Aftershocks (10 page)

“Officer Carson? Susan Carson?”

“No. Carlton. Officer Joseph Z. Carlton.”

“There’s no officer with that name here, ma’am. What’s it regarding?”

She’d had a few minutes on her drive over to come up with a plausible explanation to that very question.

“I’m doing some research on policing methods in the nineteen-eighties,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded young. “I’m taking criminology in college, and this is my research project. I went through some old newspaper archives and found Officer Carlton’s name in several articles.”

“Oh, well, if it was in the eighties, he might have moved on or retired. We’ve got some officers here who’ve been on the beat a good long time, though. Want me to put you through to one of them?”

“Okay. Thank you.” She decided to wing it and hoped to hell that whoever answered had never spoken to the mayor’s administrative assistant.

A click sounded and a few minutes passed. She was starting to lose her nerve and considered hanging up when a gruff voice said, “Brady.”

“Officer Brady? I’m a university student…”

She asked Officer Brady a few perfectly useless questions about policing in the eighties, then inquired about the police archives. Although the archives weren’t open to the public, she would be able to obtain the name, description and occupation of the persons arrested.

“What if the information has previously been released?” Briana asked. “Like a mug shot.” She thought of the celebrity mug shots she saw far too often in the papers and on TV.

“Once it’s been released, then that information would be considered in the public domain,” the policeman told her.

Briana took a deep breath. “I’m interested in a story that was covered in the
Sentinel
about Councilor Cecil Thomson. A photo taken during the arrest was printed in the paper. I’d like access to that photo.”

“Sure,” Officer Brady said. “I remember that being in the paper. It caused a scandal at the time. I have to get permission before you can see the picture. Give me your number.”

“I’m on the road and don’t have a cell phone,” she said. “Could I call you back later?”

“Sure. Call around four o’clock. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. Um, the arresting officer was Joseph Z. Carlton.”

“Joe Carlton. Sure. I remember him. He’s been off the force a couple years. He retired to Acadia Springs.”

“Thank you very much for your time, Officer Brady.”

“Anytime. I’ll talk to you later.”

Her stomach felt a little jumpy, so she picked up a
deli sandwich, which she didn’t really want, and forced herself to eat it before returning to the office.

At two forty-five, Briana received a phone call from Patrick telling her that he was on his way to Max’s. At the sound of his voice, her heart picked up speed.

“Did the media show?” she asked.

“Yep. I gave them your numbers, and a few sound bites Archie dreamed up. Is the phone still ringing?”

“More phone calls, more faxes, more e-mails. About the same ratio of pro and con.”

“Fantastic. No sign of Thomson waving the white flag?”

“Not yet.”

“All right. I’ll be a while with Max.” He paused. “Sure you don’t want me to put in a good word for you?”

She smiled wistfully. “You gave me a month,” she reminded him.

“Yeah? I don’t know who’s the bigger idiot. Me or you.”

She didn’t know either, but she sure hoped it was her.

“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.

P
ATRICK 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.”

N
OON
S
ATURDAY
found Briana in a whispered conversation with her aunt while they waited for Uncle Cecil to finish a call in his study.

“Your poor uncle,” Aunt Irene whispered. “I’m seriously worried about him. Goodness knows what this fight he’s in with the mayor will do to his blood pressure.” She shot a glance over at Briana. “And his cholesterol.”

Briana could well understand that stress affected blood pressure, but cholesterol?

“He’s not sleeping well, and I hear him muttering to himself all the time. It’s not right. That mayor had no right to upset your uncle this way.”

Briana was about to explain the mayor’s rationale, when she realized she’d only upset her aunt further. Briana suspected Uncle Cecil was not a fun man to live with when he was in a temper.

So she held her peace and let her aunt rant on about how dreadful her life had been when that awful photo was first leaked to the press. She couldn’t even face going to the supermarket for days. “It wasn’t until we were almost completely out of supplies that I realized I was going to have to face the ridicule of our neighbors or starve.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt.” And she was. “It can’t have been easy.”

“No. It was terrible. Just terrible.” Her lip quivered. “Of course it was a lie. Your uncle has barely looked at another woman since we’ve been married. He’d never do a thing like…what was in that picture. They’d blanked out part of it, of course, to put it in the newspaper, but it was still just awful. And the man didn’t even look like your uncle.”

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Irene. I can’t believe anyone could hurt you and Uncle Cecil this way.”

Still, she wanted proof that Patrick was behind the awful smear campaign.

Interestingly enough, that was exactly what was on her uncle’s mind when he emerged from his study.

“You two go out on the back porch and have a nice chat,” her aunt said. “I’ve got the chicken salad all made. I’ll just fix the rest of lunch and put it out on the dining room table.” She smiled at Briana and added a conspirator’s wink. “It’s very private out back. No one will see or hear you talking to your uncle.”

Briana went through the kitchen and out to the porch. When they were sitting, glasses of lemonade in their hands, she took a moment to study Uncle Cecil. She could see why her aunt was worried about his health. His face was a mottled red, and it wasn’t from exertion or too much sun. She suspected it was from high blood pressure and stress.

“Are you all right, Uncle Cecil?” she asked softly.

“Of course I’m not all right.” He managed to smile at her. “I’m better for seeing you, though.”

She shifted in one of the deck chairs her aunt had re
upholstered recently in white cotton with strawberries printed all over it. The print was cheerful, even if the atmosphere was anything but.

Uncle Cecil didn’t waste time getting to the point. “Well? What’s O’Shea up to?”

Briana felt tugged by loyalty to two men she cared for deeply. If they pulled much harder, she was going to split in two. “You know what he’s up to as well as I do, Uncle Cecil. He’s determined to access that money, and more than ninety percent of the city’s voters agree with him.”

Uncle Cecil’s cheeks deepened to an alarming hue. He was redder than the berries on the fabric. He put down his drink with a thunk and rose to glare out at his backyard. “He tried to destroy me, and that didn’t work. Now he’s trying to make a public fool out of me. But he’s not going to get away with it.”

“Uncle Cecil,” she said, in as calm and reasonable a manner as she could manage, “if the people of Courage Bay want to increase funding to the services, would it be so wrong for you to let them do it?”

He turned to her, dumbfounded.

She tried a smile. “I know you understand about money and wise investments, and you wouldn’t let anyone be foolish with taxpayers’ dollars. I’ve checked the original documents that were filed when the fund was created. You could stipulate that your yes vote is dependent upon only a certain amount being accessed, and you could demand that council appoint outside trustees to ensure the money is spent wisely.”

“I cannot believe my own niece is…is consorting with the enemy.”

Briana felt her own cheeks redden at the implied
insult. “I’m not against you, Uncle Cecil. I’m on your side, but I’m also seeing how a lot of citizens feel. I think if you continue to stonewall the mayor on this, you’ll end up losing.”

“Losing again, you mean.”

“I appreciate how angry you are at the way your reputation was smeared, but the two things aren’t necessarily related,” she said. She rose and placed a hand on her uncle’s arm.

“This man all but ruined my life and, even worse, the peace and comfort of my wife,
your aunt
.” He emphasized the last two words, and Briana shifted uncomfortably. “He’s not a man anyone can trust. Now, you can’t tell me that a beautiful woman like you has been working with him day after day, just the two of you alone in that office, and nothing’s happened?”

Knowing that her expression would only too clearly reveal her feelings for Patrick, Briana turned away from her uncle and walked to the other side of the porch.

“He’s done nothing improper,” she said, reminding herself that she was the one who’d begged Patrick to take her in the elevator, the one who’d talked him into firing her. Now, instead of trying to get her into bed, he’d given her a month to make up her mind about finding another job before he’d continue their private relationship. In her books, that was pretty honorable behavior.

“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough,” her uncle said from behind her.

She did turn now, knowing her eyes flashed with anger. “I promised you that I would help put things right, and I’m trying to do that and still keep my integrity.”

Her uncle shifted uncomfortably, then stooped to one
of the white planters to snap a dead geranium bloom off its bright green stem. “Of course not,” he muttered. “You misunderstood me. I’m only trying to right a wrong. If we can turn the city against Mayor O’Shea, then his little publicity stunt to get the money for his old buddies at the firehouse isn’t going to work.”

“But, Uncle Cecil, this is not a personal whim on the mayor’s part. The people of Courage Bay want improved emergency response times. Lives are at stake. People are overwhelmingly in favor of accessing the municipal bond.”

“Don’t be naive, Briana. You’ve been involved in politics long enough to know people can change their minds awfully damn fast. If O’Shea were out and I was mayor, I’d run this city more efficiently, and his old buddies Egan and Zirinsky wouldn’t get their overpadded budgets past me. I’m an old hand at this and I’ve been a banker all my life. I think I know a little more about public finance than a man who’s spent most of his career sliding down a fire pole!”

“But what if he’s right, Uncle Cecil? What if more people die in this town because we don’t have the resources to prevent it. How would you feel?”

He looked at her, his blue eyes sharp with suspicion. “I’m beginning to think it’s not my feelings that are the problem, but yours.”

This time Briana was powerless to stop the heat that flooded her cheeks.

“O’Shea’s a handsome young fellow, I’ll give you that. Quite a lady’s man. All the O’Shea men are. But don’t let that Irish charm fool you. He’s a coldhearted son of a bitch, out for what he can get, and he’ll destroy
anyone who gets in his way. I asked for your help because I thought I could trust you. Now I’m beginning to feel the same about you.”

“That’s funny,” she said. “I’m beginning to feel the same way about you.”

A
FTER
S
ATURDAY’S
awkward lunch, where she and her uncle tried to be pleasant to each other for her aunt’s sake, Briana was looking forward to a long Sunday drive on her own.

She’d promised she’d help her uncle restore his good reputation. He wanted to do that by bringing down his rival. She much preferred finding out who’d maligned her uncle in that vicious newspaper report. Today, she hoped to get a step closer.

As she drove up the highway, she tossed around ideas on how to approach the retired officer. In the end, she decided to tell as much of the truth as she could. She’d be up front about the fact that she worked for the mayor and would explain that she was researching the old charges in hopes of exonerating the long serving councilor. With time running out before a showdown between Patrick and Cecil Thomson, Briana was determined to get to the truth.

When she reached the tidy community of small bungalows, she found the Carlton home with no trouble. As she pulled to the curb, she noted that all the drapes were drawn and the newspaper sitting on the front step.

Maybe they were out for the afternoon?

She got out of her car and headed up the path, but as she rang the front doorbell and listened to it echo, a voice said behind her, “They’re not home.”

Briana turned to find an older woman in a sun visor, plaid shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt regarding her with mild suspicion.

“Oh. I drove up from Courage Bay to see Mr. Carlton on business. Will he be home this afternoon, do you think?”

“Nope. Not till the middle of the week. They’re on a cruise for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. You want to leave a note?”

Briana smiled and shook her head. “I was hoping to talk to him in person. But it can wait. Thank you for your trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. We look out for each other in this neighborhood.”

M
ONDAY MORNING
, Patrick handed Briana a small envelope.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s from Dylan.”

She wasn’t surprised. Dylan now contacted her every day, either by phone or by sending her a new piece of art for her bulletin board. She was falling for him almost as badly as she had fallen for his dad.

Inside the envelope was a single card with space aliens on it and several lines printed in Dylan’s own hand. It took her a moment to realize what it was. “Oh, a birthday party invitation.”

“That’s right. Dylan wanted to invite you to his party.”

She glanced up at Patrick. They’d been so careful this past week to keep their distance, and though she couldn’t bring herself to discourage Dylan’s calls, she hadn’t made another trip to the O’Shea house. She
hadn’t intended to until she knew the truth about the false charges against her uncle. She’d been fairly certain Patrick would give her the month he’d promised, but she hadn’t counted on his son being the one to invite her back to their home.

“Did you know about this?”

“Sure.” Patrick was noncommittal. He could love the idea or hate it—it was impossible to tell. So she asked him.

“How do you feel about this?”

“It’s Dylan’s birthday party. He can invite anyone he wants.”

Okay, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with his feelings.

She hesitated, tapping the card against her palm. “I’m flattered that Dylan invited me, but I’m not sure it would send the right message if I—”

“Don’t tell me. I didn’t invite you. Tell Dylan.” Patrick pointed to the last line. “It says RSVP right there.” He turned and disappeared into his office.

Briana had the feeling he was disappointed she was going to turn down his son’s invitation. But she had to, didn’t she?

Later that day, when she called Dylan, he whooped with joy at the sound of her voice, and Briana knew right then that she was going to his party.

“I knew you’d come,” Dylan said enthusiastically when she accepted his invitation. I told Dad you would.”

“Really.” She paused in surprise. “Did he think I wouldn’t?”

“He said you had your own life and I shouldn’t be disappointed if you couldn’t make it. But I would have been.”

So, she’d spend Saturday afternoon at the birthday
party desperately pretending she didn’t have the hots for Dylan’s father.

At least she had a good idea what to get Patrick’s son for his birthday and spent a happy hour in an arts and crafts store downtown selecting a drawing kit that was age-appropriate and yet offered him some tools and an instruction book if he wanted to learn more. She also picked up a three-volume set of
The Lord of the Rings
, figuring that no matter how good a movie was, it could never capture all the nuances of the original book.

While she was in the bookstore, she picked up a book for Fiona, as well, knowing that she was young enough to feel left out when Dylan got all the presents.

Since she wasn’t in the habit of buying kids birthday gifts, Briana didn’t have the right kind of wrapping paper. She found a card shop and bought paper with realistic-looking dinosaurs and a “now you are 10” card.

That was the easy part.

The tough part came Saturday afternoon when she had to decide what a thirty-two-year-old woman should wear to a ten-year-old’s birthday party.

“This is ridiculous!” she yelled to herself after she’d changed her outfit more times than a runway model for a Paris show. She finally decided on a denim skirt, leather sandals, a pale blue shirt and a white cotton sweater.

As she drove to the party, she had no idea what to expect. Her big fear was that, for all the supposed casualness of the invitation, she’d be the only adult other than Patrick, which might in some way cast her as the mother figure for the day.

Of course, she’d tried to pump Patrick for details of
the party, but, being a man, he didn’t seem to catch on to the subtext of her questions the way a woman would.

When she’d asked him, “Has Dylan invited many boys?” what she really meant was, “Will I be the only woman there?”

Patrick had answered absently, signing a stack of correspondence. “I gave him a limit of ten boys.”

“Oh. Was I included in that limit?”

He glanced up, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “You’re not a boy.”

She gave up. She absolutely gave up.

Now, as she drove up to Patrick’s house, she was surprised to see a string of cars lining the driveway and parked out front.

When she climbed out of her car, she heard unmistakable sounds of adult merriment. Clearly, then, there were more than just ten boys here at the party. Oh, well, her worst fear was banished. She wasn’t being chosen as stand-in mother for the day. Dylan had simply invited her because he wanted her to be there.