The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion: A Haunted Bookshop Mystery

conditioners.)
    Anyway, I could finally hear Bud again. “You’re coming through loud and clear,” I assured him over my cell phone.
    “I had to go in the john and shut the door to get some quiet!” he shouted.
    “You don’t have to yell anymore. What’s going on? Where are you?”
    “In my store. There’s a (expletive deleted) of construction equipment parked on my sidewalk, blocking my loading dock, and even my front door. They’re part of Jim Wolfe’s crew working on the new sewage system.”
    “Tell them to move, for goodness’ sake! Jim’s a nice guy. Why would he do that to you?”
    “I talked to Wolfe himself first thing this morning,” Bud replied. “He apologized, but he said his hands are tied. He has to park some of his equipment on Cranberry to do the sewage job, and the town council gave him permission to park one place and one place only—in front of my hardware store!”
    I sighed, rubbed my eyes. “By ‘town council’ I take it you really mean Marjorie Binder-Smith?”
    “It’s retaliation, Pen, pure and simple. That witch is trying to ruin my business because I’m running for her seat this November.”
    I couldn’t disagree with Bud’s assessment. The councilwoman Binder-Smith had done her level best to take the widower down, ever since he declared his intention to defend the small-business owners of Quindicott instead of sticking it to them with draconian parking regulations, littering fines, and ill-considered taxes. She began by targeting Bud’s business through a legislative proposal called the “Binder-Smith Green Initiative.”
    On the face of it, the legislation sounded reasonable. I mean, everyone wants clean air, clean water, and clean sources of energy, and the woman’s “Green Initiative” promised to deliver all of that in time. But when Bud read the fine print of Marjorie’s legislation, he discovered that the councilwoman’s “initiative” was placing a 10 percent surcharge on the sale of all “fossil fuel-powered lawn mowers, generators, heaters, and lanterns, as well as all propane gas and outdoor cooking and camping equipment.” (Marjorie well knew that Bud Napp was Quindicott’s only propane dealer and the town’s first destination for outdoor cooking supplies, too.)
    The Quindicott Bulletin fully supported these measures—actually, its longtime editor simply reprinted Marjorie’s “press release” word for word. Thankfully, both proposals were ultimately defeated, mostly because Bud pointed out to the town’s taxpaying consumers that they would be the ones hurt most by such legislation.
    Bud also pointed out that Marjorie’s primary rationale for the tax monies was to “discourage” the use of carbon-based products, and the money itself wasn’t going directly toward alternative fuels, or planting trees, or anything specific. It was simply going into the city council’s special slush fund to be used at the council’s “study” of alternative energies.
    Bud did a little more investigating and let the community know that this was the same “special slush fund” that the council had used for a junket to Marin County, California, the year before to “study solar energy at a national seminar.” The seminar included trips to the local spa, and a tour of wine country in a rented luxury bus.
    Bud pointed out that the carbon footprint for crossing the country on jet-fueled aircraft, not to mention tooling around in a gas-powered monster vehicle, was pretty major. In a self-distributed flyer (the Quindicott Bullentin refused to print Bud’s findings, calling them “partisan”), Bud even revealed that the inn where the council members stayed included personal fireplaces in every room, and during their trip they’d had several gourmet dinners at an Italian restaurant with a wood-burning oven.
    The political hypocrisy was off the charts. The town’s citizens were furious. Bud became more visible, and even more popular with the locals.
    Binder-Smith’s initiatives also helped to forge an alliance between Bud Napp and his former business rival, Leo Rollins, owner of Rollins Electronics (and seller of gas-powered electric generators). Leo, the big, bearded Desert Storm vet, motorcyclist, and self-described loner, even joined the Quindicott Business Owners Association, an organization he’d shunned since he opened his store a few years ago.
    “Apparently the councilwoman hasn’t exhausted her bag of tricks,” I said.
    “I’m