspaper will eat up. Think about it, Mab. A seventy-six-year-old gal is being reported to the FCC because her ‘Senior-Sex-Talk’ show is alleged to violate a morality clause. Could you ask for better?”
Mab laughed suddenly, relief rampant in the happy sound. “You’re right, Octavia! I don’t know why I didn’t see it. Even I would run a news brief on that storyline. It’s bound to give people a good laugh.”
“Yes, Mab. People are going to laugh,” Octavia said, not a vestige of humor in her voice. “And that’s the part I’m worried about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your radio campaign against Scroogen is being taken seriously. People are making calls and writing letters. What better way to draw attention away from the seriousness of what you have to say then by making you and your radio station into a joke?”
“I see. So the Scrooge had Merlin file that complaint with the FCC to make people laugh at me!”
“I doubt Scroogen thought of it. It’s too smooth and slick. I think this was the brainchild of the Magician.”
“The Magician?”
“It’s what Scroogen’s attorney, Brett Merlin, is called in legal circles, because he makes his clients’ problems just disappear. Merlin’s big time. He only takes on the momentous corporate cases that are considered worthy of his mettle. Scroogen is small fry. I can’t understand why Merlin is representing him.”
“You think that’s an important question?”
“If there is one thing I’ve learned in my legal career, Mab, it’s that the players in any battle are what determine how big that battle is going to be. Today’s Tuesday. Since the Sunday edition of the Bremerton newspaper is the one with the highest circulation, more than likely that’s the edition in which Merlin has arranged for this foolish FCC story to be run.”
“What can I do to stop the story?”
“Trying to stop it would be a waste of time. We have to think of a way to cut it down and shove it to an obscure back page. Mab, do you know where Scroogen got all this money to buy up the land adjacent to your community center?”
“He owns a septic installation and servicing company that ministers to much of Kitsap County.”
Octavia rose to her feet and snatched up her shoulder bag. “And now he’s into land development. That raises one or two questions right there.”
“Where are you going?”
Octavia paused on her way to the door to swing around and answer her grandmother’s question.
“To call A.J. She’s the head of a detective firm that my legal firm uses. I think it might be a good idea for her to do a background check on Scroogen.”
“You can use my phone to call her, Octavia.”
“No, I’ll use my car phone on the way to the Community Development Department. It’ll save some time. I want to do a little checking of my own on Scroogen’s construction permits for this condominium complex.”
“Then you’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.”
“I’d better call you later and let you know.”
“You expect to spend all day at the Building Department?”
“No, but I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to discover why this magician has suddenly materialized on the scene.”
* * *
BRETT ANSWERED THE KNOCK on his hotel room door, impressed that room service had responded so quickly. When instead the gorgeous redhead who had been dancing in and out of his imaginings all day appeared on the other side, he blinked a few times to assure himself his eyes weren’t playing tricks.
“Good evening, Mr. Merlin. I’m Octavia Osborne,” she announced with a thick, liquid voice as smooth and sweet as cherry brandy. “I want to talk to you.”
She glided by him into the room—not waiting for an invitation—treating him to a tantalizing whiff of a subtle, sophisticated scent that reminded him of warm sands and seductive tropical breezes. Brett stayed where he was, holding the door purposely open.
“How did you know I was here, Ms. Osborne? I’m not registered under my name.”
“Yes, that was most
