Nancy Warren - Aftershocks

“I’m not sure if I’ll make it back before the end of the day. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

At four o’clock, Briana left the building and found a pay phone. If the photo was public property, then she was going to find a way to see it. If it wasn’t, she’d have to go to plan B and talk to Officer Carlton himself.

She had no trouble getting through to Officer Brady and he was as helpful as before. “There’s no photograph in the arrest file,” he told her.

“But…but that’s impossible. It was printed in the paper.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“But…” Her head was whirling. “Could the paper have forgotten to return it?”

“I don’t think the picture in the paper came from here.”

“But where…?”

“Sorry, honey. I shouldn’t tell you this much. Why don’t you ask the reporter who printed the story?”

“But he could have made the whole thing up!”

“No. Here’s what I can tell you.” And he furnished her with the details she’d already found in the police database. Officer Brady offered one extra piece of information, which she’d already read in the paper. Cecil Thomson was arrested for lewd conduct in a public place.

Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

She walked back to her office with a heavy heart, but it was considerably lightened when she received another call from an O’Shea male.

“Briana?” a young voice asked when she answered the phone.

“Yes.”

“It’s Dylan O’Shea.”

“Hello, Dylan.” She smiled and glanced at the flying dragon. “Thank you for the picture and your nice note. I have it hanging on my wall so I can see it whenever I turn around.”

“Oh. Good. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do. Are you looking for your father? He’s in a meeting right now with the police chief.”

“Oh. No. I was kind of calling to talk to you.”

Panic immediately filled her. She was half out of her chair as she said, “Are you alone again? Did something happen?”

“No. We’re fine. Mrs. Simpson’s still sick, and Grandma couldn’t come today, so Dad got this other lady just for today.” Dylan dropped his voice. “We don’t like her so much. She’s kind of grumpy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But you know it’s only for today.”

“Yeah. I guess.” He didn’t sound thrilled.

“How’s Fiona?”

“She’s fine. She’s watching cartoons.”

“Oh. What’s the baby-sitter doing?”

“She’s watching cartoons, too. They’re baby cartoons.”

She smiled into the phone, picturing him in his room, bored. “Oh, dear. And you don’t have anything to do.”

“Yeah. I guess. I can’t have a friend over, because this sitter’s new. I can’t watch a video because of the cartoons. I can’t make a noise, even.”

“Well, why don’t you draw another picture? Your pictures are beautiful.”

“What should I draw?” He sounded bored and lonely and she felt for him with all her heart.

“Why don’t you draw a get-well picture for Mrs. Simpson? I bet she’d love to have it while she’s at home recovering. She’d be happy to know you miss her.”

“I don’t really miss her that much. But I guess I could draw her a picture. Dad says he’s sending her some flowers. He can take the picture over.”

“I’m sure she’d like that.”

“Yeah. I guess. Well, it was nice talking to you.”

Such manners. She had a feeling there was going to be another politician in the family. “It was nice talking to you, too, Dylan.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

When she got home that night, she went straight to her own computer and pulled up an Internet mapping site. Acadia Springs was disappointingly far away. A three-hour drive, according to her Internet map. It would be a pretty drive-a couple of hours north up the coast and then an hour inland. She confirmed through online white pages that a Joseph Z. Carlton lived there, but decided not to call ahead first. She wanted to surprise the man with a personal visit-judge his reaction to her questions.

She’d drive up there this weekend.

Almost the minute she’d made the decision, the phone rang again. “Mayor’s office,” she answered, forgetting she was at home. “Hello?”

“It’s your uncle Cecil.” But it didn’t sound like her uncle. There was anger, frustration and a coldness in his voice that he’d never used with her before.

Briana fought down a pang of guilt. It wasn’t her fault that Patrick had gone to the people. Although she supported his stand, she hadn’t encouraged him to take it. In fact, she hadn’t known what he was planning until the day of the broadcast. But still, because she did support Patrick’s position, she felt guilty. Her uncle clearly held her in some way culpable.

“What can I do for you, Uncle Cecil?” she said in a conciliatory tone.

“Come on out to our place for lunch on Saturday,” he said.

“Saturday?” She’d intended to go up to Acadia Springs on Saturday, but she’d decided not to tell Uncle Cecil about her plans until she’d interviewed Officer Carlton and had all the facts. Now she’d have to go Sunday.

“Yes. Come for lunch. O’Shea’s playing hardball. It’s time for our team to start playing to win also. I want a full report on how you’re doing, young lady. I want him publicly humiliated-he’s got to drop this nonsense.”

Briana felt herself bristle on Patrick’s behalf and her own. She was over thirty, surely beyond being termed a young lady. However, she knew her uncle was clearly upset, so she didn’t call him on it. The best thing she could do was go over on the weekend and try and convince him that the wisest course of action would be to acquiesce to the wishes of the people with what grace he could muster.

“Are you getting calls from constituents?” she asked.

“The phone’s ringing off the damn hook,” he said, and then added some very unflattering things about her boss before hanging up.

The battle lines had obviously been drawn, and neither man was willing to make a conciliatory move.

PATRICK WAS obviously confused and disappointed the following morning that the three councilmen who’d opposed him wouldn’t change their positions. He began to talk about putting together a plebiscite.

“The trouble is that a plebiscite takes time to set up and will cost money-money we desperately need to go to our emergency services,” he said, pacing her office in frustration.

“Do you want me to set up another emergency council meeting?”

He shook his head. “No point. If those three were planning to change their minds and vote to free up that money, they’d have contacted me by now. No,” he said heavily. “I think we’re on our own.”

“I thought they’d have called by now,” she admitted. “They must be receiving almost as many calls as we are.”

“Damn that Cecil Thomson. How can he not see that this isn’t about petty politics anymore? People are dying unnecessarily because we can’t get to them in time. We need more police, more firefighters on call. More manpower, more resources.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “More money.”

Briana had listened to Uncle Cecil’s advice many times during her career. Maybe it was time he listened to some of hers.

“Patrick, don’t start the plebiscite quite yet.” She hesitated, searching for a plausible reason not to. “Let’s wait one more council meeting. I bet you the gallery will be packed with people demanding answers. Council will be shamed into backing you.”

One thing she could say for Patrick was that he did listen to her. He didn’t always follow her recommendations, but he did listen and she knew he respected her opinions. This time, he nodded. “You’re right as always, Ms. Bliss. Let’s give the three holdouts one last chance. But under the terms of the bond, if we can’t get council to agree unanimously, a plebiscite can be called. One way or another, we are going to get that money.”