24
Olivia was helping Maud clean and prep the jail cells when Bailey rushed in. The mayor led Olivia out front, dropped her gubernatorial bombshell, and said, “Dillon says you’re the perfect pro to help us develop before-and-after images of the damage. The question now is, can you fit yourself around a timeline that just got shrunk to almost nothing.”
“I can work fast,” Olivia replied. “And Gleason can help with the befores.”
“In that case, you’re it.” Bailey walked to the nearest desk, grabbed pad and pen, and scribbled. “Here are what I’d class the six most crucial areas where we need federal funding. Consider these just a starting point. Add whatever you think of.” Bailey handed her the page. “And hurry.”
* * *
Despite the mayor’s sense of urgency, Olivia took her time walking down Ocean Avenue. This particular late afternoon was already so full of so much. What she needed most was a chance to revisit the conversations she’d just had.
Her and Dillon. Dillon and the builder, Berto Acosta.
Olivia and the mayor.
Go for it? She had actually said that to Bailey?
And meant it? Really?
Yes, as a matter of fact, she had.
The lance of regret she had felt was just that. A momentary spasm. Or so she tried to tell herself. And hoped desperately it was true.
* * *
Olivia spent the next couple of hours in Gleason’s back room, going through his photo files. He had stored computerized renderings of many bygone favorites. She took her time, enjoying this glimpse back into the world she had known as a child. Once she had selected the early photos, she matched these to contemporary images of Miramar at its best. She then made a mental note of areas she would photograph the next morning, illustrating both the damage and the need.
But as she finished up, Olivia kept being struck by a niggling doubt. She had the distinct impression that she was missing a vital element. What that might be, she had no idea.
Gleason was busy in the front room dealing with multiple pre-Christmas clients. Olivia left a note on his desk and slipped through the shop and headed out. As she started up Ocean Avenue beneath a slate evening sky, she realized she was famished.
She was surrounded by a mist shifting in random waves. The Pacific was louder today, emitting a sullen growl that accompanied her up the gentle slope. A larger storm was out there somewhere, probably headed their way.
Most families previously trapped in Miramar had left. It was just the locals now. She walked the side alley and knocked on the diner’s kitchen door. “Anybody home?”
“Huh. That’s a good one.” Claire appeared in the doorway. “As if we had time to be anywhere else.”
“Come on in, darlin’.” Arnaud offered his nearly constant smile. “Sorry, we’re all out of rodents. The traps came up empty.”
“Hush with your rodents,” Claire said. To Olivia, “The boats went out. We’ve got line-caught mahi.”
With flour-spackled arms, Arnaud pointed to orderly counters. “Tonight’s special is grilled mahi tacos with cilantro, cabbage slaw, and my mother’s special sauce.”
“His mother is a worse cook than me,” Claire said. “Nix on the sauce.”
Olivia said, “I’d love some, thank you very much.”
“We’ve also got tables out front, if you’re interested in actually being comfortable,” Arnaud said.
Olivia seated herself on a stool. “What I’d most like is a chance to chat.”
“Goody. I’ve been looking for an excuse to take a break.” Claire picked up a double armful of plates and headed out. “Let me deposit these and check my tables, and I’m yours.”
Her friend returned just as Olivia finished a second portion. “Good?”
“Wonderful.”
“Coffee?”
