Free Turkey Day Murder by Leslie Meier

was charmed. “Heh, heh,” he chuckled. “That’s right. Well, let’s see what you’ve got there.”
    O’Hara stepped forward and stood next to the table with the box, but didn’t lift the cover.
    â€œBy way of preamble,” he began, “I want to tell you that we at Mulligan Construction believe we were presented with a tall order: a request for a modern, innovative design that would also honor the unique tradition of our clients, the Metinnicut Indian tribe.”
    A hush of expectation fell over the room. Feeling a slight vibration, Lucy’s attention was drawn to Curt Nolan, who was sitting a few seats from her. He was so tense that his knee was twitching; his hands were clenched anxiously. Ellie was watching him nervously.
    â€œWith all due modesty,” O’Hara continued, “I think you will agree that we have risen to the challenge and exceeded it.”
    With a flourish he lifted the cardboard cover and revealed the architect’s model.
    Involuntarily, Lucy blinked. There was a stunned silence, then a collective gasp, as audience members absorbed the two gleaming hotel towers, each at least fifteen stories tall, and the accompanying casino, a monstrous version of a traditional Iroquois long house rendered in glass and steel.
    Lucy wondered what Nolan’s reaction was and looked curiously at him. His knee, she saw, was jumping and his knuckles were white.
    â€œWhat may not be obvious,” said O’Hara, flicking a laser point over the model, “is that the complex will provide parking for two thousand cars, accommodations for five hundred overnight guests, numerous gift shops, and a wide variety of restaurants catering to all tastes from fast food right on up to a five-star dining experience.”
    As soon as he’d finished speaking, hands shot up around the room and Curt Nolan was on his feet.
    â€œThis is a travesty, an outrage,” exclaimed Nolan.
    From his perch behind the selectmen’s bench, Howard White was nodding in agreement. He made no attempt to silence Nolan but let him continue.
    â€œThis prop-proposal has nothing to do with Metinnicut heritage,” said Nolan, so angry he was stumbling over his words. “Metinnicuts never lived in long houses—and they certainly didn’t have skyscrapers. And what about that museum we were promised? If you ask me, the only thing this looks like is the Emerald City of Oz!”
    He sat down with a thump, and Ellie gave him a little pat on the knee.
    White, for perhaps the one and only time, was nodding in agreement with Nolan. Looking around the room, he next recognized Bob Goodman, certain that he, as the lawyer for the Association for the Preservation of Tinker’s Cove, would also be against the proposal.
    â€œPutting all aesthetic considerations aside,” began Bob, pausing to remove his glasses and wipe them with a handkerchief, “I feel compelled to point out that, as presented here tonight, this design does not comply with the existing zoning and site plan regulations of this town.”
    Canaday was immediately on his feet. “Point of order,” he said, managing to get everyone’s attention without raising his voice. “We believe there is some precedent here. If built on land that is owned by the tribe, and that can be shown to have been traditionally occupied by the tribe, local zoning ordinances do not apply.”
    At this pronouncement, the room exploded in an uproar as citizens loudly debated with their neighbors whether this could possibly be true.
    Howard White pounded his gavel, and gradually the roar subsided and order was restored.
    â€œI want to remind everyone that the merits,” he spat the word out, “of the proposed casino are not the issue tonight. The question is whether the board will support the Metinnicut petition for federal recognition. I’m going to close the public debate now and bring that issue back to