Free Trouble in a Big Box (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery) by Judy Alter

between Fairmount and Berkeley and closer to Mistletoe Heights and Ryan Place? Those are all target neighborhoods.”
    “There’s already Fiesta on Eighth. Not room for another big grocery.”
    “Even one so different?” I saw what his problem was. There was no land that would work on Eighth, and not enough adjacent small businesses to tear down and create the space.
    The more he talked, the more I tuned him out. When I did speak, I almost thought someone else had taken over my voice, because I was uncharacteristically forthright and rude. “Tom, I’m going to fight you every inch of the way on this one—petitions, zoning authority, city council. You name it.”
    His voice was deadly calm. “Don’t fight me, Kelly. It could be dangerous. I have big money behind me on this one, people who aren’t afraid to use their power.”
    “Well, I’m not afraid to use my voice,” I said. “Thanks for lunch.” And I rose, leaving half a bowl of soup and an untouched salad behind me. Tom just watched me go. I wondered if he’d anticipated my reaction.
    My main worry was that Tom had really gotten the jump on any opposition. To say he had support could mean anything or nothing. But if he had petitions from Fairmount residents, that was a whole different kettle of fish.
    Back in the office, I called Christian and motioned Keisha to listen in. “I just had lunch with Tom Lattimore . Told him I’d fight him all the way. I think we should start with the Fort Worth League of Neighborhood Associations. But Tom’s already got petitions.”
    “I don’t need fancy expensive groceries,” Keisha muttered.
    I ignored her. “Christian, I called John Henry Jackson at the landmark commission and he sort of brushed it off, said not to worry. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that. John Henry doesn’t have much background in preservation. He got the landmark job by asking for it.”
    Christian sighed. “That’s part of why preservation is such an uphill battle. People get involved without knowing what they’re doing.”
    I went on. “I’ll draw up a petition, and we can get Jim Price to check it from a legal perspective. Nice to have a lawyer as current president of the Fairmount Neighborhood Association. We should meet quickly.”
    “Good idea. The commission has a strong voice at city hall, and they’re really an advocate for preserving older neighborhoods.”
    “Jim Price can call a special meeting of the neighborhood association.”
    “Slow down, Kelly. We may have to wait till Lattimore makes a specific proposal before we can counter with petitions.”
    “He says he’s presenting it next week. Wanted to have my name on it as a supporter.”
    “Interesting. Once he presents it, his proposal becomes a public document. I think it would be really important to see who he’s in bed with. I doubt there are many if any names from the neighborhood. I think I’ll have breakfast at the Paris Coffee Shop tomorrow and talk to Jim.”
    “Christian, one more thing. His last word to me sounded like a threat. Said he had big money behind him and people who weren’t afraid to use their power. I didn’t ask what kind of power, but he mentioned oil and gas money. Be careful.”
    “Oil and gas money is all over Texas, let alone the county, these days. But I’ll be careful. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and we can compare notes.”
    When we hung up, Keisha looked at me and said, “You got yourself into the middle of it again, Kelly. Mike is not going to be pleased.”
    I was wondering if people with money and power hired young girls in green Novas and brown Mustangs.
    ****
    Thursday afternoon I checked the obituaries, but the Star-Telegram didn’t keep four-week-old ones online unless the person was a really major figure. Trying to avoid another long day lost in the archives of the paper, which are in the University of Texas at Arlington library and meant a good thirty-minute trip each way, I called Martha Blackmon, a