“If you look at the occupation entered by every generation of Hartford men until Robert Hartford,” Mike said, “you’ll see it listed as blacksmith or ironworker. Since these gentlemen all appeared to use the barn and the attached workshop as their smithy, I think we can agree that the property has continually been home to a business since the 1800s. Which means it should qualify for a grandfather clause, allowing a business to continue there now.”

Marty Watson, a longtime town employee and current head of the zoning board, pushed back his ball cap and scratched his head. “Look, Mike, just because there was a smithy there a hundred years ago doesn’t mean there should be one there now. Besides—” the old man gestured in Zoey’s direction “—Zoey ain’t no blacksmith. She fixes vacuum cleaners. That’s hardly historically significant.”

Karen Schiff raised her hands to start clapping at what seemed a point for her side, but her husband’s withering stare stopped her. Her hands fell back to her lap.

“Well,” Mike replied, “if you look at Exhibit—”

Marty slapped his book closed. “I don’t need to read some damn novel to make a zoning decision.” Zoey’s fears returned. Maybe this wouldn’t work, after all. “I’ve known you since you were running around your grandpa’s bar in diapers, Mike McKinnon. You don’t need to come in here and razzle-dazzle us with all your legal wizardry.”

Marty pointed to the Schiffs. “The reason we’re here tonight is because we’ve had a nuisance complaint, and that needs to be resolved.” A rumble of discontent rolled through the audience, and Karen Schiff visibly shrank in her chair. She had to know she was outnumbered here.

Lou Smith spoke up from the far end of the table the board was sitting at. “Marty’s right. This is compelling, Mike.” Lou chuckled as he held up the fancy booklet. “Even if it is a bit of overkill. I’d like to see if we can come up with something that will make everyone happy.” He shook his head with a wry smile. “Or at least equally unhappy.”

Lou looked at the Schiff couple. “Mrs. Schiff, what will it take to satisfy your complaint that your neighbor, Miss Hartford, is—” he slid on a pair of readers and squinted at the paper in front of him “—uh...‘destroying the residential nature of your surroundings.’ Can you describe exactly how that’s happening?”

Zoey steeled herself for insults and mockery from her neighbor when Karen stood.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith.” Karen looked around the room, color rising in her face. “I only want to protect my property value, and the appearance of Miss Hartford’s place, with all that—” she waved her hand in a circle “—that stuff in the front lawn, and the business operating right there, it’s...detrimental.”