Ten minutes later, Dillon was seated at his desk, holding his recharged mug in one hand while pointing to the laptop’s screen. He explained decisions he’d made late the night before, now imbedded into the state’s forms as numbers. Concrete requests for urgent financial assistance. Helping a town planted on the storm’s front line.
Porter and the fire chief frowned at his words, clearly having trouble following his explanation. Bailey’s response was entirely different. She watched Dillon as much as the electronic charts. Studying him with something that almost looked like approval.
Charlie Hurst asked Porter, “You understand what this fellow’s saying?”
“Not in a year of Sundays,” Porter replied. “Not if I stood here ’til next Christmas.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bailey said, straightening. “He sounds like a pro. That’s going to make as much difference as numbers on the screen.”
Porter remained bent over, squinting. “Sure about that, are you?”
“I am, yes.” She checked her watch. “Two minutes to showtime.”
“You men need to shift to your stations,” Maud said. “Everybody else, stay out of range and keep quiet.”
“Good luck,” Olivia told Dillon, and followed Ryan into the kitchenette.
“I won’t be needing a desk,” the mayor replied. “Maud, scooch me over an empty chair. I’m going to sit here behind our star player, make sure he sings on tune.”
“Your confidence is just so reassuring,” Dillon said.
As the two men shifted to empty desks, Charlie said, “Somebody’s got to hook me up here.”
“That makes two of us,” Porter said. “With my daughter at university I can’t hardly work the coffeemaker.”
“You men,” Maud said. She moved from one desk to the next. “Dillon, you need me to hold your hand?”
“Our lad’s already up and running.” Bailey had her phone out, typing swiftly. “Maud, you should join in on this.”
“I’m not on the approved list.”
“Sign in using my name.” Bailey kept typing. “If Ransom objects, I’ll explain. But I doubt he’ll even notice.”
Dillon asked, “Ransom?”
“Ransom Bates. State auditor. Not our pal.” Bailey showed the remarkable ability to talk and type at hyper-speed. “My predecessor was part of a statewide scam that Ransom missed. When it became public, Ransom got publicly splashed with mud.”
“The man deserved a lot worse,” Maud said. “He should have been locked up with all the others.”
Bailey tsk-tsked. “It would not be in the town’s best interests for their mayor to say the state auditor had his head buried in the sand.”
Dillon asked, “Who are you texting?”
“Just a pal in Sacramento.” She checked the message, hit send, and pocketed the phone. “In case Ransom decides this is his chance to get even.”
Abruptly Dillon was captured by a memory. The last time he had been seated in such a position, prepared to pitch a financial document with calm confidence, had been his downfall. Lured by lies into believing he had found a huge opportunity, so big he pitched it with confidence to his fund’s primary investors. They would all go in big, and come out rich.
If only.
He wished for the screen to come alive, give him a reason to push away the bitter regret. But the main screen remained blank except for the message that they waited for the meeting’s leader. Dillon turned to the woman seated at his right and said, “So. Mayor Bailey.”
“Actually, it’s Mayor Long.”
Which carried the jolt required to shove the memories aside. Griff’s last name was Gaines, and Bailey wore no ring.
Since Dillon had served as Griff’s best man at their wedding, he searched for something proper and came up blank.
But Bailey showed him that slightly canted grin of hers, and said, “Go for it, sport.”
