Page 5 of Murder

All eyes in the crowded room shift from that angelic blonde to me. I realize, after a second of listening to my pounding heart, that now is the moment I should probably step forward. I draw another deep breath and, with my face schooled into a look of nervousness—one I hardly have to fake—I walk down the small aisle to the dais where the councilmembers’ tables sit alongside a battered wooden podium.

I focus on my breathing as I step onto the dais. My boots click on the wooden floor. My head feels heavy and hollow all at once. My left eye twitches. Can I do this? I stand behind the podium and look out at the crowd.

Holy hell, this place is even more crowded than I thought. I spot familiar faces—the Gatlinburg city planner, a man from the city’s wildlife club who is supportive but fairly ineffectual, two newspaper reporters and a male TV reporter. For a moment, when I see his big, black camera, my whole body goes ice cold.

Is this being filmed?

I take a big breath through my mouth and blink once. Steady, Gwenna. Poker face.

I hold onto the podium with both hands, the way I learned in my college public speaking course.

Then I take a half-second to look from the left side of the room to the right, gathering my thoughts, seeing all the faces. I spend so much time alone… This many people…

I swallow again, and when I hear my own voice, loud and clear, I almost jump.

“My name is Gwenna White, and I’m the owner of the Bear Hugs sanctuary.”

It’s an effort not to cringe; ever since the accident, I hate the sound of my voice, with its slightly lazy “w”s and “o”s and “q”s.

“First I’d like to say, it’s true that it’s a firm rule of the state environmental board that animal sanctuaries not be located in direct proximity to commercial property. In my informed opinion, no amount of appealing is going to change that. They want to protect the bears. That’s the enviro board’s main job. So if the property next door to me is re-zoned, within the next month, the state board will shut me down.” My voice goes a little weak on those words, so I stop again. I blink out at the crowd. My eyes land on a tall, broad-shouldered man whose face is shaded by the bill of a dark ball cap. He’s too far toward the rear of the room for me to see him well, but I imagine his shadowed face looks sympathetic, so I focus my gaze on one of his shoulders and keep going.

“We do some charitable outreach, Bear Hugs does. We give free teddy bears to kids at St. Jude’s and we go there dressed in bear suits to cheer up the ones who are sick or having surgery. We have school groups come out. But other than that, we’re pretty quiet. I don’t get out as much as I should.” I swallow hard. I feel a stinging flush, starting at the crown of my head and sweeping all the way to my feet.

“See—I had an accident in 2012. I injured—a lot of things. My leg, my head.” I swallow spastically, then lick my lips. “Before that, I had been a pre-med student. I had done some modeling. My real dream was becoming a singer. I had signed a record deal.” My eyes water. Holy hell, emotions. Really—here? I blink and carry on. “That accident changed things for me. Big time. My mouth lost some mobility on the left side, so I couldn’t speak clearly. For a while, I couldn’t. If you listen, you can hear it’s still not perfect. But it’s better.

“I didn’t want to leave my house after I got hurt, but my parents made me. My dad would take me to the zoo early in the morning. After nine or ten o’clock, too many people were there. I was too self-conscious to go when it was crowded.” Sweat trickles between my breasts. “When I smile, my mouth doesn’t turn up on one side. As a former model and performer, I was embarrassed and ashamed of how I looked. Of course, the animals didn’t care.” I give the crowd a small snarile. Several people smile back.

THEY ALL SAW.

I inhale slowly. Exhale.

“The reason that I’m telling you this stuff is that I wanted to explain how a place like this, a place that might not seem very special, really can be. After my accident, I bonded with an injured bear. Working with bears gave me a sense of purpose. Animals can do that for a lot of people.”

I see a few nods and feel bolstered.

“Caring for injured animals takes a lot of coordination. I have lots of grants. That’s how my sanctuary runs. You can’t just move the bears without some consequences. I guess all I’m saying is, this is my livelihood. And I guess what bothers me is, there are other plots of land. There are other places this retreat could open.”

My pulse races, and I feel my cheeks redden with my strong emotions.

“Mr. Haywood’s property has been for sale for less than a year. Not being able to sell it in that time—that’s not all that unusual. If the property is rezoned, my business will close. I don’t care if someone buys some of the land from me. I won’t be able to do what I do for business on the land I own. And why? So a house can sell faster? So a developer can open a new business? That seems so pointless.” My eyes sting, but I make sure my voice stays steady. “As humans, it’s our job to watch out for animals and help them. Please consider us as you make your decision.”

I give one last snarile: calculated; awful. I hold it a second longer than usual, so everyone in the room can see the paralyzed left side of my mouth. So maybe someone will feel pity. At this point, I’ll take anything.

I walk quickly back down the aisle, which feels much longer now. I get a few smiles, and some averted faces. A few outright stares. I look for the man wearing the dark hat, but he’s gone. Another man—a shorter, sterner one wearing a suit—is standing where the tall one was. His lips tighten as I come to stand against the back wall.

God, I wish I could just go now.

I hear a “bless your heart” from my right and turn my head to see a short, elderly woman with huge, magenta reading glasses hanging off the end of her nose. “You were in that movie. With the retirement community, and the brother-sister duo. End of Day.”

I nod.

“You’re still a very pretty girl.” She pats my forearm.

You asked for this, Gwen. You just asked for pity. Suck it up.

I blink, keeping my face still. “Thank you.”

She pats my shoulder and I want to run. Instead, I stay and listen to the developer, Carolina Burns, talk about her plans for Mr. Haywood’s land. She swears she won’t build anything within two hundred yards of the enclosure. She says if she gets this development up and running, she’ll buy some more land in the Gatlinburg area as a thank you to the commission for their “faith” in her.

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